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They meet just once, a chance encounter untraceable to all but the most dedicated researcher.
Two school trips to the British museum; four wandering feet. They both get separated from their groups while looking for the restroom; they both get lost; they both see each other, standing across an empty room, surrounded by shelves of stolen history.
They are fourteen.
The one who is going to die of a heart condition, or then again may crash his bicycle, lifts a hesitant hand.
"Er, hello!" he says, unsure of any help from this quarter but desperate enough to ask.
The one whose bike will be hit by a car, or whose heart, perhaps, will fail him, startles and lifts his own hand to mirror the gesture.
"Um, hi?" he says. "Sorry, were you- were you talking to me?"
The first boy looks around. There is no one else in the room.
"Ah, yes," he says, putting on his grown-up voice now that the conversation is inevitable. "I just wanted to ask you if you happened to know where the restrooms are?"
The second boy's face falls. "No," he says regretfully. "Sorry. I've been looking myself, and no luck."
"Ah," the first boy says.
"I've been through the whole corridor back there," the second boy continues unprompted, waving a hand behind him. "I was hoping I'd find one that way," and he gestures in the direction the first boy has come from.
"Not unless I've missed something," the first boy says, in a tone that strongly implies he believes it more likely that the second boy missed something than that he himself did.
The second boy just nods, accepting this statement and the unspoken implication without question.
"Er, maybe if I backtrack there's something in the other direction?" he offers hopefully.
"Hopefully," the first boy says, and starts walking, taking long strides across the room toward the as-of-yet unexplored corridor ahead.
The second boy turns as he passes, falling in by his side and hurrying to keep up.
"Er, I hope you don't mind if I come with?" he asks, already slightly out of breath. "It's just, I'm heading the same way anyway-"
The first boy just shrugs and keeps walking.
They've passed two more exhibit rooms without speaking before the second boy breaks the silence again.
"I'm Martin, by the way," he offers.
"Jonathan," the first boy replies automatically, then reconsiders. "Jon." He's still trying to decide who he wants to be, and his name seems to change with everyone he meets. Being a Jonathan sounds very grown-up and professional indeed... but being a Jon feels friendlier, and less pressured to have all the answers.
"Nice to meet you, Jon!" Martin chirps, with the bright and slightly empty tone of someone following a script.
"You too," Jon says, just as rote, and hangs a left around the next corner.
"What are you doing here?" Martin asks, seemingly at random, and Jon gives him a weird look.
"I told you, I’m looking for the restrooms."
"No, I meant- like-" Martin can turn a truly impressive shade of red, "-at the museum, in general? I'm here with a school group, so..."
"Oh." Jon nods. That question makes a lot more sense. "Same here. We’re meant to be discussing Grecian history, but the teacher got distracted and is giving a lecture about preservation and archiving.” He rolls his eyes. “Boring stuff.”
Martin hums in agreement. “Mine’s been hanging around the nudey statues a bit too long,” he admits conspiratorially. “One of my classmates says she does this every time there’s a field trip here.”
Jon can feel a blush rising in his own cheeks, now. His classmates have reached an age where they’re starting to pay a little too much attention to the nude statuary, too, and it makes him uncomfortable in a way he can’t quite name.
“I can see why you wanted to get away.”
“You too.” Martin grins at him, the smile of someone getting away with something they probably shouldn’t. Jon feels his own lips twitching in response.
“Where are you from?” he asks. He doesn’t normally put in the effort to engage in small talk. He’s not sure why he wants to, now.
“Oh, uh,” Martin says. “Up near Manchester. You?”
“Bournemouth,” Jon says.
“Pretty far away,” Martin remarks, and Jon thinks there is regret in his voice.
“Yes.”
“You ever been here before?”
“To the museum?”
Martin nods.
“Uh, yes, a long time ago. Another school trip. I don’t remember much from it.” He tilts his head to the side. “You?”
Martin shakes his head. “This is the first. It’s a lot bigger than I was expecting.”
Jon can’t help it: he laughs. “It is one of the largest collections in the world,” he points out.
“Yeah, I know, but…” They’ve stopped walking, now. Martin is facing him, chuckling along.
“It’s different seeing it in person, yes,” Jon agrees, and Martin nods.
“You don’t realize just how many nudey bits there are until they’re in your face,” he says, and Jon cracks up laughing so hard he has to wipe tears from his eyes, from amusement and delight and embarrassment at the joke.
As his vision clears he finds himself looking over Martin’s shoulder, and spots the obvious sign on the wall.
“Oh,” he says, pointing. “There they are.”
Jon waits for Martin to finish drying his hands before leaving the restroom, and they exit side by side. There’s an awkwardness in the air that wasn’t there before; an uncertainty of where to go now that their goal has been reached.
“Well,” Jon says, twisting his hands together, suddenly and unaccountably unsure of himself. “I suppose I should be getting back to my group.”
"Yeah, me too," Martin echoes, looking shy. “Um. Enjoy the archiving.”
“Enjoy the nudes,” Jon says, with the flicker of a smile, and looks away quickly as Martin coughs, both their faces turning red. "It was, um," he salvages, falling back on a script and hating how formal it sounds. "It was nice to meet you, Martin."
"You too, Jon," Martin says, and suddenly the script doesn't sound formal at all. It sounds like something they both really, truly mean.
Something starts to ache in Jon's heart, like pre-emptive regret. Martin rubs a hand over his own chest.
"Maybe we'll bump into each other on the way out," Jon offers, like an olive branch or a life preserver.
"I'd like that," Martin says, smiling at him, and Jon finds his breath taken away by how beautiful it is. He's in the middle of a building filled with one of the world's largest collections of art and antiquities, but he finds that all he wants to look at or think about is that smile.
"I'll-" he begins, and clears his throat. He can see some of that same awe and wonder in Martin's eyes when he looks at Jon, and it scares him: that thrilling, life-giving fear of growing older and learning more about yourself and your own desires. "I'll see you around, then," he says, and he knows it is the coward's way out.
"See you," Martin says, still smiling as though Jon is being brave.
He turns and walks away. As he reaches the corner he allows himself a stolen glance back: Martin has reached the opposite corner, and has also proved a thief.
Even at this distance, Jon can see that Martin's blush mirrors his own for intensity when their eyes meet. He lifts a hand as if to shield himself: Martin throws him a jerky wave. Then they both turn, and flee.
They meet just the once, and it leaves no impact on the world that even the most dedicated researcher could find. But dedicated researchers cannot read the minds of fourteen year olds, and no one can unbury a past that has been lost to the grave.
They remembered each other. It was enough.