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Chapter Text

Perihelion - the point closest to the Sun on the path of an orbiting celestial body

They say gravity is not responsible for the act of people falling in love.

But, you? No. You disagreed. You disagreed, partly because you were annoyed at the incomplete picture it paints of gravitational forces, but mostly, because you were a romantic sap at heart.

Gravity is an attractive force.

Unlike magnetism, it only attracts and never repels. When a meteorite is caught in the gravitational field of a planet, it has no choice but to slowly follow a certain trajectory towards the planet's centre. As it falls (accelerates) closer to the stratosphere, it will eventually burn up and crash somewhere.

So, you think, love is exactly like gravity. In fact, you believe it so. But you wonder, what would it really be like. It just seems to be one of those human things in life that just can't be rushed, and it must be given time to mature and perfect.

But sometimes, in those idle hours between studying and learning, you dare to wonder.

Would you crash and burn? Were you the meteorite, waiting for someone to pull you into their gravitational field? Would you be one of those fated to fall madly and deeply into love, only to crash tragically?

Will you be the other planet in a binary star system, forever orbiting a common centre of mass with another planet, but fated to see and orbit each other in a dance that echoes to eternity?

Or, will your story be the one like the Earth and Sun? Would you be one of the lucky few to fall deeply into love where both of you revolve around each other in a stable orbit? Would you be so lucky as to find someone who can love you as fiercely and as steadily as the Sun?

You have always been accused of having too active of an imagination. But that is who you are. You thrive on possibilities, daring to question and explore.

Some have told you that you wear your heart too often on your sleeve. And true enough, you learned it in the hard ways of this world what a soft heart would lead to. It has lead to some of the worst relationships you've ever had, and to one of the most devastating breakups in your life.

Even now, at the tender and ripe age of twenty-four, you still feel so desperately young and naive to the ways of the world. Like a young deer still struggling to find stable footing in rocky terrain. Your heart has hardened in many places since then, but a part of you is resigned to the fact that you would always be soft-hearted at the core of who you are. You wished, on some days, that you were made of stone. You wished for once in your life, to be stronger and not feel like you were made of glass.

But you wouldn't know that years down the road, that someone like him would love those pieces of you that you detested. At this current time, you didn't know that you were already the world to someone else, to someone else you haven't met or heard of.

At this time, you didn't know that you were the end to his beginning, and you didn't know that he was the beginning to your end. At this time, you were still clueless to how important you were in his eyes. At this time, you didn't know that both of you were always fated to meet at a specific starting point and terminate at a specific ending point.

To him, you were his universe, his Reality. In every possible iteration, combination, and setting in infinite universes.

And in a sea of monotony, dreariness, and stagnation, you found him.

Or, more accurately, he found you.

Suddenly, the interstellar noise around the universe quieted and came to a stand still.

The way you both met was not exactly how you pictured it. The movies made it so much more idealistic than it really was. It was actually disappointing how bland and dull reality is. But, that was the reality of seven-point eight billion other human beings.

You were still twenty-four years old, and you were still working your way through your Masters in Physics at the university. It was a cold and grey day outside your dormitory, and you were already late to the public lecture you had planned on attending weeks earlier. A visiting professor from the Max Planck Institute was giving a lecture on nanotechnology and its applications, and being the intellectually restless student you were, you hoped to tap some inspiration from this evening's event.

Your heart was pounding madly by the time you arrived at the lecture doors. You were ten minutes late and a part of you is miffed at the inconvenience, but you knew that you were never really one for sitting by the crowd. The lecture door to your right creaks ominously as you try your best to slip inside quietly. A few of the students at the back rows swivelled their heads, perking up like curious avians.

You flushed at the attention and gazed at the floor and mumbled to yourself, darting into the nearest row of seats that were sparsely occupied. Eventually, you found one.

You decided to look up briefly from where you were trying to desperately burn a hole through the ground, and it turns out to be your first mistake of this evening.

What first struck you speechless is the mirthful glint in the man's eyes, but what struck home even more was the fact that he was looking directly at you. The corners of his lips were quirked at the corners, as if he was privately amused by something that you did.

It also wasn't helping at all how this man's three-piece silver suit was showing off his musculature in the most flattering ways possible.

