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1261 BC, Athens
He still remembers the first time he saw him.
Body held on the back of a horse, head held proudly. It was mid afternoon, and the clouds had parted just for him, golden sun shining on his light brown strands of hair hanging over his blue eyes. The cheers of the crowd seemed to slam quiet. A smile parted on his face, looking down to the people below him.
And that is when Damianos realised that this is the closest he was ever going to get to seeing a god.
Later, he would admit that he began to become obsessed with the man. He wouldn’t call it stalking him, but he always seemed to be in the right place. One quiet evening, when he was intending to collect water from the nearby river, he managed to find Phillipos taking a nightly swim.
Even when the day had waned down, it seemed Phillipos never took a break from being beautiful. His pale skin shimmered under the moonlight gaze, light brown hair clinging to the back of his sweating neck as he waded in the shallow lake. Without even knowing it, he had managed to capture Damianos’ breath. For a second, the only thing he knew how to do was watch Phillipos.
He could’ve said something. He could’ve stepped forward and said a word, or at least grab the water and catch his eye. Despite these thoughts, Damianos stepped back with his heart frozen in place, and waited until dawn to collect the water. There was no one bathing in the morning. He was content to watch the morning light rise from the water, with only the hiding moon reminding him of the night with Phillipos.
1112 AD, France
Rich, red curtains were parted for him on a summer day, golden sun streaming through the windows. Before even starting, the day felt long and heavy on his shoulders.
Yet, he managed to drag himself through it, finding himself on the green lawn during early noon. His father had informed him that he was to sit through a public execution. Privately, he had never found them entertaining, but he was used to watching them by now.
Except, this time it felt different. He felt an odd pulling on his heart as he stood and watched for the criminal before him. Upon him being brought up, he could not help but feel a faint feeling of recognition. As usual, the criminal was dressed in rags, but somehow, not even the dirt on his face could stop Dacien from recognising his timeless beauty. His light brown hair was messily ruffled before his blue-green eyes, which lay quiet and recognising of defeat. He was brought before the executor exactly where the sunlight hit the wooden platform, and Dacien’s heart began to pound. It was odd, as there was no possible way he could have met this criminal, yet he found himself grieving his passing.
His skin still shines , Dacien thought absently, before his mind was interrupted by a loud clanging. He heard the people around him cheer and laugh, but he sat there, staring at where a man’s life had once laid.
Just like that, a quick swinging of an axe, and a life had disappeared. When he slept that night, he still saw him, his eyes begging for mercy and the blood dripping on the platform and spilling on the stainless ground.
1427 AD, Italy
He had found solace in writing for a while, but found true peace on a canvas, brushstrokes slowly easing his worries away. Even still, he was in love with the way paint dripped and dried, the thousands of colours he could choose from, the beautiful things you could create with the flick of a finger.
His companions had called him absent-minded, with his head in the clouds, but the clouds had given him a life he could never take for granted. His sketches and love for paint and painting resulted in him growing to be more and more talented, and soon, he found himself a prestigious portrait painter, nobles and others lining up to be drawn by the famous Domenico. Although he enjoyed the varsity and wideness of landscapes and scenery, he did not find portrait painting boring, even when he had previously thought he would. People and humans were sometimes as interesting and as various as the landscapes, he found. He found love in tracing cheekbones with gentle brushstrokes, curling hair with a flick of his fingers.
Every man was different, he would later think as he lay alone on his deathbed, but still, even one stood out.
It was a summer day, because of course it was, it always seemed to be. A perfect day for a perfect man, he thought. The sky was blue with only wisps of white edging around the corners, and the rosers smelt sweeter than usual as in wafted its wall into his studio. Despite expecting him, he could not find himself prepared for the man that entered the room at that time, with the sun only recently rising. The wind blew pleasantly on his handsome face, ginger hair swept behind him. Often, it was difficult to stare at a man for a long period of time, to create and memorise a perfect map of their face, but Domenico could not stop staring at him. Even though he had only known his name from overhearing noble gossip and the generous amount of money he was offered, he could not seem to stop feeling he had found an odd familiarity in his face.
