Notes: The prompt was the painting Starry Night Over the Rhone by Van Gogh. Since Hanael did once live in a city on the banks of the Rhone I was delighted to run with it. Please note that Lyrael looks much like Zafkiel minus the purple streaks.

"Hanael! Look at the river!" Lyrael was like an excited boy, running haphazardly across the street, completely unmindful of passing carriages or other pedestrians. He was blissfully unaware, too, of their glares or of the occasional curse that followed in his wake.
Hanael laughed softly and followed him at a more sedate pace. His shoulders were stiff, his body sore from the day's hard work, but it was a nice kind of sore.
He joined Lyrael at the river's edge, where the boy leaned over the wall, his face turned towards the river, relaxed and peaceful, touched by the ambient glow of the moon. Below them, the river spread in inky deepness, reflecting the sparkling silver of the stars that scattered across clear sky above them. Here and there, a lantern-lit boat broke the serenity of the scene, leaving ripples in its wake, making the stars shiver.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Lyrael asked softly, almost reverently. Hanael reached out and wrapped his arm around Lyrael's shoulders, feeling his warmth through the thin cloth of their shirts.
"It is," he murmured, just as softly, not wanting to break the beauty of the moment.
By day, he worked on the banks of the Rhone, yet he barely noticed the river; it was flat, grey and uninviting, and it meant little to him. But now, there was a simple majesty to it, a beauty that held his gaze and demanded that he appreciate it.
Lyrael snuggled up against his shoulder, and he tangled his fingers in his hair, stroking it gently, enjoying sharing this moment with him. The good moments seemed more infrequent lately, and seeing Lyrael happy and comfortable was what made everything worthwhile.
A boat trundled by just below them, and a shadowy figure on the deck, silhouetted by a lamp somewhere within, looked up and waved as it went by. Hanael raised his free hand and waved back. He felt warm and sated within.
"Hanael? Can we go home now?"
Hanael looked down. Lyrael was not looking at him; nor was he looking out at the beautiful river anymore. Instead, he was looking back at the street, at the passersby, his eyes darting from person to person.
"She's going to see us.. I just know it.. I know she's looking for us..." Lyrael's fingers clutched Hanael's shirt, compulsively.
Hanael closed his eyes. It was back. The paranoia, the ludicrous fears that danced in Lyrael's mind more and more often lately.
He opened his eyes. Lyrael was looking up at him now. It was at times like these that Lyrael looked so young, so childlike, and Hanael was reminded of how young they really were, both of them. But he didn't feel young. He felt old, worn, age-weary, his shoulders slumped under the weight of dealing with this, day in and day out. He felt too old and dried up and wasted away to face it again, wanting only to somehow find that magical something that would wipe this away from Lyrael and return him to the confident boy he used to be.
But he was too young. He didn't know any magic tricks yet. So he smiled down and Lyrael and squeezed his shoulder gently.
"Alright, then. Let's go home," he said, as if nothing was wrong. Because he didn't know what else to do, except to keep loving Lyrael and taking care of him, to keep reassuring him and being there for him, and hoping that eventually it would go away.
Lyrael took his hand trustingly, and led him back up the street, and Hanael followed slowly, feeling his shoulders sagging further under the invisible burden he bore.
He looked back at the Rhone once more, and the stars that glittered and sparkled above it, and within it, and wished that he could take the magic of it home with him.