You stood there for a few awkward nanoseconds. You swallowed the butterflies rampaging around your gut. You blinked a few times, tearing your gaze away as you sat down on the seat furthest from this man. You could feel that cardiac organ in your chest contracting like crazy. You only had eye contact for a few seconds at most.

So why does it feel like your world is toppling itself upside down?

You made your second biggest mistake when you looked over at him again.

He was still there to meet your gaze. He still had his eyes trained on you, but now he was smiling. He was smiling.

And that struck you as a little odd, maybe a bit creepy. What does a handsome black man want with a boring white boy like you?

You weren't much for social graces. So, you decided to smile back a little, though you were certain that came across as a grimace. You wanted to be polite, even if you find the situation a little too odd for your liking.

It took nearly all of your willpower, but you managed to reluctantly pull out a pen and your notebook and laid it on the wooden desk that came with the cramped seat. The lecture hall was swamped with the visiting lecturer's voice, and you did your best to ignore the man that occupied the other end of the empty row. You were left-handed, so you had no choice but to get the seat directly beside the stairs.

A few minutes passed by and you tried to take notes, but it's like your brain was buzzed on something addictive. You just had this strange urge to keep the mysterious man within your line of sight, and it strikes you as odd that you felt this irrational fear that you might somehow lose him if you didn't. It was both annoying and intriguing.

You could still feel him glancing at you occasionally, even if you were really good at faking your disinterest. By the half hour mark of the lecture, you virtually lost track of why you even attended tonight's event in the first place. Every passing minute was a brand on your mind. You could feel the man's interest from where you were seated, and it drives you mad that you can't reason it out.

You can't take it anymore. You snap at the tension by this point.

Your heart is pounding as you reluctantly closed your notebook and hastily packed away everything into your bag. You fold away the creaky old desk and stand up abruptly. Even without looking at him, you can feel the man's astonishment. You exhaled shakily and did your best to walk out of the lecture hall in a casual manner. But you don't believe that either. It sort of felt like you were running away.

Maybe that is what you were really doing. You were on the verge of uncharted territory tonight, and as much as you have always craved novelty in some part of you, another larger part of you has grown hardened and wary of people. For all your life, you just wanted to be invisible, staying on the down low, trying not to attract any attention. You just wanted to be left to your own devices.

But tonight? Tonight, someone saw you. He saw you, or saw right through you. Nobody has ever managed to cut through you so easily as that man did in the lecture hall. Not since you left your Dad back home when you went to university. No one else has seen you, seen you like you were someone worth noticing. You were just a white boy that grew up in an average middle-class British family. There was nothing special or interesting about you.

But there was something intoxicating about being seen, being noticed. It makes you feel light-headed in a way that you would describe to be good. But all of these new feelings are hard to process, and you need a day or two to think on it.

You were so lost in thought that you collided with someone else head on. You grunted in surprise and fell back a few steps. When you looked again, you made your third biggest mistake in life.

Your heart stops as you feel a pair of warm, strong hands gripping your biceps in an attempt to stabilize you, because you were still swerving on your feet. You stare into warm, dark eyes as the man smiles at you again.

"Sorry. I guess I wasn't looking where I was going," the man smiles, his dark eyes taking on a playful glint.

American. He is an American.

You blinked a few times. Your heart is pounding and you can't breathe. You didn't think you had a type. Well, tonight clearly broke multiple expectations.

"Are you stalking me?" you blurted out, rather impulsively.

If you could strangle yourself for that brutal honesty in hindsight, you would take that chance. Seriously.

You saw those bushy eyebrows raising upwards, and the man himself looks pleasantly surprised. Then he smirks, "Would you believe me if I said no?"

Oh. American and witty.

You wished the earth would swallow you up.

"Do I remind you of someone?" you said dryly.

At that, he smiles softly. "Yeah, sure do."

He wasn't even trying to deny it.

You blinked, slowly backing away from him. "So, I remind you of someone. And you thought it was a good idea to talk to me?"

"Sure, why not? But all joking aside, honestly, I just wanted to see how you were doing," he said, looking directly at you. "You looked a little sick when you left. Just wanted to make sure you were alright."