“My name is Pagolo,” the tall and beautiful man said, and Domenico felt like he could hear his voice forever, the way words rolled on his tongue, and felt almost an odd greed, like he had been preparing to hear some words for a lifetime.
Smiling gently, Domenico nodded at him, trying to find the best words to say. What words could one even conjure to honour the grace of such a man? He went with a standard introduction, and waited for Pagolo to resume his position to begin his painting.
When beginning to paint, Domenico found it important to find the flaws of the person and include it, even if he did eventually cover it at the individual’s request. However, he could not seem to find a flaw with Pagolo, facial marks seemingly adding to his beauty. Domenico often had to paint beautiful women, yet watch their charm slowly melt away as he begins painting. Yet, with Pagolo, his warm panging in his chest only spread, eventually going into his fingertips as he would continue to paint him, passion finding its way onto a blank canvas. With every stroke, every layer of paint, he began to fall for Pagolo more and more, and going over places to memorise and memorise his perfection. Instead of satisfaction when he had finished it, he only felt an odd regret at not taking his time so he could stare at him for longer.
Admittedly, these feelings were unexpected, and most definitely not as conventional, but he had begun to grow an acceptance for it. Of course, he would keep it a secret, but Pagolo seemed to be a secret worth keeping as Domenico watched him watch the fresh painting dry.
“It’s beautiful, Domenico,” he said, and he couldn’t help but agree. He had captured him in the best way canvas could, almost emanating his presence. Of course, no strokes could compare to the beauty Pagolo held, but he was happy with what he managed to achieve.
“I’m glad you like it, Pagolo,” Domenico said politely, expecting for another polite exchange, but instead received a sweet, soft, genuine smile from the noble. This was certainly not the one he would use for the other portraits, Domenico thought, but it was beautiful nevertheless, tongue almost peeking out of his teeth. Quickly, almost quick enough for an onlooker to not see, Pagolo held his hand on Domenico’s shoulder, a fast pat to congratulate him for his work. It was small, but Domenico craved his touch and embraced the action in time to come. Then, Pagolo turned and left the studio, leaving only the wet portrait to remind Domenico of his time there. He was almost sad to allow for his servants to take the painting when they arrived a day later. He lingered at the window to see if Pagolo had also come, but he had soon accepted the fact that that was the last he would see of Pagolo.
He never fell again, not the way he did with Pagolo. One day, he thought, in another world, I will paint him again.
1739 AD, London
It was a dull day, rain loudly falling outside and the large house surrounded with dark grey clouds. Music poured through the empty house, watching James as he began to sip his drink. Soon, he would not be alone, and he was dreading it. He knew that dinner parties were a necessity to gain status, of course, but he disliked most people. Most of the people he knew were rich and without a care, never knowing a day of work. He liked to think he was different from the others, growing a business from middle class, but what he was most scared of was seeing a reflection of himself when he met others at dinner parties. He feared becoming a stereotype of a rich person, and watching as society began to grow to despise him.
He heard a pound at the door, and he looked at the window’s version of himself, making a sickly sweet smile spread across his face. He opened the door and greeted the guests, politely leading them to the table.
Before he knew it, more and more began to come, more than he could begin to count. His maid began to open the door instead of him, greeting them as she took their coats and hats. Loud talking and light laughter had filled the dining room, and the music had turned into dancing music, and he watched husbands and wives begin to dance with joy, as some of the single men began to joke with him about being alone.
Almost as no one was listening, the door had a knock at the door. James glanced at the time. This guest was almost 2 hours late. The maid had long abandoned her station, already cleaning the mess surrounding the guests. James almost thought he imagined it until he opened the door, seeing a tall man in layers of clothes outside his house.
“I’ve been waiting outside in the rain for almost five minutes,” the man grumbled, taking off his coat as James politely took it.
“I apologise,” James said, “I wasn’t expecting any more visitors.”
James watched him, and was sure that he recognised his face, somewhat. His cruel eyes were unfamiliar, as well as his cold expression, but even out of all the guests he didn’t know, he was sure that he knew this one.
“Do I know you personally?” James asked, as they both made their way into the noise.
“No,” the man replied, not even making eye contact with James, “I don’t even know who you are.”
