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When Neil was fifteen years old, a boy walked out of his dreams and moved in across the street.
On that day, Neil peered out the front windows of the house he shared with his Uncle Stuart, watching the movers come, their ant trail circling from truck to house and truck again, depositing couches and chairs and boxes and mattresses. Eventually a vintage red Chevy truck pulled up - unusual in this neighborhood of Volvos and Subarus.
Neil watched curiously as a fit, tattooed, middle-aged man climbed out of the driver’s seat before his gaze was riveted by the boy who crawled out from the passenger side. Neil didn’t remember walking out the door, onto the front porch and down the stairs. He didn’t realize he was barefoot until he stepped out onto the street, the prickly surface of the asphalt attacking the soles of his feet, and he stopped - staring - and the dark haired boy was staring right back at him, his face drained of color.
Neil made his feet move, and so did the boy, and it was the middle of the street when they both stopped, a foot apart. He was taller than Neil, and Neil had to tilt his face up to look into his green eyes.
They were eyes Neil had seen every night in his dreams for as long as he could remember.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You’re real.”
“So are you.”
Suddenly Neil came to, the deja vu slammed into him and his knees started to give and he gasped, and the boy reached out, grabbing Neil’s elbows, holding him up. “Breathe,” the boy whispered, and Neil let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Neil flicked his eyes to the right and saw the man standing by the truck watching them, a wrinkle in his brow, and his focus sharpened. “What’s your name?”
“Kevin.”
“I’m Neil.”
“Neil,” Kevin repeated, softly, slowly, tasting the letters of Neil’s name. “How is this happening?”
“I don’t know, but we need a story, something to tell the adults, and then we can figure it out, okay?”
“Okay, um, soccer?”
“Soccer?”
“Do you play?”
“I do actually.”
“Ever been to soccer camp?”
“No, but my uncle won’t know that. It works.”
Kevin smiled, and Neil’s knees tried to go out from under him again, but Kevin still had a hold on Neil’s elbows and it was everything Neil could do not to sink into his arms. “My dad is going to think something is weird if I don’t go help him right now. Can you meet me back outside? Later?”
“Yes,” Neil said, digging his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your number?” Kevin gave it to him and he texted him. “Just let me know when you can get away. I will meet you right here. Kevin.”
“Okay. I will come as soon as I can. Neil.” They walked away from each other, and it was one of the hardest things Neil had done so far in his short life.
It wasn’t until almost 10 p.m. that Kevin texted him.
Can you come now?
Yes.
They met back in the street, the same spot. Neil grabbed Kevin’s hand, tugged him toward the woods and down a path to the old oak tree he loved. It was dark, but when he stopped and turned to look at Kevin’s face, it was highlighted in moonlight. Neil let go of his hand, reached up to run his fingers along Kevin’s cheekbones, along his neck, his shoulders. Kevin shivered at his touch, but otherwise stood very still, watching him.
“You’ve dreamed of me,” Kevin said.
“I have,” Neil nodded slowly, hesitating. He opened and closed his mouth, but didn’t know how to ask what he desperately needed to know.
“You’ve dreamed of him too,” Kevin said, and Neil let out a breath, his knees doing the thing again, and this time he let himself tumble into Kevin’s arms, and Kevin caught him, pulling him close and it felt so familiar that Neil shuddered.
“Yes, him too,” Neil agreed.
“Have you found him?” Kevin asked. It was an insane question. Absolutely bonkers. Neil inhaled, and the scent of Kevin was one that had surrounded him a thousand times before, his arms had held him a thousand times before, probably more.
“No,” Neil whispered. He didn’t know what else to say. Had he found their third? The other boy who occupied their dreams? That face flashed behind Neil’s tightly closed lids, a vivid hallucination just like Kevin had been until mere hours ago. If Kevin was real...if Kevin was real, then he must too: the blond-haired, hazel-eyed, other half of Neil’s heart.
***
It was easy for them, really.
David believed that his son had met Neil at soccer camp, and happenstance had led them to moving in across the street. Neil had only lived with Stuart for a year - since his parents had died - and he had no reason not to believe the story.
They were smart about it - Kevin’s idea. They couldn’t just fall into each other immediately, at least when others were around. But at night - every night - when they met by the oak tree in the moonlight, that is exactly what they did.
Neil couldn’t keep his hands off the miracle that was Kevin, and it didn’t help that in their dreams every bridge had already been crossed. They were already so familiar with each other, it was nothing to twine fingers, to touch, trailing hands along skin, reassuring themselves that this was real. They had kissed so many times in dreams that Neil thought nothing of it the first time Kevin pressed him against their tree, tilted his chin up, and kissed him.
They’d known each other all of a week.
They’d known each other all of their lives.