You feel a little funny. You think you've got butterflies running around in the pit of your stomach. For some reason, you don't believe that the American is lying. And even stranger still, you're even more surprised at how you respond to that.

"So what is this, really? Is this how Americans ask people out for a date?" you remarked dryly. "I mean, I'm flattered. I really am. But I don't know you."

"What if that was my evil plan all along? Wanna take a leap of faith?" the American smirks.

You blinked, taken aback at the raw honesty.

Really? Is this man being real?

You chuckled. "I can't believe this."

"Ah, I see. I should have known. Faith does not come easy to a physicist," he teased, laughing along.

You gazed up sharply at him. "How did you know that?"

"Oh? Did I tickle your curiosity?" the American smirked.

You flushed red, feeling oddly dismantled. "That's not fair," you chuckled nervously.

The man laughed. "I'm sorry. It's just, you're so easy to fluster."

"And what are you? James Bond?" you teased back.

You swallowed as he gives you a dangerous smirk. "Well, what I do for a living technically comes close to that."

You exhaled slowly. "Oh? Really?"

His eyes glinted. "Wanna take a leap of faith?"

You are on the verge of uncharted territory. Your heart is pounding.

You say 'yes' anyways.

Years down the road is only when you suddenly realize how perfectly he fits the broken and cracked pieces of you.

Chapter Text

Entropy - the degree of disorder or uncertainty in a system

The butterflies rampaging within your gut didn't stop even after you started following the American out of the campus building, and into one of the inconspicuous coffee shops directly across one of the university's libraries. There is a calm chill in the evening air and you shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket.

He goes ahead of you and opens the door. You stay behind, thinking of letting him go inside first. But he stops and cranes his neck to look at you, a smirk on his face as he holds the door open for you. You blink a few times, looking at him. You don't know what kind of emotion your face is projecting, but you're fairly certain it's one of perplexity. A few seconds pass by, and you felt your heart skipping when that handsome smirk gets sharper.

"Guest of honour comes first," the American said softly, still smirking in that vague teasing manner that continues to confound you.

You felt your cheeks heating up. Every conversation feels like a game of cat and mouse with this man. You, you're a sensible person, right? You are a rational, respectable, sensible man. You know that you shouldn't be talking and eloping with strangers. You know that. You should know that. You know that you shouldn't let yourself be swept off your stable two feet by tall, dark, handsome gentlemen that just happened to snatch you up on the street.

But, you don't, do you?

Your reptilian brain is screeching. It is annoying and irrational like that. That big, fat, spoilt alligator in your mind is restless and twitching. It wants. It wants to know more. Goodness gracious, it is attracted to this stunning American male.

Why? Why is your life so complicated all the time?

Just, why?

It takes you a while to get back in touch with the present. Your heart sinks when you saw the man smirking even more, just a bit more, and you suddenly know that he realized your sudden disconnection from reality. Your face is probably red by now so you save your remaining dignity by brushing past him and abruptly walking inside. He follows right after you, smooth as a panther.

You distract yourself from the man's larger-than-life presence by scanning your surroundings.

There were only a few students remaining inside the coffee shop, and a few of them looked haggard while some of them had that manic look that came from sleep deprivation. Beyond the glass windows, there was still a small amount of daylight remaining. But what really allows you to let loose a little was the prominent scent of roasted coffee and ground coffee beans that flooded the shop.

A coffee shop would've been more of a regular haunt for you if it wasn't for the fact that you've already developed the detrimental habit of going to pubs. Sometimes, you're in the mood for company. Other times, you just like the excuse of going out and looking like you're still a functioning member of society without letting on how depressed you really are.

You think back on how he behaved earlier. Even when you threw around the joke that he was some American version of James Bond, you notice that he didn't really deny it. Could he be possibly working as an intelligence agent?

Maybe that's why you're here today, being so reckless, chasing after potential danger. Even from a look, a part of you somehow already knows that this American is dangerous. Very dangerous, but somehow also, dangerous in a very different sense. It's kind of like you just know that danger follows this man wherever he goes. And that should make things unpredictable.

But for some reason, knowing that doesn't scare you today in the least. And that is very odd for someone like you.