The man rudely brushed past him, and James heard as a group of people loudly exclaimed his name, Michael, as he walked past. James frowned. The name was unfamiliar, yet he had been sure he had seen him before. He shook his head, forgetting the thoughts. One man couldn’t matter that much, anyway.
1863 AD, Texas
The day was golden brown, sun loudly beaming onto the dry desert floor. Even inside the wooden ranch, the indoors was not immune to the sunlight. Beads of sweat dripped down Duke’s warm forehead, and his hands were clutching the ice cold glass of beer, the cubes quickly melting onto the black coaster. He had noticed a girl was eyeing him, but he was too tired to play games of love and entertain the women around. He took a sip of the alcohol, sighing in relief as the cold liquid slipped down his dry throat.
He bathed in the calming silence, but it was only a matter of time before a fight broke out. Sure enough, a loud yell echoed through the quiet ranch.
“Why were you flirting with my lass?” a loud, gruff voice said.
“I- I wasn’t doing anything! I was just talking to her! I swear!” a quieter voice yelled back. Reluctantly, Duke turned around. Expectantly, Colt was picking a fight yet again. It seemed he couldn’t go a day without finding another small enemy to be picked on.
Duke observed the victim. He certainly wasn’t small, but he clearly couldn’t fight back to someone like Colt. The guy clearly didn’t live around here, as everyone knew to not talk to Daisy without Colt, but he was sure he had seen him before.
“Hey!” Duke yelled, getting up to approach the muscled Duke. “Cut it out. Take it outside with me, or leave it.”
Colt eyed Duke. As much as Colt wouldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that Duke was more powerful than him. He may not have been as big, but he could clearly fight for himself, and more people would side with Duke, a much more respected person than Colt. Colt gave a tight exhale, and turned to leave.
Sighing, Duke made his way back to his seat, returning to his sweating glass of beer. The punching bag followed him, sitting next to him. Duke resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him.
“Thanks a lot,” the guy said, calling for a beer himself.
Duke sighed. “Kid, I’m not here to start making friends. I just didn’t want a fight to break out again.”
“I know,” the boy agreed, taking a sip of his beer, “but I just feel like I know you. Have I seen you from somewhere?”
Duke squined at him again, looking at him up and down. “What’s the name?”
“Porter. I’m Porter.”
Duke took a last gulp of his beer, slamming the glass on the coaster. “Never seen you in my life, kid. Have a day, Porter.”
With that, he turned and left, facing the sun alone.
1922 AD, New York
The party was loud, louder than Daniel would have liked. He leaned against the wall awkwardly, observing the scene. He never liked parties, but Chester had dragged him here, convincing him that he would introduce him to new people. He knew Chester never kept his promises, but had obliged anyway, and was already beginning to regret that. Chester was nowhere to be found, either sleeping with a girl or making friends on the other side of the mansion, and there was no one else he knew or recognised. The party was a furry of unrecognisable colours and faces, gold and silver flicking past him, the loud chorus of noisy laughter and voices rising above the music in the air. Reluctantly, he made his way to the bar, calling for a drink. Maybe it was better he couldn’t find Chester. When Chester drank, he drank a lot, and Daniel always had killer hangovers. Taking a sip of the champagne, he looked around the party again and sighed loudly.
“Not a party person?”
He turned around quickly, seeing a well groomed man in a suit sitting beside him, arriving so quietly Daniel didn’t notice. He looked up and smiled at Daniel, unfamiliar dimples forming on the side of his face. A cold flush of realisation swept Daniel, realising he was talking to the owner of the mansion.
“I’m okay,” Daniel said quickly, trying not to stumble on his words. He didn’t know Philip well or at all, but Chester had mentioned he was rich and very powerful. It was not a habit of Daniel to cross or make enemies with wealthy people, especially in the middle of a raving party.
Philip smiled slightly, almost smirking at Daniel. “I’ll give you a secret - neither am I.”
Daniel nodded, unsure what to say. “I- I had a friend, Chester Wayne, but I don’t know where he went. He invited me as his plus one.”
Philip chuckled, sipping his champagne. “Never heard of him. Don’t know half or any of the people, to be honest with you. This is my father’s party, not mine. The man’s dead, yet he still manages to control half of my decisions.”
