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Thermopylae – 480 BC
Philippos sat on a rock, looking out over the sea. He thought of the god Eros, who granted the gift of love to men. It helped slightly to take his mind off the harsh reality of where he was, and what awaited them all.
Leonidas had sent most of the men away, but 700 Thespians, Philippos included, had stayed to fight alongside the Spartans. He ran his thumb along the side of his shield, praying to Eros and Ares and Zeus and Athena to make it strong, and to steady his hands and heart.
A shadow fell over him suddenly, and he looked up to see a Spartan soldier, holding out a piece of pomegranate.
“For you,” the soldier stated, half a smile tugging at his lips.
“Thank you,” Philippos said hesitantly, taking the fruit.
The soldier sat down next to him, watching as he picked at the pomegranate seeds.
“My name is Daniil,” he said at length, his eyes never leaving Philippos’ face.
“Philippos is mine,” the other replied.
“Do you fear the morning?” Daniil asked.
“Yes. Do you not?
Daniil laughed, heartily. “No, I do not. I will find a beautiful death here.”
Philippos held his tongue. He had never quite understood Spartan valour.
“But, before I die, I will enjoy other beautiful things. Like you.”
Philippos looked at Daniil, startled by his words. He felt as though his face had been scorched by Hyperion himself. He stuttered and jumped to his feet, but the Spartan grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.
“Please do not go,” Daniil said, with none of his earlier bravado.
For a moment Philippos saw – not a Spartan warrior – but a young man, with a hint of vulnerability hiding in his dark eyes.
“I’ll stay,” he said.
Two and a half days later, Daniil and Philippos stood side by side, shield to shield, as the Persian army started their final onslaught.
Daniil turned slightly, looking at Philippos.
“You’re eyes are the exact shade of the Aegean, did you know?”
Philippos smiled. “Maybe we can go live on an island in the Aegean, once this war is won.”
But they both knew no Greek would leave Thermopylae alive today.
“You can still go,” Daniil said, a hint of desperation in his voice.
“I will stay,” Philippos said as the first volley of Persian arrows flew toward them.
Pompeii – 79 AD
Daniel leaned against the side of the ship, taking in the city spread at the foot of the great mountain. Everywhere there was colour and life. His eyes searched the docks, looking for a familiar face, blue eyes and hair as black as charcoal.
Daniel saw him just as the plank was lowered onto the dock. He rushed down, waving and calling.
“Philip! Hey, Philip!”
Philip turned, a bright smile breaking over his face as he saw his friend.
“Finally!” he exclaimed as he pulled Daniel into an embrace. “I am so happy you are here!”
“As am I,” Daniel replied, smiling his dimpled smile as he arranged for his belongings to be taken to his new place of residence.
He would be studying art in this magnificent city, and he’d be close to Philip, which made his stomach turn in a most pleasant way.
“You’ve arrived just in time for the festival of Vulcanalia! It will be fantastic,” Philip enthused as they started to make their way through the city.
The festival was the best Daniel had ever experienced, due in no small part to Philip. They drank wine and danced and laughed at dirty jokes and the rather risqué frescoes scattered throughout the city.
The pale light of dawn was already lightening the horizon when they made their way to Philip’s house, arm in arm, singing half-drunkenly as the went. They finally made it through the right door and collapsed on Philip’s bed, limbs tangling together in the confined space. It was chaos for a while as they each tried to lie as comfortably as possible, and Daniel ended up lying half on top of Philip. Their faces were close enough that he could see the yellow and green flecks in Philip’s Mediterranean-blue eyes. It was Philip who leaned closer, pressing his lips lightly to Daniel’s. The kiss was chaste, but ignited a spark in Daniel’s chest. He twined the fingers of one hand into Philip’s hair and kissed him again, this time slipping his tongue past the other’s lips.
They kissed for a long while, before falling into a deep, content sleep.
A horrible thunder woke Daniel from his dreams. He was disoriented in the dark. The thunder continued, but there were no flashes of lightning.
“Philip,” he said loudly, shaking his friend’s shoulder. Philip’s blue eyes opened slowly.
