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Douxie was 103 when he realised he’d never been in love. Or not love. He’d loved people. Archie. Merlin. But it was familial love. They had been parents. Siblings. Friends. They weren’t... romantic. He supposed he’d never really considered it. He hadn’t thought about it. He liked magic. Having fun. Playing music. Hanging out with Archie. He’d see people around him kissing. People in love. He wondered briefly if it was strange. To not crave a companion like that. To not desire romance. But it was fleeting. He’d always been like this. It wasn’t some grand revelation. The Greeks had nailed it. Seven words for love. Each different. Each important in their own way.
“Is there anyone special in your life?” Was a question many people had asked him. And he did. He had Archie. He had Merlin. Once he’d had Morgana. Now he had Jim, Claire, Zoe and Steve. Nari. They were special to him. He knew they didn’t meant it that way. They never did. They thought he’d had great romances. Whirlwinds of love. If they knew he was immortal, well then they thought he’d loved and lost. And he had. He had so many times. Maybe they weren’t lovers. Maybe they were friends. But there was no such thing as only friends. They were people he loved. He missed them. Wished they were still here.
“You must have had some wild nights.” It was said jokingly. Or with a grin. No cruelness behind the words. But Douxie knew what they meant. And it wasn’t like he’d never thought about it. About sleeping with someone. It just wasn’t something he was actually interested in. There was no urge or desire. Mostly it was so far removed that being asked about it threw him for a spin. He liked affection. Hugs. Fist bumps. High fives. What did any of the rest of it matter?
“You might be aromantic.” Claire had told him once. “Asexual too.” Douxie didn’t feel massively different hearing the words. They were words. But it helped him describe himself. It sounded right. They meant the right things. He just didn’t care. There were more important things. Cool things. Fun things. He’d probably heard the words before. Heard them in passing and never really registered them. He was immortal for goodness sake. He’d had centuries to work out who he was. And he hadn’t needed them. He knew.
Philia was one of his favourite words. Affectionate love. Friendship. It was everything to him. It was love. And that was all that mattered.