Daniel blinked, unsure what to say. He went with a shrug. “My father wanted me to attend more parties too. He always said I had to be more sociable, talk more to others. Never knew what to say.”
“Neither do I,” Philip admitted, “you’re the first person I’ve approached at this party. You seemed less intimidating than the others.”
Daniel snorted. “I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment in this day and age.”
Philip laughed. “It is to me. Could I get a name?”
“Uh, I’m Daniel,” he said, extending his hand. “Daniel Lester.”
Philip shook his hand. “I’m Philip Howard Jr, but I’m guessing you already knew that.”
Daniel smiled at the man, who was not at all who he expected to be owning the large house. He was certainly much nicer than any of Chester’s friends, or Chester himself, to be frank. “It’s nice to meet you, Philip Howard Jr.”
“And it’s a pleasure to meet you too, Daniel Lester,” Philip said, smiling brightly. Daniel felt a slow kaleidoscope of butterflies rise and float out of his stomach.
As if on cue, a waiter walked past the two of them, and tripped on a lone shoe that rested on the floor, red alcohol spilling all over Daniel’s suit. The waiter immediately leapt, picking the shards of glasses off the floor and quickly wiping Daniel with his handkerchief.
“Oh sir, I’m so sorry,” the waiter said, apologetically. “I can take you to the bathroom to clean it up, if you want.”
“Mr Martin, it’s fine,” Philip said, taking Daniel by the hand. His fingertips were soft and dainty, but was holding Daniel tight. “I will take care of Mr Lester. Make sure none of the guests cut themselves on the glass.”
“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” Mr Martin said, bending down to sweep the pieces of glass. Philip continued to take Daniel through the party, the crowd almost parting for them and lone people greeting and thanking Philip.
“You said you don’t know anyone here,” Daniel whispered, allowing himself to be dragged along by Philip.
“I don’t,” Philip insisted, “I only know the people who work for me by name. I try to be a good person.”
Of course he has and knows these workers, Daniel thought. From the looks of the house, he was so impossibly rich, his suit was probably made of spun gold.
Philip took him up the stairs, and down the hallway, where little figures lay. His house was almost a hotel, with the rows and rows of bedrooms. Suddenly, he heard a loud moan escape from one of the bedrooms. It really was like a hotel, Daniel thought.
“I apologise,” Philip said, slightly flushing. “I cannot control the decency of my guests.”
“It’s fine,” Daniel assured him, “my friend Chester is probably in one of those rooms.”
Philip laughed slightly, before stopping before a bookcase at the end of the hall. Daniel frowned in confusion, opening his mouth to ask a question, but the words froze in his mouth as Philip pushed the bookcase to the side, revealing a huge and fantastic bedroom. Philip took Daniel by the hand again, showing him to the bathroom as Daniel continued to be distracted by the large bedroom.
“This is your room?”
“Yes, my father installed it for me when I said I didn’t want his party guests going into my room while I was doing homework,” Philip said, then noticed the look on Daniel’s face. “Oh, it really isn’t a big deal.”
“Yes, it is,” Daniel insisted. “This is the biggest room I’ve ever seen.”
“Well,” Philip started, his face blushing again. “My family has been very fortunate.”
“That’s one word for it,” Daniel said absently, before he was dragged into the bathroom by Philip. He looked into the mirror, observing his suit. He had almost forgotten about the wine clinging to his suit and his skin. There was no way he could salvage it.
Philip immediately began dabbing the suit with soap and water, but he made little improvement. “Oh dear, I’m not sure whether you can wear this suit again.”
“It’s fine,” Daniel said, taking the jacket off, “I can just buy a new one when I get home.”
“How much did it cost?” Philip asked. “It was quite a nice suit.”
Daniel looked at Philip, and the bedroom and the bathroom, and found himself embarrassed to say. To be honest, he could recite the price of the suit, as he had saved up for it for months a few years ago. But what seemed like a big thing at the time seemed very little as compared to Philip’s wealth, and he didn’t wish to humiliate himself.
“It’s fine,” Philip quickly said, reading Dan’s falling expression, “I can pay for the drycleaning.”
“No, absolutely not,” Daniel said, “I can take care of it.”
