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There’s something living in the forest. Something you can’t quite put your finger into.
The opportunity to head south to your grandparents’ old cabin for the summer break was more than inviting. A whole month of solitude, early mornings with orange-red sunrises, the rushing water of the creek – all of it sounded positively seductive, and you were more than interested. Perhaps the time away from the bustle of the city would help you ease your mind so that you’d focus on your studies a bit better once the new semester starts. God knows you need the break.
As soon as the first day of summer dawned, you packed all the necessities – and maybe a little more than just that, but what could you do? You are a child of technology, after all – and took off with your trusty old Ford.
After five hours of driving and three overplayed playlists you found yourself on the main road of such a small town you were sure it had to be a village. You remembered being at the cabin only once before as a toddler, so the memories were rather hazy. But only after a minute more of driving you recognized the small dirt road that shot off the main one. If nothing else, a small worn out sign that pointed towards the road and read Reedbourne Grove told you that you were in the right place.
The small road took you to the yard of the cabin, wilting hays and wildflowers everywhere. As you stepped out the car you could immediately hear the creek that goes by the cabin, a steady sound of flowing water. Above you, swallows fled over the sky that was already beginning to change colours. The wind ran warm.
You could definitely see yourself living here for the next month.
And now, after you’ve settled in, you are positively certain something is taking residence in the forest – something unnatural.
When you come to the porch in the mornings to drink your tea and watch the mist rise from the babbling creek, the forest around you shudders. Not in a natural, soothing way, but almost intimidating, warning. If it had a voice, it would growl.
First, you think nothing of it. The nature is different here than where you’re from, so it’s understandable that it also feels different. The pines are larger here, towering at great heights, the colours of the oaks much more vibrant. The air is quiet from any man-made noise. Soon enough you might be able to pick blueberries if the weather stays this warm. There’s a swallows’ nest, outside in the corner of your cabin, and the couple that lives there is not afraid of you, coming up to you in the mornings for breadcrumbs like ducks at a park. It’s so much more than you’re used to. No wonder you’re overwhelmed.
The first few days are spent by cleaning the cottage from dust and cobwebs, learning which cabinets hold what and realising how poor the internet is, even with your own router. It’s simple enough, so you are given plenty of time to think and wonder. It’s been a while since you haven’t had any pressing deadlines, projects or other college-related things to think about, so the amount of time you are able to just think whatever you want feels odd.
You keep coming back to an old myth your grandmother used to tell you: the tale of the great forest god that lives in the very woods surrounding this cottage. You don’t remember a lot, only descriptions of a slender, agile creature bringing life to the ground around it with every step it takes. Neither a man nor an animal, it is able to control the nature, willing the birds to chirp in the morning and making the flowers curl their petals shut at night. It keeps guard, defends the untouchable wildlife from any possible harm humans might inflict. It is said to be an intimidating presence, felt all around the forest.
You aren’t averse for myths, urban legends or cryptids – you know there must be something out there, especially in a place such as this, where the mankind has yet to ground the forests down and make them into something usable. There might as well be a god of some kind in these woods, no matter how childish it sounds. It’s an interesting thing to imagine, at least.
When you head to the small village for groceries you can’t help but ask the cashier in the shop if she’s any familiar with such a story. She says to have heard of it some, but if you really want to know more, you’d have to ask one of the old patrons of the village’s only bar. Passing by it afterwards, you find a grey-bearded man lounging outside of it. You ask him about the myth.
“The forest god, huh? Haven’t seen in decades. A grumpy fellow if nothin’ else.”
“But you’ve seen it?” you ask, curiosity piqued, not caring if the sighting is only a product of his imagination. You want to just hear more.
“Yeah, back when I was young and reckless,” the man says with a chuckle. “T’was early in the morning and I’d drunk a bit more than a lad as young as me should’ve. But I saw it alright. Tall, scary even from a distance. Looked like a man and first I thought it was some old hunter, but it was too much wide and its eyes… They glowed like will-o’-wisps. I’ll never forget that.
“But you better stay away if you ever see it. It’s up to no good.”
Making you way back to the cottage you wonder whether or not the man’s story was true. But if it really was, and there actually is some kind of entity living in the forest, the creature must be very lonely. Always avoided by humans. Feared, even.