“Philip, wake up, something is wrong!” Daniel was truly afraid. He could feel the ground move beneath them.
They stumbled out of bed, and went to the door to see outside. Just then the earth suddenly shook, there was a horrible cracking sound and one of the stone beams across the door dropped down.
Philip’s cry of pain echoed strangely in Daniel’s mind.
“Philip!” he cried out, reaching toward his friend. In the gloom, he could just make out the sight of the stone beam, surrounded by other pieces of debris, lying across Philip’s left leg. Daniel couldn’t see the blood, but he could smell it. It filled the air, overpowering the burning, sulphur aroma pervading the darkness.
Daniel grabbed the end of the beam, trying desperately to lift it off Philip’s leg, but it wouldn’t move.
Philip was being very quiet, but Daniel could hear the sharp intakes of breath that meant he was in a great deal of pain. Daniel stood up, standing behind Philip and bending down to grab him under his arms.
“I’ll try to pull you out,” he said, ignoring the smells and heat that was triggering every instinct for him to flee. “It might hurt.”
He pulled with all his might and Philip screamed in agony. Daniel kept pulling, but it was no use.
“Daniel,” Philip’s tear choked voice reached his ears and he sank to the ground, gently taking his friend’s face in his hands, wiping away the tears that spilled from those blue eyes.
“Daniel, go, you have to leave now!” Philip beseeched him, but Daniel shook his head.
“I will stay,” he murmured, placing a kiss on Philip’s lips. He lay down beside the other man, winding their hands together as the fire consumed Pompeii.
Xi Xia – 1207
Dání’ěr gently set last of his inks on their new shelf. He turned at a soft knock on the door of his new bedroom.
“Will you have tea with me?” asked Feilìpŭ.
Dání’ěr had moved into Feilìpŭ’s house three days ago, and they were starting to get used to each other’s constant presence.
“Yes, please,” Dání’ěr smiled at Feilìpŭ.
Dání’ěr watched Feilìpŭ make the tea, admiring his long, pale fingers and feeling a rush of fondness every time Feilìpŭ’s tongue poked out the side of his mouth in concentration. His blue eyes – a feature so rare as to be unique – settled on Dání’ěr’s face with a half-amused, half-affectionate expression.
“It’s rude to stare,” he admonished, but there was no severity in his tone.
Dání’ěr cheeks heated, but he gave a cheeky smile.
“Beautiful things are meant to be stared at,” he returned, reaching out the take Feilìpŭ’s hand.
This time it was the older man who blushed, his pale skin turning a lovely shade of pink. He leaned forward and kissed Dání’ěr, exceptionally happy with life. His lover and best friend had finally moved into his home and they had an entire day to themselves.
The sounds of a commotion outside finally broke them apart. Dání’ěr looked questioningly at Feilìpŭ before they got up to see what was going on.
Two young men were running towards them, screaming at the people on the streets.
“What did he say?” asked Dání’ěr, hoping that he had heard wrong.
“Mongol hordes are approaching,” Feilìpŭ said, disbelief on his face.
Feilìpŭ grabbed one of the men by the arm as he ran past.
“What’s happening?” he asked, his tone severe.
“They are almost here, the Mongol army of the Genghis Khan. They will raze this town and all others to the ground, we must flee!”
“We will stand and fight!” an angry voice said from behind them. It was the cousin of the leader of their town. “We will not bow to them.”
Dání’ěr looked fearfully at Feilìpŭ. There was a hardness in his blue eyes that made Dání’ěr think of frozen rivers.
They went back inside their house. Feilìpŭ held out his arms and Dání’ěr gladly stepped into his embrace. Outside they could hear much different sounds now. People screaming, the sound of metal clanging, the thud of horses’ hooves.
They broke apart, and Dání’ěr grabbed one of the crossbows from the rack beside the door. Feilìpŭ took one too, much more hesitantly.
