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Lovecraft entered the home they shared with slow, methodical steps. He had become weary, unable to properly rest for the better part of a century now. The measly 8 hours of sleep human beings survive on each night was nowhere near enough.
It seemed he was heading toward the particularity of a bedroom. There was something oppressive about the atmosphere of the home. The way the floorboards creaked under his weight, even the traces of mold in the corner, things he normally wouldn't care about. At the end of the hallway was the door to the room, and laying on the bed was John.
He seemed to perk up slightly at Lovecraft's arrival, albeit his eyes looked especially dull and tired today. This only drew out a weary sigh from him, settling down on the side of the bed and holding onto his hand.
Out of all vices and virtues of humanity, he has always hated aging, and moreso, death, the most. The idea of a gradual decay leading to nothingness always irked him in a way nothing else could. But he had the comfort of knowing he never got so close to a human being that he'd be forced to see their decline and imminent death.
Until John, that is.
For all intents and purposes, they spent a lifetime together, forming a bond he didn't even think he would be capable of forming. He still recalled every detail of their relationship from their introduction and first impressions. John gave him a firm, almost overly eager handshake, and they spoke for a little while after.
They were partners in The Guild, of course. After its' downfall, John created the 'Surviving Guild Forces'. He seeked out Lovecraft (even until today, he hasn't realized how John managed to find him in the first place) and invited him into the new Guild. He joined for some inexplicable reason, considering it a token of friendship.
"Howie? What's wrong...?" He gave him a tired look, smiling slightly.
"No, it's nothing, I'm just reminiscing about our past."
"Ah." His smile widened. "I think about those days a lot, too."
He gave a gentle squeeze to his hand, scanning his features.
"I still think you are beautiful." He muttered somewhat unexpectedly
"Hah... I somewhat expected that to be the case." He laughed "You're just as handsome as when we first met, in a very literal way..."
At this moment, he felt a sense of dread creep up on him. A premonition of things to come. At that, whatever it was inside his abdominal area that resembled a stomach, began churning.
Whatever it was that was telling him to speak now, whether reasonable or some kind of paranoia that spending so long among humans awakened inside of him, he decided to do it anyway. It was almost unusual, seeing as though it was John that did the talking most of the time.
"Do you recall when...we first started our relationship?"
He smiled again
"Of course I do, how could I ever forget?”
"A lot of time has passed since then."
"It’s something you just can't forget!"
•
"John. What is the meaning of this? Why did you drag me out here?" Lovecraft lamented as he sat down on the picnic blanket John layed down. "If it really is as urgent of a matter as you say, you could have told me right then and there."
"I– um..."
He sighed and looked ahead at the landscape from the cliff on which they were sat.
"Well?"
“I need to tell you something in private…”
“Which is?”
"I'm in love with you!" He blurted out suddenly, which only stirred confusion in him.
"You what—"
"Yeah, I'm in love with you! I don't know how, I don't know why! But I am!"
"John."
"...what?"
"You know I am not human."
"Yeah...?"
"So?"
"What do you mean ‘so’?"
"Doesn't that deter you?"
"No, why would it?"
For some reason, those words had a massive impact on him at the time. They still do whenever he thinks about these events, but that's not relevant right now. He felt...accepted. As contradictory as this may sound, he felt human. After a stretch of silence and gathering his thoughts, Lovecraft responded.
"All right."
"...huh? What do you mean?" John sounded slightly worried, fearful of ruining their bond with this.
"I accept."
•
"You seemed so worried, and yet, I can think of few instances when I saw you that...joyful."
"Yeah. You were one of my few friends…my best friend, I didn't want to lose you."
"I know. And you never did." He squeezed John's hand again, feeling woefully that his pulse seemed to grow slower. No, it cannot be... This wouldn't be their last day together. At least that's what he hoped. “Do you remember when…?”
•
"Howie! There's tears in your eyes! What's wrong?"
"Nothing, John, it's just… I think this is the happiest I have ever been.”
"Really, ever? In all your thousands of years alive?"
"Yes..." His voice was surprisingly soft as he fixed his tie while standing in front of the mirror. "Isn't this what humans call the most beautiful day in their lives?"
John laughed at that.
"Hah! Yeah, I suppose you're right! Some do, anyway. Including me!"
"Are you two ready?" Mark stuck his head in through the door. "All the guests are waiting already!"
"Oh, yes, that's right."
They smiled at one another, before Lovecraft went outside and stopped by the altar. The music started, and John walked out, wearing a white suit, with an excited expression across his face. They stood before each other, and it was more perfect than they ever hoped it could be.
•
"Your eyes are teary...are you okay, Howie?"
"Yes. I'm fine," he said while tracing the wedding band on John's finger gently.
"You've realized too, haven't you?" He gave a sad little smile. A painful silence befell the two of them, as the realization began to sink in. This was the final day, no, the final few moments Lovecraft could spend with his husband.
"It's not true, is it?" His voice gave away the despair he was feeling.
"Yes it is..." They kept looking at each other. As the moments passed, it seemed John's pulse started to slow even more, his breathing also becoming more quiet. Then, unexpectedly, he said something.
"Do you think we'll meet again?" He truly hoped they would. That, when he moves on to whatever afterlife—hopefully, Heaven—his husband would join him there someday, and they could embrace one another yet again.
They looked at each other, hope in John's eyes and grief in Lovecraft's.
"Yes. I think so. One day, we shall meet again." He squeezed his hand. Of course they wouldn't. After all, one of them is a mortal at the door of death. The other is immortal. Eternal. Bound by a fate of solitude.
"Alright...that's good to hear. I love you, Howie." He smiled slightly for one final time, before his eyelids slowly closed. Yet, the small smile didn't leave his face, remaining on as the expression in which he'd become 'eternal'.
Lovecraft hesitated to let go of his hand, knowing well that he'll have no chance to grasp it again once he does. Eventually, however, he did, standing up after. He stepped closer to John's face, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on his forehead.
"I love you as well. And I'll miss you."
He then straightened his back, turned around, and headed out to sea with no intention of ever returning.