Or maybe that’s exactly what it wants to be.
--
On your fifth day you decide to venture out into the forest. You tell yourself it’s not because you want to see the creature – even if it was real, it hardly would like to show itself in broad daylight, even less to an intruder. You are just interested to see what the nature around here has to offer.
Right after you hop over the small creek a pathway starts, forged to the ground by years of footsteps, and you set out to follow it. It’s somewhat before noon, so the birds are awake and erratic, constantly hopping from one branch to another, singing their hearts out. You pass a woodpecker in action, the repetitive hollow sound against the tree echoes around you. The undergrowth around the path is a deep, lush green, and arctic starflowers peek from beneath it, their white petals like tiny patches of snow. You hear rustling in the undergrowth and then a hare runs across the path.
You walk for a good while, maybe half an hour, intent on finding out where the pathway is exactly going. It is far too tempered down to be a new one, but you’re sure nobody has been living in these woods long enough to make it. The path is not straight, either, constantly taking sharp twists and turns as if the one who walked on it was constantly distracted by something, every time the same way.
Then you come to a small clearing that’s filled with lupins. The flowers stand tall in various pale pink and violet colours. It seems… out of place, almost, this sudden haven in the middle of the old oaks and dark spruces. They are too graceful to properly fit in. You walk closer and reach out a hand to touch the petals.
“What are you doing here?”
You are positively aghast by the sudden voice from somewhere behind you, a deep, questioning rumble. You jump around swiftly as your heart rate picks up in fear. Then in confusion.
Before you stands a man, not too close to you for it to be overly intimidating but you have heard too many stories about men hiding in the forests to not feel comfortable. He’s tall, visibly so, even from a slight distance, with ridiculously broad shoulders and long legs. Thick, dark hair sweeps in gentle curls past his chin that’s framed with facial hair; gruff, but not overly so. Over a red plaid shirt, a holster hugs his refined upper body. There’s too much distance for you to see the colour of his eyes, but in favour of his hair you’re sure they’re just as dark.
An unfortunately attractive lumberjack axe murderer, your mind generously constructs a spot-on description of him. Except that he lacks an axe.
“I highly doubt that’s any of your business,” you respond, chin held high and gaze sharp. You don’t relent beneath his gaze, even if he happens to look good in your books; many serial killers are attractive and use that as their advantage, you remember reading somewhere. “But if you must know, I live nearby.”
“In that cabin by the creek?”
“Yeah,” you say before you realise you’ve essentially shared your only safe place in the whole county for a stranger. God, you just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you? “Just for this month, though.”
That’s even better. Now you’ve given him the time frame in which he has to kill you if he wants to. That’s just great.
“I see,” he says, neither overly intrigued or disinterested. “The cabin’s been empty ever since I moved here, so I thought it’d stay that way.”
“You live here?” you ask, dubious. As far as you know, no-one has ever taken permanent residence in this forest. Or your grandparents just failed to mention you that.
“Yep. A mile or so over there,” he explains, even pointing to the opposite direction you came from. “Moved in last year.”
“We’re practically neighbours, then,” you say, not quite smiling but not entirely hostile either.
“It appears to be so.”
You both stand still for a moment that stretches long enough to become slightly uncomfortable, neither of you moving. The initial fear is dripping away from you – you like to pride yourself in being good at reading people, and maybe, just maybe, this handsome lumberjack straight from the seventies isn’t a serial killer after all.
”Well, it was good to meet you, mister…?”
“No misters. Just call me Flip.”
Well, that’s a name if you’ve ever heard one. Definitely from the seventies.
“Alright then, Flip.”
”I’ll see you around,” he then says, gives you a polite nod, and then takes off to the direction you suppose his house is in. You don’t dare to move until he’s disappeared somewhere between the trees.
--
The next morning doesn’t come soon enough. Your sleep is and fitful, and you feel like you haven’t slept at all as the morning light finally breaks behind the treeline. It’s only a little after six, but you can’t stay in bed anymore, the usual comfort and warmth of it suddenly despicable. And you’re terribly hungry.
Once you finish making your tea, you sit on the small stairs of the cabin’s porch. Today, the sky is occupied by clouds, not that kind of grey that brings rain, merely shields away the sun’s warmest rays. The wind runs on your face, chilly but not overly so.