They talked. And talked. About the dreams, mostly, to start. About him - their missing third. Kevin was convinced the dreams must be pieces of their past lives, and Neil had no reason not to agree, especially now that Kevin was real and tangible, in front of him, in his arms. The dreams had always felt like memories. This made sense. They researched it, but could find nothing talking about dreams and past lives and coming together like Kevin and Neil had. It was speculation, a revelation, it was magical - it was magic.
It was easy for them.
At sixteen, they were officially dating. No one was surprised.
At eighteen they went to college on twin soccer scholarships.
At twenty-three they graduated, moved to New York, went to graduate school.
Neil had a way with languages, he became a translator. Kevin finished his PhD, became a professor of European history. They bought an apartment, got a cat, some plants.
Through it all, for fifteen years, the dreams didn’t stop. Every night they went to sleep, they dreamed of him, they dreamed of the three of them together, and they woke up hollow.
It had been easy for them. So easy. Kevin had walked out of his dreams and into Neil’s arms.
Neil had believed - had no reason not to believe - that they would find him too.
***
The year they turned thirty it started to take a toll. Neil knew it. They were exhausted by the loss of someone they had never really known. Kevin stopped bringing him up, and eventually Neil did too. It was slow, the progression, how it happened that they stopped talking about him, the blond man from their dreams. How they stopped talking about the nights they woke simultaneously, drenched in sweat as their third was taken down by a bullet on a World War II battlefield; or when they woke gasping from the memory of three hearts pounding, three bodies naked and writhing in an antique four poster bed, to find only two hearts breaking in a silent, dark, modern-day bedroom.
They had thought it would be easy.
Neil took to joining dating websites all over the world - he had the languages for it. America, Germany, France, England. He added a new country to his list every week. They knew what he looked like, their third, and though it took Neil a while, he’d realized he could narrow down his search by height, age, and hair color. It became an obsession. Neil would come home from work, curl up on the couch with his laptop, Kevin next to him, indulgent - at least at first. It dragged on for a year, and then another. Every night, Neil would look for him online, scrolling through profiles of short, blond, thirty year old men all over the world.
They had thought it would be easy.
The year they turned thirty-two, Kevin sat Neil down, took his hands. “My love,” he said. “I can’t watch this. You are wasting away.”
“But-”
“Neil. What if...”
“Don’t.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“No.”
“Neil. He could be dead. We have watched him die in dreams.”
“Stop it.”
“I’ve watched you die too.”
“Kevin, stop.”
“No, you will listen to me. I love you.”
“I know. But.”
“I know Neil. I love him too. I do. It hurts. But maybe...maybe we don’t get to have him in this life.”
“Stop.”
“No. Neil. I know. But you are here, right here in front of me. I am right here, in front of you. I love you. I love you so fucking much. Please don’t make me lose you too.”
Neil stopped looking, deleted all of the dating profiles. He tried to forget. Kevin tried to forget. It was impossible to forget. They still dreamed every night, the dreams - the memories - somehow more insistent now. But in the daylight they ignored them, wrapped up in each other, focused on work, distracted themselves.
Mourned the loss of someone they had never known.
Mourned the loss of someone they had always known.
Neil told himself that Kevin was enough.
They didn’t talk about him.
***
When Kevin and Neil were thirty-five years old, a man walked out of their dreams and moved in across the hall.
Well, sort of.
On that day, Neil and Kevin came home from Sunday brunch at their favorite diner around the corner, Kevin’s arm thrown over Neil’s shoulder as they ambled up the stairs to their apartment, because even through all the heartbreak they had never stopped touching each other, never stopped loving each other.
They were languid and slow and soft that day, full on eggs benedict and the rare November sunshine that had spilled across them on their walk home. Neil’s gaze was on his feet, digging his keys out of his pocket, so he wasn’t paying attention.
They reached the landing and Neil jolted when Kevin rocked to a stop, as he heard a voice say, “Oh my god.” Neil looked up, pulled a smile onto his face for the woman standing in front of them, her mouth hanging open, hoping to hell that their new neighbor wasn’t homophobic, but not sure what else she could be saying oh my god to about him and Kevin walking up the stairs.
“Oh my god,” she gasped out again, and held a hand out to them, palm up. Kevin and Neil froze. She stared. “Can you...oh my god. Can you wait here?” she said. Kevin looked at Neil, a frown on his face. Neil shrugged. This was weird, but they knew weird. So. They waited.
The woman reached behind her and opened the apartment door, keeping her wide eyes on them. “Aaron!” she yelled over her shoulder.
There was some rustling, someone - Aaron? - called back, “Katelyn? Are you okay?” And then, and then, he appeared in the doorway - blond hair, hazel eyes. He was short, Neil thought stupidly. Neil stopped breathing. Kevin sagged next to him.