He takes the lead, as usual, and saves you the trouble of finding a table for the both of you. He stakes his claim on the small table farthest away from the rest of the other patrons, and you find it interesting how he somehow picked up on your discomfort with public scrutiny.

You wait for him to take a seat. When he finishes making himself comfortable, he smiles at you (genuinely this time, not that smoky smirk, and you try hard not to think about how your heart just flipped in your chest), and you take that as your cue to sit down. Without missing a beat, he jumps straight in.

"I'm going to be forward," he says quietly, still gazing at you in that oddly gentle way he does, like he sees right through you. "I have a job offer for you. But, before that, I want to set some things straight."

You leaned back in your seat and inhaled sharply. "What did you want to know? Well, about me. That is."

That playful glint returned. "I'm not talking about your life," he chuckled. "I'm talking about your ability to handle change."

You raised your eyebrows. "Well, I'm quite adaptable," you tried to say it lightheartedly.

"Of that I'm sure you are," the American replied coyly. "But we both know what we're really talking about."

Suddenly, the otherworldliness of it all strikes you home.

Here you are sitting and flirting with stranger danger, and you still don't know his name or how he knows of you.

You can't quite help the soft laugh that accidentally escapes your throat. This handsome stranger couldn't help but be infected and starts chuckling along with you for good measure. When you look back at him, your lungs take on a life of their own as you see the mischievous glint behind his chestnut-hued eyes, underpinned with something that seems like fondness. Every oxygen molecule in your lungs freeze over and escape in a violent rush as you see him leaning closer, resting his arms over the table, as if he wants to share a secret.

You've never known this man, let alone ever seen him for one second in your uneventful life. But, you can't deny the sudden chemistry between you two. You're surprised, because you've never known anyone else in your life that you just clicked with so suddenly. It's like he understands you, in ways that you've never felt before. You know that thought itself doesn't make sense, but somehow, it also feels right.

"Here we are, talking like we've known each forever. But I know we don't, because I've never met someone like you before," you said light-heartedly, chuckling softly. "Are you - are you with the CIA or NSA? I mean, did I do something?"

"Ex-CIA, actually," he smirks, and you swallowed back the flare of heat that sears across your belly. That smirk is devastating to your blood pressure. "But, no. I'm not CIA or NSA. Not anymore, at least. I represent something . . . bigger. More powerful and influential."

"But, that doesn't explain why you're interested in me," you said slowly. "Or, how you know me."

He leans back, still smirking. "True, good looks aren't enough to get the job."

You shake your head, chuckling. You look away from him, mortified as you feel your cheeks heating up again. "I feel like we skipped far too many steps. I don't even know your name. At least buy me dinner first? Or a drink, for the record," you laughed softly.

He gives you a lopsided smile, eyes glinting. "I'd offer you a vodka tonic if we were in a bar, but, sadly we're not. I hope you're partial to coffee."

You felt the wind being knocked out of you. You stare at him, blinking in bewilderment. He is smiling at you now (not that smoky smirk, but you wouldn't tell anyone that you liked it, because if you did, you would die of shame), but it was the look in his dark brown eyes that painted a different picture. He looks at you, and looks at you in that way that feels soft and warm. You can't really explain how you know that, and you find that odd too.

Then you remember. He still didn't give you his name.

You can start with a name.

You chuckled again. "I'm - I'm not going to even ask how you know my poison of choice. Or the fact that you somehow knew I frequented pubs," you smile softly at him. "But, yes. I am partial to coffee."

"I think you know more than you think, Neil," he smiled back at you in that fond way he does so effortlessly. You felt your heart skipping a beat, before it gallops away to a ferocious rhythm.

"Call me Jerome."

Chapter Text

Divergence – the measure of how much a vector function spreads out from a point in space

The absurdity of it all still hasn’t abate for you, even in the last hour since you met him.

You still cannot quite explain or rationalize the gravitational pull he has on you. But a part of you suspects that he knows how to lure you in because he’s banking on your curiosity. In that regard, you can’t quite help yourself. You’ve always been at the mercy of your inquisitiveness. They say curiosity always killed the cat, and maybe when you were younger and more naïve, you would have listened to that advice and scampered for the hills.