“You don’t have to fight,” Dání’ěr said quietly, reaching up and cupping the back of Feilìpŭ’s neck with his free hand. Their noses were almost touching. Dání’ěr knew that Feilìpŭ had only rarely used any kind of weapon, his soul was much too gentle, and he hadn’t had Dání’ěr’s hard upbringing. “Take a horse, flee.”
But Feilìpŭ shook his head, kissing Dání’ěr with a hurried urgency.
“I will stay,” he said as they broke apart. Together they went back outside, to meet the Mongol army.
London - 1666
“Philip, I’m home!” Daniel shouted, scraping his boots against the neighbour’s doorstep, before going into the small house he and Philip shared. Philip came clambering down the rickety stairs, stumbling on the bottom step and nearly falling. He grabbed Daniel’s arm to steady himself, ignoring the younger man’s chuckles.
“Did you get anything nice?” Philip asked, motioning to the satchel Daniel was carrying.
Daniel smiled indulgently at his friend. “I finally found a bakery nearby. I got you a cake.”
He handed it to Philip, who thanked him with a smile. Then he pulled the rest of the purchases from the satchel and put them in the appropriate cupboards. They had only moved to London a week ago, and already Philip’s disorganized personality was pervading the house. Daniel found a woollen sock behind a jar of honey, and held it out to Philip with an exasperated expression on his face. Philip looked sheepish as he took the sock and stuffed it a pocket. There was a bit of cream on his lip. Without thinking, Daniel cupped his chin and wiped the offending cream away with his thumb. There was a heated moment, where neither of them moved or spoke, then Daniel pulled his hand away and busied himself with making supper.
They ate in comfortable silence, then did the washing up together.
Philip, clumsy as always, tripped over his own feet while putting a bowl on a high shelf, stumbling sideways into Daniel, who caught him around the waist. Their faces were only inches apart, and in the dim light from the candles, Philip’s eyes were the colour of the Thames on a sunny day. Daniel kissed him, ignoring the voices of the priests from his youth, telling him that lust for another man was a horrifying sin. Philip returned the kiss, twisting around so his body was flush against Daniel’s. The younger man moaned breathily, backing up until his knees hit the table. They spent an immeasurable amount of time entwined with each other, exploring lips, hands, eyes until they both felt a need to remove the cloth barriers between their bodies.
Finally, Daniel broke away from Philip.
“This is wrong,” he whispered, “it’s sinful, Philip.”
“I don’t care,” Philip said, his voice deeper than usual. “I love you.”
Daniel met Philip’s eyes. “I love you too.”
Much later, in the dead of night, Philip was woken by screaming. He disentangled his limbs from Daniel’s, and went to the window to look outside. For a second he thought that they’d ended up in Hell for the sin of loving each other, then he realized it was just London. But not peaceful, night time London. No, the city was on fire, the flames so high and powerful that Philip could feel their heat on his face, even though it seemed to be a few blocks away still. Daniel came to stand next to him, eyes wide in speechless horror.
“Get dressed,” Philip told him urgently, “we can’t stay here.”
Daniel nodded and did as he was told. Outside on the street, there seemed to be a battle between order and chaos. People were running, mostly away from the flames, but some seemed desperate to go toward the flames, crying out for family and friends.
Philip and Daniel joined the latter group, finding the most organized team of men and offering their help. There was little to be done except try to get as many people as far away from the flames as possible. One hysteric woman grabbed Philip’s arm.
“My son!” she screeched, “My son is still inside, I tried to hold him back, but I couldn’t!”
She was pointing to a house, already starting to burn. Both Philip and Daniel ran inside, heedless of their own safety. Daniel finally found the little boy, clutching a kitten. He grabbed him up and ran for the door, depositing the boy in his mother’s arms. He turned to Philip to say that they should move farther from the blaze, only Philip wasn’t there. He looked back at the doorway of the house, ringed with orange tongues of flame, turned and ran back inside. He screamed for Philip, and finally heard an answering cry. Philip was in the kitchen, three kittens with singed fur in his arms. There were two more at his feet.
“I couldn’t leave them,” Philip’s voice betrayed the fear he felt.