“Holy fuck,” Aaron breathed, frozen in the doorway. The woman - Katelyn - was still gaping at them. Kevin made a choked noise, but he managed to straighten, taking his weight off of Neil. Neil stepped forward in a daze, lifted his hand slowly. This was wrong. Something was wrong. Aaron didn’t flinch when Neil touched his face, palm against his cheek, but Katelyn squeaked.
Neil dropped his hand like he was burned, turned to Kevin. “It’s not him,” he said, and he was certain, but he wasn’t sure how, because it looked like him. Neil’s heart was pounding in his chest as he stared hard into the green eyes that he’d built his world around, asked, “Am I awake?”
Kevin was white as a sheet, but he had always held Neil up and he always would, and he reached Neil in two steps, grabbed his elbows. Neil felt like he was fifteen again, standing in the street, seeing Kevin walk out of his dreams for the first time, but this time everything was sideways, everything was twisted.
“Breathe,” Kevin whispered and Neil did, because Kevin told him to.
There was a noise behind them, and Neil turned, because he had to, leaned his back against Kevin, and they stared at the doppelgänger of their third, and Neil’s heart was shattering.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but would you-” Aaron exchanged a glance with Katelyn, and Neil noticed that they both looked shocked, and his brain tried to come back online but it just wouldn't.
Aaron cleared his throat, tried again. “Would you both come with me? I know it sounds weird, but I need to show you something.”
Neil leaned harder into Kevin, not sure he could speak, but Kevin squeezed him tight and said, “Okay.”
They left in a two-deep row of pairs. Kevin and Neil hand in hand, clinging to each other as they followed Katelyn and Aaron, and it all felt surreal, dream-like in a way that Neil’s dreams never felt. His dreams were concrete - were built of Kevin and him - the man who looked like Aaron but wasn’t Aaron. They were memories. This - this - was a daze, a false something that Neil couldn’t put his finger on.
They walked, silent, the sounds of New York City filtering around them, a symphony, a background. Two blocks, three. At some point Aaron pulled out his phone, sent a text, glanced back at them. Neil thought maybe he managed a weak smile, but he wasn’t sure. At five blocks down Aaron stopped, pulled out a key. They all climbed the flight of stairs, silent, following. Another key, another door, and then the world opened up.
There was light - so much light through so many windows spilling the autumn sun into the studio. Because that’s what it was - a painter’s studio, splashed in blinding white, canvases everywhere - on easels, against walls, hanging, leaning. Neil looked around, his step faltering, Kevin coming to a halt beside him, his hand tightening in Neil’s.
The largest canvas in front of them was glistening, the paint fresh and wet in shades of lavender and grey and black and white and it was their dream, their dream from last night - his and Kevin’s - the one they hadn’t talked about over their coffee when they first woke up, the one they hadn’t talked about over their eggs later in the morning. It was Kevin and Neil and him tangled in sheets, wrapped up in each other in a gilded bed, waking up to sunlight streaming through castle windows. Neil spun around. Everywhere he looked, his face. Kevin’s face. On every canvas. A battlefield here. A portrait there.
It was them.
It was the three of them.
Neil’s brain couldn’t keep up, he spun again, glared at Aaron where he was still standing by the door next to Katelyn, felt Kevin’s hands grasping at him.
“But you aren’t him,” Neil said accusingly. “What is this?”
“Neil,” Kevin said, anguished.
“No, Kevin, it’s not him,” Neil bit out.
“Neil!” Kevin said, urgently, grabbing Neil’s arm, spinning him back around.
“Kevin, what? Oh. ”
Because.
Because.
Oh.
He was standing next to the damp canvas, ash blond hair awry, face blank, black t-shirt splattered, a paintbrush in hand hanging at his side, and it was him, it was him, it was him .
Neil’s knees started to give, and Kevin wrapped an arm around him, and they stepped forward carefully and the man from their dreams met them halfway, the paintbrush dropping from his fingers.
“Hi,” Kevin said. It came out tangled, and he cleared his throat, tried again. “What’s your name?”
“Andrew.”
Neil reached forward, held open his hand. “Andrew,” he whispered. “I’m Neil. This is Kevin.”
Andrew took his hand, finally, finally. Kevin reached out and Andrew took that hand too.
The door snicked closed behind them, and Neil realized that Aaron and Katelyn must have left them be, and his knees rebelled and he dropped, but Kevin and Andrew dropped with him, and then it was arms and hands and touch and tears.
“We’ve missed you,” Neil whispered into Andrew’s neck.
Andrew was shaking, and Neil and Kevin pulled him tighter, and Neil’s heart heaved a joyous sigh in his chest.
They were home, they were found, and there were no more dreams that night or any night after.