But what many don’t know is that while curiosity did indeed kill the metaphorical cat, it was also satisfaction that brought it back.

Regardless of it all, he is a gentleman, which says more about him than the rest of your previous relationships combined. He is a gentleman, and if you have to be honest with yourself (let’s face it, it never happens too often because you’re too uncomfortable with self revelation), you’re finding it inconvenient to realize that you may, indeed, have a weakness for men with manners.

Manners maketh men.

Call it old-fashioned, but who can blame you for just wanting to be treated right by a partner? You would think everybody else would wish for the same thing. In fact, this American is so much of a gentleman that he even went out of his way to get your coffee and pay for it.

When was the last time someone did something like that for you?

Not to mention, when was the last time someone you shacked up with treated you properly?

At first you think you could feel for some sliver of a distant memory, but in the murky pond of stained and embittered memories, you reluctantly admit to yourself that you don’t remember anything. Your relationships never lasted longer than a year, and you would count yourself lucky if it even lasted six months.

You can’t quite remember the last time someone treated you right, and for a moment there, you feel little pang of sadness at knowing that.  And you can’t help but wonder when the ball will drop and your good luck streak will run out.

Maybe that’s another reason why you stayed around with this man, even if you barely know him at all. Even if it meant having to stay in suspense for a little longer until he reveals the reason why he’s so interested in you and why he, somehow, knows of you.

You would call yourself pathetic, if only you knew it wouldn’t hurt you even more. You already know you are damaged goods, so what’s the point in driving that point home even further? You already knew this, no point in clawing a scabbed wound. At least for this evening, you could pretend and play along with a stranger. Who knows, you might even succeed at convincing yourself that you are worth his time.

But, really, maybe you’re just waiting for the time where the American would finally come to his senses and snap out of this game you’re both playing.

Still, you are willing to wait and see.

The smell of fresh coffee hooks you out of your depressing reverie. You blink and look up to see him standing on his side of the table, a cup of coffee in each hand, still smiling that breathtaking smile.

You return his smile, even as you try to hide the growing despair in your chest.  When he sits down however, you look into his dark eyes again and you can’t quite shake the feeling that he somehow sees through you again. He gently puts the coffee cups on the table and pins you with an assessing gaze.

He looks you up and down. You fight hard not to shrink away.

“Everything alright?” he asks softly.

You inhale sharply and swallow the lump that suddenly formed behind your throat.

You gaze up at him again, trying your best to give a convincing smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He gives you a knowing look. You know, that look that someone gives you when they know you’re lying.

“Sometimes, it’s okay to admit you’re not – well, okay,” he says softly, always in that damnable gentle tone that never fails to make your heart skip. “I’m not leaving at the first sign of trouble.”

You hear those words, and your mind suddenly reflects back to the dozens of times that you’ve heard those very same words coming from several other people. It takes everything in you not to leap into that promise, regardless of how much it aches you.  You inhaled deeply again, shutting your eyes for just a moment. After a few seconds, you open your eyes and look at him.

“To be honest, I think you’re wasting your time with me,” you say as gently as you could, but you know you’ve failed because you see the sudden tension appearing on his broad-shouldered frame. “I’m flattered, I really am, that you somehow managed to think I’m worthy of your time. But, I don’t see what I can offer you. I know, we still haven’t discussed the particulars of this job offer. But, whatever it is you think I’ve done that somehow warranted your interest, I really am of the firm belief that you’re better off looking somewhere else.”

You try not to flinch when he pins you with a hard look. “I’m not willing to consider anyone else, Neil.”

You think back to that light-hearted joke you made earlier. Was it true then that you really reminded him of someone else? You don’t know what to make of this cruel parallel.

“I’m not the one you’re looking for, Jerome,” you say quietly, even as you fight back against the pang of yearning and agony spreading through your chest. “You told me earlier that, that I reminded you of someone else. Someone in your life, perhaps, that you lost.”

You try to smile, but from the way you saw his eyes hardening, you know you weren’t really convincing at hiding your pain. “I’m certain that whoever they were, they must’ve been wonderful. But I don’t think it’s fair for the both of us if I’m acting as the replacement for what you lost. I don’t think I have it in me to fill the shoes you’re asking me to step into. I’m sorry, but, you’re better off looking somewhere else. Someone else that could give you what you’re looking for.”