Your dwellings on the weather are quickly interrupted when you spot something in the treeline. First, fear spikes up within you, until you recognize the shape that steps out of the woods.
It’s Flip, the mildly odd but undeniably charming man you saw yesterday. Today he spots a blue-and-white plaid shirt. You’ve known this man for less than ten minutes in total but you’re already sure the majority of his wardrobe consists of other clothes very similar to his current attire. At least he commits himself to one particular aesthetic, a trait you admire but cannot pull off yourself.
However, it’s making you feel extremely self-conscious about your clothes: an old, well-worn t-shirt and white-and-pink plaid pyjama pants. It’s just half past six – who would even be dressed up this early? Him, apparently.
Why is he even here? To kill you, maybe, but one would hardly do that in broad daylight.
You get up but remain silent until he’s reached your porch, clutching your teacup close like a shield between you and him. “Good morning…”
“Good morning. I’m sorry to disturb you this early in the day,” he begins – and oh, you’d forgotten how his voice sounded like. “But I thought it would’ve been rather… impolite of me not to come up and apologize for yesterday. I must’ve scared you.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I just didn’t expect you, that’s all,” you say, shrugging it off. “Didn’t think anyone had the guts to actually live here.”
You could, and you should, be bothered that he has more than less ruined your plans of having a whole month just on your own, in solitude without other people. But for some peculiar reason, you’re not bothered at all. If anything, you’re intrigued.
“Have you had breakfast yet? I could make us some,” you decide ask off-handedly. Indeed, what harm could it do?
He wasn’t expecting your offer, you can see that. “Only if you really want to. I wouldn’t want to impose on you any further.”
You wave your hand, dismissing his words. “You’re not doing that, I can assure you. Besides... I think we both could use the company, don’t you think?”
“Sounds good to me.” Flip smiles for the first time; small, but there all the same.
--
There’s tension growing between you and Flip.
After a few days of his completely unexpected but extremely enjoyable company your first thoughts of him being a murderer don’t seem as plausible anymore. He is sincere in whatever he does, always just as interested to hear about yourself as he is to tell you about him and his life. He doesn’t seem to stray off certain topics you’d find alarming, and even if he’s a lot more outspoken than you’re used to – back home people always aim to please others instead of saying what they really think – it’s only a good thing. It’s a fresh change from the usual, and you find yourself liking it.
Your initial attraction is growing, too, and slowly you begin to realise that admiring him from afar might not do the trick anymore. He is utterly fascinating to observe. How expressive he is; his brow furrowing when he’s thinking about an old memory, biting his lip in concentration; his smug smile when you say something he finds particularly amusing. Small things, things you wouldn’t usually notice about people, but with him, they’re all you can think of. It’s slowly igniting something within you.
You’ve learned a lot during your life, and one of the most important things is that people value honesty, and remaining silent isn’t the best idea, even when you’re not sure of the consequences. If you like someone, you should tell them. If you never say anything, the answer will always be no.
It’s no matter if he doesn’t like you back, anyways; he doesn’t seem to have too many friends or any other acquaintances, so you feel a need to tell him about your feelings, just to flatter him a little bit, if nothing else — nobody has probably said anything like that to him before. He seems so lonely. And if he happens to like you too, then… It’ll make for a really nice summer romance, won’t it? Something to tell about to your friends back home, if you happen to get lucky.
He’s outspoken, so he’ll surely appreciate you being one, too.
--
And that’s exactly the moment when things start to become odd.
Something about him, the way he holds himself, is changing. The sturdy body of his is breaking from inside, as if he’s holding something in and it’s begging to be set free. You haven’t known him for long, but you know that he is hiding something. It’s evident in his movements, his being: quiet, jumpy and suspicious.
A secret of great magnitudes seems to gnaw a hole inside him, but he remains silent, as if everything is just as it was before.
You know you need to confront him about it.
It’s a cloudy morning; sun hiding behind the hulking grey, and you know it’s going to storm sooner or later. He was late to your usual rendezvous at the time of your breakfast, and now he’s being restless. First, you chalked his unusual behaviour up to the weather, but when nothing seems to cheer him up, you know what’s going on.