“It was my worker spilling the wine on you. I will pay on his behalf. It really wouldn’t be a big deal. My drycleaning services are truly the best. One time, I spilt a whole mug of coffee on my pants, and they gave it back good as new.” Philip ranted, “I can pay for it.”
Daniel inspected Philip’s impression, and then nodded, giving him the suit jacket. “Alright. I can give you an address for you to send it to.”
“Perfect,” Philip said, grinning widely. He looked at Daniel again, and the wine that had spilt onto his shirt and pants. “But you cannot go outside like this again. Here, let me give you a suit for you to wear.”
“Oh no, I really can’t,” Daniel said, but Philip wasn’t listening anymore. He opened the door to his wardrobe, and walked inside, finding his way to the suit section.
“Come on,” Philip insisted, “We’re about the same size, and I don’t wear half of these suits. This one would fit you.”
Philip handed him the suit, including the jacket and a white shirt. Sighing without complaint, he made his way into the bathroom. He is extremely rich , Daniel thought as he began to take off his clothes, he would be fine with one less suit.
He observed himself in the mirror. It was a rather handsome suit, blue velvet with a burgundy inside, and gold lining surrounding the outsides. He buttoned it up as he made eye contact with himself in the mirror. The suit smelt like Philip’s cologne, and somehow that comforted him.
Quietly, he opened the door, half expecting Philip to have disappeared, but he was patiently sitting on the bed, waiting for Daniel. He immediately stood up as Daniel entered the room. He bent down to put the wet clothing on Philip’s bed, and suddenly found himself extremely close to Philip.
“How do I look?” Daniel breathed, not breaking eye contact with Philip. The colour of his eyes match my jacket, Daniel realised, noting how beautiful it matched him as well.
“Beautiful,” Philip whispered, “better than I ever did.”
They stayed like that for a while, both refusing to break eye contact with each other. Daniel felt his heart beating faster and faster, unsure whether that was because of Philip or because he was almost scared about what he could be.
“Except,” Philip murmured, “you have a bit of wine right here.”
“Where?” Dan asked, feeling around his face.
“Right here,” Philip said, and he laid his fingers on Daniel’s cheek, quickly sweeping off a stain. But even after it was gone, he let his hand linger there. Daniel brought his hand up, thinking of pushing it away, but it stayed there, holding onto Philip.
Heart pounding, Daniel watched Philip lean in, and found himself leaning too as their lips combined, tasting the cold champagne on Philip’s lips. His mind was screaming that this was wrong, and it was sinful, but his heart begged for more, leaning in and tasting more of Philip. Almost regretfully, they broke apart.
“I can’t tell you for how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Philip said, and Daniel was going to point out they had only met an hour ago, but something else in Daniel agreed with Philip. He felt like he had known Philip for a lifetime. Philip’s hand still lay on Daniel’s, and Daniel closed his eyes, memorising his gentle touch.
Footsteps echoed outside the bedroom, and Daniel had broken from the spell. He quickly cleared his throat, and straightened his suit jacket, his head burning from a headache.
“We best be going now,” Daniel said, turning to the door.
“Yes, we best,” Philip agreed, sliding the bookcase door, “people will be wondering where I am.”
Both in silence, they headed down the flight of stairs, past the moaning doors and into the crowded cluster of noisy voices. They squeezed past the people, and Daniel’s heart continued to erupt with every time his shoulder brushed Philip’s, avoiding his eye contact. Soon, they found themselves back at the bar where they began, the glass long gone. Philip opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a booming voice.
“Daniel!” Chester yelled, walking towards the pair of them, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where did you go?”
“I just had to go to the bathroom,” Daniel quickly said, but Chester was looking at the man next to him.
“Mr Howard. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Chester said, bringing out his hand for Philip to shake.
“Yes, Mr Wayne,” Philip said, smiling and taking his hand, Daniel watching, almost jealous of the touch. “Mr Lester told me all about you.”
“Did he?” Chester said, a booming laugh arising from his stomach. “Looks like he finally made a friend. Thank you for the party, Mr Howard, but Daniel and I will be going now.”
“Thank you for coming,” Philip said, “I’ll hope to see you again soon.”