For a minute, his eyes glaze over as if he was suddenly struck by the presence of a painful memory.

It basically confirms everything. Whoever it was that he lost, they were probably close friends, possibly lovers. But to be told that you are a simulacrum of someone else he cherished, that is probably what hurts the most. It hurts to know that you’re not worthy enough to be considered as your own person. To be measured relative to someone else, someone else that he probably loved deeply, is probably the most painful blow you’ve received in a while.

You blink hard, swallowing the lump in your throat. You inhale deeply and look away from him.

Life has never been fair to you, and you’ve already known this for the past twenty-four years of your miserable life. So why does it still find ways to hurt you? You know that you could be selfish. You know that. You could just let it all go and pursue the future you could have with this man. After all, what’s to stop you? But you already know you wouldn’t, not even for the riches of the world.

And now, you have to let it go, no matter how much you don’t want to. Because it wasn’t fair either to take advantage of what you now clearly see, is a grieving man. A grieving man, who is just looking for a substitute to distract himself from the weight of his grief.

For a brief moment, you felt a pang of jealousy. How you wish to be cherished and loved by someone like him! To be loved and remembered by someone, even after you were long gone from the earth. You wanted this once, but you know that good things don’t come to people like you.

“I’m not letting you go, Neil,” he says quietly.

You blink hard, looking up at him in surprise. Why is he still here?

He looks up at you, and you are taken aback by the ferocity of the emotion you see in his eyes. “I’m not letting you go again.”

You look away from him. “I don’t understand,” you said softly, “Why are you still here?”

You felt your pulse jumping when the warmth of his hand gently encloses around yours. You look back at him, wide-eyed. He stares back at you, and all of the hardness in his gaze earlier has melted away to a softer regard.

Who is he, really? For once in your life, you don’t know how to respond.

He gives you a soft smile. “I think you’ll understand better, once I show you.”

You look down to where his hand is covering yours on the table. You swallow back the dread that threatens to fill your gut.

“All right,” you say quietly. “I trust you.”

He smiles at you again.

Years later, when you’re lying down beside him listening to his heartbeat, does he tell you the real identity of the ghost he came to love. The ghost that saved him, and sacrificed their own life for the sake of securing his future.

There was no one else, because it has always been you all along.

Chapter Text

Event horizon - a boundary that marks the limit of a black hole beyond which events inside the horizon cannot affect an observer outside the boundary

"I'm not letting you go again."

Those words are still ringing in your head by the time the both of you have left the coffee shop. Those words are still ringing when you look at him, and he starts reluctantly moving away from you. You look deep into his eyes, and you always do this because you've never failed at reading people. The truth is always embedded in the human eye, and as long as you've known, this instinct has never failed you. People can show whatever they want with doctored body language and facial expressions, but it's always the human eye that reveals everything.

He comes to a stand still, blinking fast, breathing hard as if he just ran a marathon. He clenches his jaw and looks hard at you. From this distance, you are still quite able to make out the desperate tint in the depths of his eyes, as if he is a drowning man that suddenly found an anchor. The sheer depth of that raw emotion nearly sends you reeling back, and you actually found yourself inhaling sharply, which means you failed to keep your distance. You blink hard a few times, frowning slightly at the conundrum before you.

A second later, he blinks hard and rapidly a few times, and the desperation in his eyes recedes back into the depths as the hard lines in the edge of his eyes gradually soften. His chest hitches as he sends you a shaky nod, and you feel a pulse of alarm and concern piercing through you when you see the odd sheen in his eyes. He sends you that oddly lopsided smile, and for some unfathomable reason, it gives you the odd urge to quickly cross that distance between you and comfort him.

The human eye is the litmus test of truth but you've already seen too much and felt too much for one night. As much as it agonizes you to not obey your body's (odd, sudden, fascinating, and frightening) instinct to draw closer to the American and chase away the emotional torment he is experiencing, your common sense strikes back for once tonight, and it makes you stay your hand.