Your heart is beating ridiculously fast as you two sit on the stairs, looking out into the wilderness. He is silent beside you, wallowing in his thoughts.
You shake your head to clear it from everything else, deciding to bite the bullet, face on. “Flip… Is everything alright?”
He frowns and purses his lips as if he’s confused, but you can hear his breath hitch. He’s been caught. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “You’re just— Something’s going on, I can tell.”
“You think you know me that well?” he asks, tone sharp and defensive. Intending to frighten you, just a little bit, so you’d stop asking. But you’re not backing down. You’re not intimidated by him, not anymore.
“I think I do, yeah. And I can see you’re bothered by something. You just don’t wanna tell me what it is.”
“Even if it was so, I don’t think everything I do is your business.”
His words would hurt you if you didn’t know any different. What is going on? Flip has been laid back, relaxed and calm during the days you’ve known him; he hasn’t been prone to quick anger and sharp words. This is not his true nature, you’re certain.
“And I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve this kind of disdain,” you say, and it’s true. You can see him flinch, but then his face grows sullen.
“You don’t know what you’ve done,” are his last, murmured words before he gets up and starts to head back to the forest. He jumps over the brook with an ease you’ve never seen before and takes on the path into the woods, something changing in his movements.
You don’t waste time wondering but run after him. But his strides are way too big for you, his swift steps almost lifting him off the ground as he goes.
“Flip! Slow down!”
If he hears you, he doesn’t react. The air prickles with electricity, coating each breath, each step with a new tension; thunderstorm at hand. All usual sounds of the nature have gone missing, eerie silence ringing in your ears. But you press on, jump over roots and keep up the pace. Even when the pressure in the air seems to steal your breath from your lungs. No words come out of your mouth when you try to speak his name.
He leads you deeper and deeper. Your eyesight has become blurred, a tunnel vision fixated on his broad back as his walks, always too far ahead for you to actually catch up. But you can’t stop walking, either, not even if you tried. You’re rooted into this enigmatic moment.
A sharp, low rumble screeches through the air — everything breaks. The sound reverberates, making you stop on your tracks and pull you out of the trance you’d fallen into.
You can’t see him anymore, strange fog hindering your vision.
Behind you, footsteps begin to approach.
Something akin to fear rises within you, a sensation pricking in your fingertips, but you do not freeze. Instead, you turn around; ready to greet it.
It’s him.
But it also isn’t.
He’s plenty taller, which alone should make you take a step back, but you remain still, taking him in. His hair is longer, too, reaching past his shoulders; unruly curls nesting a pair of large, curled horns. And his eyes, they aren’t that dark hazel anymore but a lighter one, a shine of chestnut with a glint you already know to be the will-o’-wisps the old man talked about.
He looks ancient and forever young at the same time, stuck in a never-ending limbo of time. He looks beautiful, if you’re being honest; rather normal, even. Definitely not as fearful as you would’ve thought a forest god to look like.
“Flip. That’s not your real name, is it?”
“No. I don’t actually have one, I think. I was never named. I chose the human name myself.”
You nod, unsure what to say next. You should probably be hyperventilating, running away from him as fast as you can with anxiety rising up in your chest because stars, this man is a literal god, a deity of this forest, the creature from the myth. The rational part of your mind is reeling at the situation you find yourself in, certain you will wake up within the next minute.
But you don’t. You stand still, take him in and the surreal glow around him.
“I know this must be a lot, but—“
“No, it— it’s fine, I think. I mean, I didn’t expect this. But I…” you trail off, frowning because while you are taken aback, shaken, you are surprisingly fine with it.
In fact, you—
“May I touch you?”
He blinks once, puzzled. “Of course.”
You cut off the distance between you and him with a few short steps and then you place your hand on his wide chest, fingers spreading and palm flat on the soft fabric of his red plaid shirt — of course his immortal attire would include it.
“Are you going to…” you start, hesitantly, and then chuckle because it sounds so ridiculous, “be human again?”
“If you want me to.”
You look up at him – fuck, he’s now almost two heads taller than you – to find a teasing smile on his face. You realise you still want to kiss that smirk off his features, and badly. Even when the alarms go off in your head at the thought.
You better stay away if you ever see it. It’s up to no good.