Daniel grabbed the kittens from the floor. “Come on, Philip!”
Philip ran with him, toward the door, but they found their way blocked by burning timbers that had fallen from the roof.
There was no other escape, as the conflagration around them closed in.
Philip seemed truly terrified. Daniel shifted the kittens to one arm and put the other around his friend’s shoulders, resting his head in the crook of his neck.
“Please don’t leave me,” he thought he heard Philip whisper in a tear choked voice.
“I will stay,” Daniel said, pressing his lips to Philip’s soot covered cheek, not looking anywhere but at Philip’s blue eyes as the ceiling collapsed.
Mgungundhlovu – 1838
Daniël looked up at the pale blue sky. There was a cloudbank far to the east, but he knew better than to think it held any promise of rain. Beside him, he felt Filip’s arm move, as his friend tipped more beer into his mouth.
“How can you drink that?” Daniël asked with distaste. The yellow-ish liquid was think and mealy and made Daniël’s eyes water.
Filip shrugged. “It’s polite.”
His eyes seemed to reflect the colour of the sky, reminding Daniël of the waves that crashed continuously on the Cape of Good Hope, hundreds of miles away.
Daniël rolled his eyes. Filip’s insistence on good manners was almost British and Daniël gave him a lot of grief over it, saying he should have stayed in the Cape instead of joining the trek with the Boere.
“Going well, boys?” A voice said from behind them.
They turned to see Piet Retief, coming towards them.
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Good,” he said, swatting at a fly. “We’ve been invited to view the Zulus dancing for us as a farewell. Come along.”
They obediently got up and joined the rest of their group in the innermost circle of Dingane’s stat.
Daniël and Filip watched the Zulus dancing, joking with the other men sat around them. The dancers were closing the space between them and the Boere, their faces turning slowly less friendly. Filip and Daniël shared an uncomfortably glance. More beer was passed along to them.
Across from them, Dingane called out: “Drink! Drink the beer – your burning throats need it, because tomorrow you will drink no more!”
“What did he just say?” Daniël turned to his friend, just as a harsh cry sounded over the stat.
“Bulala abatagati!” Kill the wizards!
There was no time to run, no weapons to reach for, since they’d been left with the horses outside the stat.
The Zulus grabbed them, dozens of arms encircling their bodies, dragging them toward the hill, Hlom’amaButho. Daniël just barely managed to hold onto Filip’s shirtsleeve, his fingers locking as if it were a lifeline.
As they finally reached the rocky outcrop, one of the Zulus tried to separate Filip from Daniël, but he grabbed his sweaty hand, holding on so tightly he cut of the circulation, turning his knuckles white.
“I will stay!” Filip shouted at the man, whose dark skin gleamed like polished mahogany as he raised his arm to strike a deathblow.
Dachau – 1943
“Daniël!”
The loud whisper made Daniël turn, seeing Philipp coming towards him. He was standing behind the barracks, shovelling snow away from the paths the officers’ cars used. The nearest other person was a few hundred yards away, also trying to clear the way between coughing fits.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Daniël said harshly. “You’ll get us both into trouble.”
He didn’t look at Philipp, even though his heart ached for a glance of his kind face. The uniform he wore made Daniël’s stomach turn, with the swastika around his arm and the lightning-bolt insignia of the SS gleaming sharply in the winter sun.
“I have something for you,” Philipp said quietly, turning slightly to hide the package he was holding out to Daniël. The younger boy glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then took the package and unwrapped the cloth. Inside was half a loaf of fresh bread, a piece of cold beef and a hunk of soft cheese.
“No!” Daniël pushed the food back into Philipp’s gloved hand, looking horrified. He met the blue gaze for the first time. “I won’t take it!”
“Please, Daniël,” Philipp looked pained. “If you won’t eat it, give it away, but take it all the same.”