You stay, still rooted to the same pavement, even as he slowly turns around and walks away. He walks and walks, further away from you, and you find it mildly intriguing (disturbing, and at the same time, oddly exhilarating) that you want to chase after him, to follow his lead to the tiny places and alleyways of this vast world that hold more secrets that will tell you who he is. He is walking further away from you now, but you somehow know with this deep certainty (a certainty that scares you, because you don't know him, but at the same perplexing time, it feels like you are starting to), that he will know how to find you tomorrow. As strange as it is to have that realization sitting on your head, you also want to forgo that altogether and meet him in the middle.

"Meet me back here tomorrow, and I'll show you."

That was his promise, and he doesn't seem to be the type to break promises.

For once in your life, you are not sure of what to do. For so long, you've been the one to chase after people even if they didn't like or ask for it. You've always been that way, a bleeding heart, as some have not so graciously taken the time to tell you in your face, as if it was meant to be an insult. For so long, you've always been the unstoppable object hurtling past other things in life at breakneck speed. When you finally came across your immovable mountain, it was only natural to stop and stand in awe. And now, for once, you didn't have to do the chasing. It wasn't all that bad, but still, it was really nice to finally have your position reversed for once.

"I'm not letting you go again."

You are still standing right where he left you for the evening, when those words haunt your mind for another round. Those words ring ruthlessly in the walls of your mind, an incessant clanging of cymbals and gongs that drown all the other noises in your head. Those words sound like another promise, but you don't know if that was a promise meant for you. You are both confused and oddly intrigued at how little sense his words made, but the most difficult challenge of all was the strange sense of hope fluttering in your chest. Hope is a dangrous emotion for you because it has left your heart shrivelled up and patched together in so many more times than you can possibly count. You find yourself feeling fearful as to why you are still feeling this way, and common sense dictates that you should never trust someone you don't know so easily, but the one thing you can never do is lie to yourself.

You face it. The truth is, you do want this, you do want to know what happens next, despite how illogical that desire is to you. You have a burning thirst to suddenly know anything and everything about the American, and it is agony not to have that curiosity quenched. You think you know the term for this desire: lachesism.

You've wanted change for so long, craved it with a violence and righteous anger that would surprise many. You have craved this for so long that the intensity of this desire has eroded away any kind of interest you had at a normal life. Normal life and normal people with their normal relationships tasted sour to you, and it has refined your palate and trained you to crave something stronger and more exotic. You yearned for the type of change that was violent, brutal and raw, because the normal process of entropy just doesn't cut it anymore. Suddenly, you realize that is why you've clung on for so long to this man.

This man is your lachesism. He is the sudden lightning strike that will ignite the wildfire that will raze everything to the ground. And you welcome it, you welcome the thought of it so much that it grounds you, and delivers a strange sense of tranquility for the first time in your life. You think back on those moments in the coffee shop, when you entertained those idle thoughts. Since then, you've already had the hunch that danger follows him everywhere he goes. Back then, it was just a wandering thought, the infantile thoughts of a boy that doesn't know anything. But now that you're on the brink of something that can tilt the world downside up, you find yourself watching with bated breath.

Who did he lose that he loved so much, that you reminded him of them?

Who did he lose that you were given a glimpse of the tender human beneath that stony exterior?

"I'm not letting you go again."

What did he really mean when he said that? Was that just a slip of the tongue, an honest but unintended admission?

Who was the ghost that he loved so much?

Who is this ghost that already walked ahead of you?

Who is this ghost and why does it seem to haunt you, now that you know Jerome?

Who is this Ghost?

You need to know.

Years in the future (a new timestream branching from one pivotal moment)

The both of you were seated on your bed, just taking the time to idly exist in a companionable silence that communicates in its own language.

He was in one of those moods again, that contemplative mood that takes him light years away from you in the present. The searing warmth of his body was plastered against your back. His right hand was resting on your sternum, a heavy comforting weight, as if he had this subconscious fear you would disappear again. You breathe in a steady rhythm, and he suddenly starts tapping a finger against your chest, as if he is keeping count of your heart rate.

You feel him shifting behind you, and you can't quite help the small smile that breaks out on your face when you feel those warm lips pressing on the pale column of your neck. You hear him inahling deeply behind you, and you shut your eyes when he presses another tender kiss to your neck, but this time he stays there.