The words come to your mind unbidden, an unconscious warning. You study him, relearn the same prominent nose, the pliant curve of his lips, the scattered beauty marks, and you know you might not be able to stay away from him. You knew the man he was only a moment before. But then again, what if he is not that person anymore? Because everything he’s told you was all made up, just to make it look like he was an ordinary human like you.
”So, the things you told me before, they were just… lies?” you say, whispering the last word in disbelief and taking a step back. His face falls at that, smile turning into a pout.
”I couldn’t just reveal myself to you right away. I had to be sure you wouldn’t run off,” he explains, voice calm in a way that would usually make you frustrated.
You take a deep breath and consider his words. You don’t want to admit it right away, but he is right, and you know he’s not lying anymore, even if he was before. He had a rather tangible reason for it. You might’ve been more than interested to solve the mystery of this forest, but if you’d met him like this for the first time? The outcome wouldn’t have been the same, you’re sure of it.
Because of that, you’re fine with it. Overwhelmed, yes, but fine. Intrigued, even, the constant pull of him becoming even stronger; his old form has revealed something far grander, something above the usual humanity. And you cannot deny the appeal.
His gaze softens again. ”What you see now is who I am. I’ve got nothing to hide from you, not anymore. I promise.”
A promise from a god is an unbreakable vow. Your heart stammers, the full force of his promise heavy and permanent.
You should run away. You still could, drive right back home without looking back or ever returning, shrug this all off as a figment of your wild imagination. But you can’t, you won’t, and maybe it’s the unexpected and secretly craved validation from an entity as powerful and mighty as him that makes you stay. Or maybe… It’s something much deeper than that. An unknown emotion, hidden behind his eyes, burning beneath your heart.
”Alright. I trust you, Flip.” You are a quiet for a second, and then say: ”Can I still call you that?”
”I’d be happy if you did.”
You step closer again, that warmth within your chest driving you forward but not getting you very far. You’re only left with clutching his sleeve in a silent plea. His commenting chuckle is low and amused. Before you get to say any sort of retort, he descends onto his knees in front of you, sinking into the mossy terrain. Now you’re an inch taller than him, an occurrence you never thought you’d live to witness; the times a god kneels for a mortal are few and far in-between. Your face only inches apart from his, it takes great restraint not to just jump right in. But you can be patient if needed.
“Better?”
“Much,” you murmur, your smile dying to match his.
Flip reaches up to slide his hand in your hair, and he leans in so that your foreheads touch, a calming gesture. The gentleness of it, the whole surreal moment makes you giddy like a little child, and you can’t help the laugh escaping you. To that, he answers with a smile – a real, full-hearted smile, his eyes shining in the darkness, and your heart grows even fonder.
--
The following days are filled with contentment.
He shows you around his domain that continues way past his own cabin, the woods stretching on for miles ahead. The facade of an ordinary forest fades quickly away and transforms into something real, diverse, adaptive. Flip is flowing with pride as he pulls you along, delving deeper into the forest, and it tugs at your heartstrings when you realise he’s never had anyone to show any of this to. Always on his own, not another god as his company, let alone a mortal. So, he’s positively eager to show it all to you. And you let him, wholeheartedly in awe of everything that you discover.
You two stumble across a deer and its young offspring, a tiny calf of wobbling limbs. The mother only bares one glance up at Flip before resuming her eating, clearly unafraid of his company. You get to run your hand along the calf’s pelt, the unexpected softness under your fingers enchanting.
”She’s so small,” you marvel as the creature in question blinks up at you, immerse black button eyes trained on you in a way no word can do justice. But adorable might be the closest to it.
On the evenings, when you return to your cabin, exhausted but content, he stays with you and accepts your tea; you drink the chamomile brew together on the porch and look up to the sky where the sun dips under the horizon and the clouds colour into something magical, violet and peach and light pink. One lone star – the Polaris, Flip tells it to be, shines low and dim on the firmament but visible nevertheless. A scene that cannot be even depicted by the most skilled of artists, the simple beauty of it takes your breath away.
”Back at home, I’ve never been able see the sky like this. It’s always full of dark clouds and smoke,” you tell Flip.