Daniël shook his head adamantly, but Philipp merely pushed the package into the emaciated boy’s pocket. Daniël’s eyes were sparkling with tears as Philipp turned sharply on his heel and walked away. He tried not to dwell on how thin Daniël had become, how his bones seemed to cut through his skin, or how he had been shivering with cold beneath the thin uniforms the prisoners were allowed to wear. Philipp had always had a soft heart and the cruelty he had witnessed these past few years had left him feeling less than human, since he could do so very little against it. His father, highly placed within the Nazi party, had secured him this job, close to Munich, far from the trenches, but Philipp would much rather have died as a common foot soldier than live here in reasonable comfort. Then he’d seen a pair of huge, terrified brown eyes and had resolved to stay. Only for Daniël, to try to keep him alive until the end of the war, which he suspected (despite the propaganda) Germany was losing.
A few days later, Philipp brought Daniël more food, where the younger boy was again shovelling snow.
“Philipp, you shouldn’t take these risks!” Daniël complained, looking unhappy. Philipp knew that Daniël gave the food to the children and kept none for himself. That was why he kept bringing more.
“I can do whatever I want,” Philipp said with a tilt of his head. Then he stuck out his tongue at Daniël, noting with pleasure the slight quirk of the boy’s chapped lips.
“Why do you do such suicidal things, hm?” Daniël asked.
Philipp just smiled and walked away again, leaving Daniël puzzled.
The first time Daniël had seen Philipp had been right after he’d received his number, tattooed on his skin. He had been staring at the ugly blue mark, blinded by tears and had tripped over a loose stone and tumbled to the ground. If it had been any other officer, Daniël might have gotten a beating, but it was Philipp who had reached him first. Daniël had been testing his bleeding knee, trying to see how badly it was hurt, when a shadow fell over him. He had looked up, into eyes as blue as the waters of the Danube. The officer extended his hand. Daniël took it slowly, terrified of what the man might do to him, but the officer merely helped him to his feet, gave a small smile and walked away. A few days after that, the officer had come to talk to him while he was helping to unload crates from a train car.
“I’m Philipp,” he had said, “what’s your name?”
“146287,” Daniël had recited the number on his tattoo with unconcealed bitterness in his voice. To his surprise, the officer looked suddenly pained.
“No, your name,” he’d said, “not that horrid number.”
“Daniël,” Daniël had said, looking at the officer – Philipp – in a different light.
“How is your knee, Daniël?” Philipp had asked, genuine concern on his face.
“Much better.”
Philipp had sought him out as often as he could and slowly, over the course of three years, they had built an unorthodox friendship. But Daniël still didn’t understand why Philipp was so kind to him. All the suffering he’d seen here had given him an acute mistrust of any German officer.
On the next occasion Philipp came to talk to him, he asked a question that had long weighed on his mind.
“Are you going to kill me?” Daniël looked at Philipp, refusing to avert his gaze.
Philipp’s eyes widened. “Of course not! I’m trying to help you, Daniël.”
“Why?” Daniël demanded. “Every other man bearing that insignia wants us dead. Why would you help me?”
“Because I can’t justify this cruelty, and I can’t fight against it, but I can help one person. If I can help only one, maybe God will forgive all the others I could not save! I need to know that you are still alive to even get a little sleep at night. I will never hurt you, Daniël.”
Daniël could not doubt Philipp’s sincerity. He reached out a hand, red and cracked from the cold and lightly touched Philip’s shoulder for a brief moment.
Philipp held out yet another package to him, which he hesitantly took.
“Thank you,” he whispered. It was the first time he had thanked Philipp for anything.
To his shock, Philipp took his face in ungloved hands, smiling.
“You are most welcome, liebschen.”
Then he pressed his warm lips to Daniël’s forehead in a sweet, lingering kiss.
“Obersturmführer!” an outraged voice cried out.
A horrible cold settled in Philipp’s bones as he turned to face his superior officer.
“Oberführer Eicke,” Philipp said, fighting the urge to yell at Daniël to run.
“Obersturmführer Lester, what is going on here?” Eicke demanded. “Tell me I did not see you kiss this Jew!”
“I cannot.” Philipp said, hating himself. He had wanted to save Daniël, but now he had signed both their death warrants.