"I'm not letting you go again, sweetheart," he whispered in that soft, devastating timbre, that kind of tenderness that he never shows to anyone else, not even his closest agents. You felt your breath hitching when he turns and starts nosing gently against your neck. "Future Me had a chance. He threw you away. But this world isn't a world worth living in without you in it."

You feel that old weariness and exasperation dragging you down again. You've already had this discussion with him thousands of times, but it seems fated to end at the same argument he keeps using to win you over. At this point, you know better than to go against his strong-willed paradigm of the world.

You slowly raise your hand, laying it gently atop the one he had pressing above your heart. The heart that wouldn't still be beating if it wasn't for him, ironically enough. "I would do the same if it were you," you said softly, turning your head to give him a small tender smile.

He slowly looks up at you and you shiver at the depth of insight hidden in that gaze. He tilts his head, smirking. "Now I know you're just saying this to make me feel good."

You laughed softly. He smirks and presses another kiss to your cheek. "Well, I had to try."

The jubilant air he had deflates suddenly and the same old faraway glint in his eyes return, as if he was lamenting about another somber future he could have prevented. "Sometimes, I wonder if a version of me ever got to where we are now."

You swallowed hard at the note of resigned despair in his words. You look down to see where your hands are still joined and you raised his hand to your mouth, kissing the broad palm of his hand. Your heart stutters at the searing warmth of his hands when you pressed his palm against your cheek. You hear him inhaling sharply behind you, and it squeezes your heart with so much affection that it almost leaves you withour air.

"Whatever happens, happens," you said gently, turning your head to look at him from your peripheral vision. You hear him inhaling sharply again and you feel him reeling back a little. A part of you feels stung for eliciting that reaction, but you draw him back in by gently pulling on his arm. "I'm not saying this to hurt you. But what I'm telling you, is that no amount of speculating will change anything. We all act on information we have, and all that we can expect from ourselves is to make the most of every action we take. I know, that you want to control the future -- or at least, anticipate it as much as you can. But you've already seen firsthand how unpredictable it is. We don't know that we've gone through a specific sequence of events until we see ourselves living it through."

"I can't lose you again," he whispers in a hoarse voice.

"I know, love," you replied hoarsely, just as broken as he felt, but for now it was your turn to carry the both of you through, "and I'm grateful. So, so grateful that you saved me. But we all need to be prepared for what might become reality. For us, for me, for you. We don't exactly work in a profession that guarantees anything. Look, don't get me wrong. I'm not implying anything about the future, love. I'm just -- I'm just telling you not to lose sight of what matters."

He stays silent, but you feel the small tremors wracking his entire body. After a while, he finds the courage to speak. "I know. But it won't stop me from trying to protect you.

"And I don't want to lose you either," you say quietly, "so please, don't be reckless with your own life anymore. I don't think I'll have your strength to carry on."

His grip tightens around you with a violence that leaves you breathless. "I won't ever die on you, sweetheart," he whispers fiercely, and your heart leaps when you realize that he's daring to make another promise. "Never. Not on my watch."

You inhaled sharply. "Please don't make promises you can't keep, Jerome."

"I've never lied to you, Neil. Not once," he whispers in your ear as he gently rubs his hand over your sternum, over the frantic gallop of your heart. "I've kept my promises over the years, big and small. I promised you that I would never let you die. I promised you I would stay by you and do you good. I've promised your parents that I'd take care of you, even after they're long gone. I promised to protect you to your old age. I've promised to grow old with you, to get you those dogs and cats you've always wanted. I've done all of that except the last two ones, because I need more time to make it work. I've kept so many of my promises to you, sweetheart. Don't give up on me now."

You shut your eyes, swallowing hard as your throat closes up from the overwhelming swell of love and affection squeezing your chest.

He turns his head and nuzzles against the side of your neck. "Stop breaking your own heart, Neil. Stop breaking it just to protect yourself against disappointment," he says softly. You shiver as he presses a soft kiss against your neck. "It's okay to hope for a better future. So stop breaking your own heart in half. Let me take care of your heart. It's okay to trust me. I promise."