He looks at you and says nothing, but his expression turns empathetic, pondering. He knows no other way for things to be, and can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, what you’ve seen. He listens to you as intently as he can to make up for the lack of his knowledge about the outside world. You don’t mind the slightest.
He carries you to bed once the hour is late enough and curls up behind you as you sleep, body alert and awake but mind falling into a hibernation not too far away from your own slumber. When you wake up, he’s still there, and gives a small, bashful smile when you turn over to greet him.
Your eyes meet his and without a second thought, without any hesitance, your hand comes up to his cheek.
“Is this… alright?” you ask, searching for the answer in his eyes.
He nods and with lenient movements, pulls you in for a kiss like no other. Again and again, until you’re breathless and can’t stop smiling.
In the morning he is a man; a calm, quiet soul with a halcyon mind and dark eyes full of promises he’s yet to say to you. In the blinding sunshine he’s beautiful in a way only a human can be. But his true nature shines through easily, like sunrise slipping between the leaves of a tree.
There is reverence in his movements, the way he carries himself, even during a moment like this, both of you completely bared to one another. He is never superior to you, though, and only makes you feel like something sacred and rare, nothing so mundane and boring as you’ve thought yourself to be. It is a heady feeling, to be so thoroughly wanted.
One time, you kiss him by the lupin clearing, the late-night moon your only source of light. Gardenias bloom even in the darkness, gentle buds in his hair bursting forth, his very own flower crown planted and grown in a blink. He looks up to you sheepishly from where he’s once again on his knees for you, a sight that’s become a common occurrence but still something you can’t get enough of. The tips of his ears are flushed pink and in answer you let out a laugh, run your fingertip along one of the flower’s petal, nestled right on the root of his left horn.
”Can you feel that?”
”Almost,” he says, frowning, in search for words. ”It’s… It’s a distant sensation I can’t quite grasp, but I still know it’s there.”
You wonder if he knows, if those words were influenced by your own tangled thoughts, the odd stutter of your heart. The unknown feeling lunges forth to burn in your throat when he kisses you again, and slowly pulls you down with him until you lie on the ground, lupins falling aside to make space for you. His huge form looms over you like a fearsome shadow, eyes shining in the dark, his ever-present being hiding away the moon but you’ve never felt safer.
If nothing else, you know this: you never want to leave him, or this forest.
--
It is the last day of your retreat. Tomorrow, you are meant to pack your things and head back to the city to prepare for the upcoming semester.
This day crept up on you far too fast. Maybe before you would’ve been more than content to leave, return and reunite with your friends and meet the new semester head on. But now… The thought of leaving Flip behind forms a black hole inside you, vast and empty, devoid of anything. The nerves churning inside you aren’t born from excitement, but from the simple fear of being parted.
You’ve fallen in love with him. You’re not quite sure when it happened; it might’ve been the first day he came up to your cabin with the lupins, or maybe it was yesterday, or somewhere in-between – it doesn’t matter. The strange, encompassing feeling you once couldn’t identify has settled into you now, and you know that warmth to be love.
You’ve yet to break the news to him. If you were any more selfish, you’d just leave him behind with no words, because you know it’d hurt you the least, to not see his sorrowful face when he finds out you’re gone. But you cannot do such a cruel thing; he deserves to know, even if it’s going to be painful.
The final morning stings like an open wound you know is about to get even worse. You wake up tired, having been up most of the night, silently and without his notice. Flip is already awake and greets you when you come to sit on the porch, taking in the late-dawn sun. You slump against his side and press your face on his shoulder.
He notices your tension quickly, as you suspected he would. Beside his hypersensitivity for mortal emotions, you’ve grown attuned of each other so fast, the bond between you growing in leaps and bounds. You know severing it will feel like losing something vital, a physical part of yourself. The thought awakens a vile shudder in you.
“Are you alright?”
God, he’s so gentle, unassuming, concerned eyes set on you when you pull up to look at him. You sigh and shake your head; it’s no use to hide your feelings. He would sense them nevertheless. You pull back his hair, force a smile on your face. Taking in his features, committing them into your memory so that you’ll never forget him.
“No. I will be, though,” you say in answer, hoping that it will be enough to sate his worry. Hoping that it’s going to be true. “But… I need to be alone for a while. Can you– Could you come back later?”