Daniël was immediately grabbed by two more officers, who dragged him to stand against the barrack wall. He did not resist.
“You can’t do this! Please, Herr Eicke,” Philipp said, breaking all the rules of being a good soldier as he pleaded for Daniël’s life.
Eicke turned to him. “You can leave now, and be reassigned, or stay and die with this Judenschwein.”
“Nein!” Daniël shouted, earning a blow to his stomach.
“I will stay,” Philipp said. The conviction in his voice brought a warm rush of affection over Daniël, even as he shook his head in abject horror. Philipp – the wonderful, lovable idiot – was going to die for him.
He took his place against the wall, next to Daniël. They clasped hands, Daniël gently squeezing Philipp’s fingers, hoping to convey his love, before the officers pulled their triggers.
London – 2015
Dan dropped onto the sofa next to Phil, his eyes distant and with a little frown above his nose. He leaned sideways until his head was resting on Phil’s shoulder.
“What are you listening to?” Dan asked, waving his hand half-heartedly to indicate the music drifting from the laptop speakers.
“Tool,” Phil answered, tilting his head to gently bump against Dan’s. He stared blankly at his laptop screen, moving the cursor in little circles. At times like these, with the lines between them blurred in this way, Phil wondered what would happen if he just kissed Dan. Would Dan snap out of his existential crisis or would their friendship go up in flames?
We barely remember who or what came before this precious moment...
Dan gave a tiny sigh, closing his eyes and focusing on the sound of Phil’s even breathing. He drew strength from his friend, trying to push down the darkness of his thoughts. Today was one of those days where Dan felt like he had lived an infinite number of lifetimes, repeating the same flawed pattern over and over again. He tried desperately not the think about the futility of existing. Instead he listened to the music, that managed to be heavy and soothing at the same time.
Be my reminder here that I am not alone this body...
Dan fell asleep and dreamt about the sun baking down on the African landscape. He knew Phil was here. Phil would never let him drift too far away. Even as the vultures swooped lower and lower, Dan knew that he would be okay.
“Dan?” Phil’s voice woke him, and he blinked slowly, his thoughts still swirling through blue African skies. For a moment he did not know where he was, but Phil’s face brought him back.
“What’s wrong,” he mumbled, his voice slurring from sleep.
“You shouldn’t sleep on the sofa,” Phil said, “you’ll hurt your neck again.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dan muttered, letting Phil pull him to his feet. He didn’t let go of his friend’s pale hand, though. Phil’s eyes flickered from their entwined hands to Dan’s face, questioning.
Dan said nothing until they reached his bedroom door. He took a deep breath and looked at Phil.
“Will you stay with me tonight? Please?”
For a second, Dan was certain that Phil would refuse. Then he nodded, and pushed open the door, leading Dan into the room, where Phil lay down on the bed next to him. They hadn’t shared a bed in years, not since those chaotic first days of their friendship.
Twirling round with this familiar parable
Spinning, weaving round each new experience...
Dan was the one who leaned closer and pressed his lips to Phil’s.
Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate this chance to be alive and breathing...
“I am so afraid of dying sometimes,” Dan whispered when they finally broke the kiss.
“You won’t die, Bear,” Phil assured him. “Not until you’re old and gray and reduced to wearing diapers again.”
Dan giggled, a ray of sunshine breaking through the gloom in his mind, just like it always did in Phil’s presence.
Dan slowly fell asleep again, curled up against Phil’s warmth.
This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality...
Phil lay awake for a long while after that, running his fingers through Dan’s curls.
Embrace this moment. Remember...
“We are eternal. All this pain is an illusion,” Phil whispered the lyrics to the darkness.
The next morning, Dan woke Phil with soft, curious kisses. Phil smiled against Dan’s lips.
“Breakfast,” he murmured, starting to get up, but Dan pulled him back down.
“Don’t go,” Dan pouted, giving him puppy-dog eyes the way only Dan could.
Phil chuckled. “Fine, I will stay... on one condition.”
“What?” Dan raised an eyebrow.
“I want more kisses.”
Dan happily obliged.