Philip was looking directly at Daniel when he said that, but Daniel was still actively avoiding his pretty eyes. If he looked, he might have realised how beautiful he looked under the shining moonlight.
“I hope to see you too,” Chester said, pushing Daniel forward and away from Philip.
If Chester had noticed that Daniel’s suit had changed, he didn’t mention it. Secretly, Daniel always suspected that he knew that Daniel was a homosexual, but they had both reached a silent agreement neither would talk about it.
Chester didn’t ask any questions on the way back, speaking mainly about his own experiences at the party, laughing as he told a story about he almost hit on a girl who had a boyfriend and narrowly avoided getting beat up. Once they had reached Daniel’s house, Chester waved a thank you, already telling him about the plans to the next party.
About a week later, Daniel had come home from work, almost stepping on a package at the door. As he went inside, he opened and looked at the package. As Philip had promised, his suit looked good as new, with no sign of the wine that had once been all over it. Once he unloaded, he inspected a white piece of paper at the bottom. Expecting it to be a contract or a business card, he turned it over, but instead saw neat script.
Got your address off Chester. Thank you for coming, Mr Lester. I hope to see you soon. X
Daniel traced the letters, letting his fingers linger over the paper kiss, memories of that night pounding in his brain. Quietly, he took the paper and put it in his cupboard, waiting for it to grow old and age with time. In another world, maybe. In another world.
2009 AD, Manchester
Something about this felt right. This time he could tell.
He looked at the man sitting beside him, looking at the lights of Manchester below. He felt like this was a time he had lived a million times before, in different lifetimes, but this Dan and this Phil felt right. He smiled slowly in the realisation.
“What are you smiling at?” Phil asked, shuffling closer to him. The cart rocked slightly as the ferris wheel continued to turn.
“Nothing,” Dan said, looking at Phil. “Just you.”
Phil smiled gently back at him, taking his hand. “I’m glad you’re finally here.”
“It’s felt like years,” Dan admitted, still looking at Phil and the perfect curves of his face he once memorised in another world, in another time.
“It’s felt like longer,” Phil said, and he bent down, holding his forehead against Dan’s. They looked at each other for awhile, enchanted by the other’s presence.
“Your skin still shines in the moonlight,” Dan whispered, stroking his face, bathing himself in the coolness of the touch.
“What do you mean, still?” Phil murmured, but Dan was no longer paying attention. He leant in and kissed him, and it was everything he had dreamed during this life and the lifetimes before, tasting of late night latte and sugar and love, dark hair just within his touch. Everything was perfect under the stars, he thought, whether it was on a river or on a ferris wheel.
Phil looked back at him, lips parted and utterly beautiful in the light. Dan realised that his eyes weren’t blue, but green and yellow as well, and as beautiful and complex as himself.
But not everything was complex. “I love you,” Phil whispered, simple and short. He had seen it over texts, over Skypes, on Twitter, but this time, under the pale moonlight, it felt different.
“I love you too,” Dan replied, but it wasn’t so simple and it wasn’t so short. Dan knew he would love him, and would always love him, for this lifetime, and all past lifetimes, and all future lifetimes. Whatever name he had, he would always fall for him and love him.
They kissed again, and again, and again, more than they ever could imagine before, sweet whispers accompanying their sweet breaths. Again and again. I love you, I love you, I love you.
2022 AD, England
A quiet night again. Light rain pattered outside, gliding against glass windows and on the world below. Leaning against Phil, a blanket around them on the couch as they watched Netflix. Tonight, he tasted of popcorn and cereal, attempting to mix both in a bowl that lay just out of Dan’s reach so Phil could eat it all. A warm mug of coffee leant on Dan’s lap, almost spilling on the new couch they bought for the house.
There were still boxes everywhere, little items and trinkets still waiting to be unpacked, and furniture was still expecting to arrive, but they had managed to create a perfect home.
Not that possessions and materials really mattered. Secretly, Dan didn’t really care about that. He had long ago realised that once he was with Phil, he was home.
But this wasn’t the time to ponder about life and its purpose. He had done plenty of that already. Now, he was here, resting on Phil’s shoulder as they watched a movie neither of them understood as they both drifted off to sleep.
This was it. This was perfect. This was where he was always supposed to be.