You’ve never asked him this; after the day he revealed himself, you haven’t really been apart at all, only a handful of minutes. The thought itself nearly brings tears to your eyes already, but you refuse to cry. He would become even more worried.
“If you want me to,” he says, clearly puzzled but not daring to question it.
“Thank you.”
--
In the absence of Flip, you gather up your belongings, trying to distract yourself with thoughts of home, but it’s all done in vain. Everything seems to pale in comparison to the time you’ve spent here, the things you’ve done. The idea of your small little studio in the heat of the restless city cannot rival this, the forest, him. But you have to do it – no other option is available.
Two hours later he comes back, just about when you’re finished, putting your last bag into the car. You think he could sense your resolution and rushed back to see what you were up to.
”Are you… going somewhere?”
You turn to look at him, spare a glance towards the now-empty cabin – a place that holds so many dear memories.
”I need to leave, Flip. I need to go back to the city.”
At that, his puzzled face turns quickly into something fearful, full of disbelief. Flip takes a step back, clearly still trying to understand the situation.
”I– I thought you were going to stay.”
”I’m sorry. I can’t.”
This is exactly what you feared. Your throat burns already, to see his features twisted like that, into an expression that speaks of sadness, betrayal, pain. But he sobers up, closes his eyes for a moment and then looks at you intently. He moves closer again and extends his right hand out to you, a wordless plea; his only offer.
“Stay with me, darling. Please.”
His usual steadfast voice is now quavering, afraid and so very desperate it brings tears to your eyes. you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. But the sight of him before you, an ancient god begging a mere mortal to stay with him is more than enough to make you weep. His eyes, not glowing and ethereal but those of a man’s, dark as the night sky, are gleaming now, glossed over with tears. No god should ever cry, but he does, tears making their way down his face and you’re crying too, because you want to, you want to stay so badly it’s tearing you apart. But you can’t.
“I’m not like you. And I will never be,” you say, trying to be steady but failing miserably, words spoiled by your cracking voice and an uncontrollable sob.
Why can’t he see that? He might’ve taken a shine on you, spend time with you and learned things about you no other person has ever known, but it all boils down to the painful truth – you two are not the same.
“But sweetheart, you could,” he says, voice taking a more hopeful note, “if you just stayed. You could become like me, and we could be together forever.”
Forever.
The word is heavy, poignant, and you shudder when he says it. Of course, for him, it means hardly anything. He’s been alive for centuries and will continue to do so until the earth’s last hour. He has been born with this forest and is bound to die with it. It is all he knows. But you…
“I– I have a home, and my family and friends. I can’t just leave them.”
He sighs, and lets his hand fall back to his side. He smiles, but it’s strained and sad. There are still tears in his eyes.
“I understand,” he finally says but you know he doesn’t. He’s never had any of that, not really. The forest might be his home and the creatures his company, but he has no family, no friends. He’s alone, always has been. Until you.
But now, you’re about to make him lonely again – both of you. New tears fall at the thought as you’re unable to stop them, but then he steps closer and reaches out his hands to swipe away the droplets with his thumbs. He rests his forehead against yours, and the gesture is already so familiar to you it tears your heart open once again as you realise that it will be gone soon, alongside all that he is.
”I’m so sorry,” you say, repeat the words as long as they make sense, and then continue still when they don’t. At some point you realise he’s pulled you into an embrace, and it makes you cry again. You bury your head against the crook of his neck and breathe him in, the dry moss and the lupins and the pines.
You don’t dare to kiss him.
You stand there for a long, long time, until the sky turns dark and the sun hides behind the horizon. The tears have subsided at some point, and only a hollow feeling in your chest remains. His hands around you turn to chains holding you down, no matter how willing you would be to stay.
You have to go now. You step away from the embrace and turn your back on him.
It’s better this way, your rational mind provides reasoning.
But why does it hurt so much? your heart asks.
”Goodbye, my love,” he whispers, and the wind weeps with him.
When you foolishly spare a last glance behind you, he’s already gone. In the ground where he stood bloom forget-me-nots, light blue petals arching towards the cold night sky.
--
It has been two months now. Nothing has gotten easier.
Every day is painful, a constant battle where you try your damnest not to think about him. You try to convince yourself that this is the way things are meant to be, you could never live a life like he does, that your place is here, in the midst of other people like you. But every day the words run more and more hollow.
If you manage to go a day without a thought of him, you are guaranteed to dream of him, always visions from the past. There’s the languid smirk he always gave when you laid beneath him, the adoring smile he blessed you with in the moments of the afterglow. The flowers that sometimes bloomed in his hair when you kissed him. The incredibly endearing nicknames he called you that had your heart stumbling. The warmth of his cape he once tucked you into, carrying you back to the cabin after you made love underneath the stars in the clearing.
You are so lonely.
Your friends have noticed your change, of course, and they ask you about it, the cause of your heartache. But what on earth could you say to them? Long story short, I met this guy who was incredibly nice, really handsome, and we hit it off really well until I found out he was the god of this one forest. Crazy, right? Yeah, I had to leave him even though I’m still in love with him because you know, life is hard. So, you just shrug it off and tell them you’re fine, just tired.
After nearly three months, you cannot do it anymore. It’s the third night in a row of very bad sleep. You’re still trying to write even though the hour is late. Most of has been spent just by staring at your thesis, though, once a topic so very important to you. Now, the words in the document have turned into illegible jumble and none of it makes sense anymore.
What are you doing? Why are you here, when every waking hour brings you pain, and every night carries bittersweet memories? Did you really think that you could get over him?
Of course, he’s no ordinary man. You can’t stop loving a god, not when he loves you just as much.
You leave that night. You write a note that says both everything and nothing and leave all of your possessions behind. It might give the wrong impression to the others, but you don’t care, not anymore. You won’t need anything else but him.
It’s the middle of the night, and you drive with your windows down, breathe in the scent of fall and your heart leaps with excitement. It feels strange, but in a distant way, like this is just another surreal dream you’re bound to wake up from, and you’re just watching another version of yourself from afar. But as the hours go by and you get closer to the village the more real your decision becomes. A fleeting thought of panic crosses your mind — are you seriously going to give up a perfectly good, normal life for an eternity in a forest, for one man?
But then you think of his smile, the flowers in his hair, the forest humming with life. All of it wild and unpredictable, fearsome from a distance but safe when you get closer; a solace beyond human comprehension. And you know you wouldn’t want it any other way. You were destined to find your way to him. You know that now.
You leave your car at the outskirts of the village and give it an affectionate pat as a goodbye before heading towards the cabin. The walk through the village is swift and quiet, everyone is fast asleep but you’ve never felt more awake, more alive. The anticipation creeps up behind you like a shadow, your nerves are hyper-aware and a happy thrill runs through you as you make your way to the cabin.
The creek welcomes you with a happy sound when you finally reach the edge of the forest. The sun is slowly beginning to come up, another day is at hand. The perfect backdrop for a new beginning.
You do not need to call for him – he hears you even when your joyful greeting is silent. One heartbeat and he’s visible from the treeline; you practically leap towards him. His eyes roam over you in disbelief as he finds you in front of him again. The sunrise bestows its first rays of light upon him and god, he’s still just the same, as beautiful as you remembered.
”I’m here, Flip, I’m here to stay,” you say with a smile, words coming out in a rush you can’t stop. ”I was so stupid to leave, because I love you, but I thought-”
He doesn’t let you finish the sentence as he finds the power to pull you against him and you both sigh in relief. His familiar scent surrounds you, and you sink right into it. When tears form in your eyes once more, they are born purely from delight of being in his arms again. His presence fills you with warmth, an elated feeling unlike any other that rises in your chest like the sun and devours everything else until only thing you can think of is him.
”It’s alright. I love you too, darling. I’m so glad you’re here.”
He speaks in a quiet, soothing voice into your hair, and pulls back an inkling to rest your forehead against his – a familiar, beloved comfort. Your blinding smiles melt into a sweet kiss; morning dew and new lives.
”Welcome home.”
His light rivals the shine of the rising sun as he picks you up like a newly wedded bride and carries you deep into the woods. The earth beneath his footsteps sings, a song you’ve never heard but recognize all the same, notes whispering themselves in the rustle of the undergrowth. He hums along with it, and soon enough, the whole forest joins into the song.
The symphony echoes in the trees; the most beautiful serenade of love.