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“We were crazy to think, crazy to think that this could work
Remember how I said I'd die for you?
We were stupid to jump in the ocean separating us
Remember how I'd fly to you?”
False God, Taylor Swift
"Dust,
crumbles from the empty song of the heart.
Embers,
invade the secret tunnels of my realm,
where the paladin met his mage
among weeping leaves
under the purple rain.
Grains,
are what remains of the brave armour.
Even the hardest of my metal
has bent to your will,
my dearest, my beloved, my lovely mage.
Clouds remain,
flakes of the childish and candid richness
of what our lips were able to touch;
the sky, an infinite sea of memories.
Too far away,
too unreachable.
Like you and me.
My sword.
Your powers.
Yet we wanted to use our hearts as shields,
and in the end, they are the ones with the most wounds.
Is that fair?
I abandoned my sword and cloak,
because the paladin lost
his dearest and purest flower,
orphaned from the sweetest and most beautiful light that ever touched him.
The crystal guardian now shattered.
The heart inside lies like a torn love letter.
His hands now tremble only from the effort,
stained with black ink
that sucks the soul
into the inner void
where he can see her.
The stories.
There.
There he will find her.
In the emptiness of the ink
in the sound of his typewriter
in the light of the last sunset they shared,
where through a violet light he will see her shadow;
the shadow and the light of the mage.
The delicate touch of the pages tickled his thumb.
The rustle of paper in the wind was the first thing Mike heard.
Then, the darkness behind his eyes turned gray, fading into a pale white, as his eyelids opened to a new day.
His body welcomed the warmth of the sun’s rays through the open gaps in the windows.
He had stayed up late.
Again.
Writing, editing, and reading had kept him awake once more.
Mike lifted himself on his elbows and, running a hand through his black curls, took a look around the messy room. He tilted his head back, sighing.
It had been in that state of confusion for years now.
The edges of the pages—which he still held in his hand—gently scratched the back of his hand, bringing him back to the previous evening.
A soft smile rippled across his lips.
Sitting on the bed, proudly dressed in his new Star Wars pajamas with lots of little Yodas, he picked up the sheets that had fallen on the floor during the night. He straightened them calmly, while his eyes drifted over the notes he had handwritten beside the sentences typed years before.
Reading those poems, written during sleepless nights in college with a little too much bitter liquor mixed with silent tears, was cathartic. Above all, now, in this new chapter of his life… his poems in diaries, his books displayed on the shelves at home, the stories sketched in notebooks and small sheets he always had in his pocket… these were the key to his life. To continue living.
They were the memory, the lesson, the pain that had pushed him to reclaim life.
His life.
If he was where he was at that moment, he owed it mainly to his poems: an outlet, a silent friend in the darkness of life, a shout of love sent to the clouds of his midnights; an arrow that, instead of hitting him, had guided him.
Different from the arrows of the elves in The Lord of the Rings. Better than Cupid’s.
Mike was so grateful for that bundle of poems that he kept them carefully in his drawer. Always within reach. Because he didn’t want to let go of anything.
Especially if there was someone who loved hearing them.
The dull sound of the drawer closing, after having put the poems inside, finally awakened his senses.
He swayed toward the door, stretching his arms. “What can I eat?” He inhaled deeply, and a delightful smell teased his nose. It came from the kitchen, filling the corridor up to there, over the stairs. “Eggos. Of course!”
A delicate smile curled the corners of his mouth and his sleepy eyes.
“Betty… really knows how to spoil me.”
“You knew the hero died, so what's the movie for?”
hoax, Taylor Swift
Flowers colored the entire meadow.
Summer had just begun, and all the most beautiful shades of yellow, blue, and lilac were blooming in every corner of his garden.
As he did every morning, Mike turned on the sprinkler that watered the lawn while he tended to the aromatic plants under the porch. He gathered a few books and art supplies from the ground, the comb, some hair ties, and the brushes left in disarray on the swing as well. He tidied everything up on the small table beside it.
“When she comes back and sees them, she’ll surely be happy.” Mike thought, while another idea buzzed around in his head.
He picked some yellow and purple buds and arranged them in the crystal vase Holly had sent him as a wedding gift. It was Betty’s favorite, with all the floral details blooming through the carved ivy and the raised butterflies.
Mike set it down on the kitchen table, rich with memories carved into the wooden walls; bright in the paintings that filled every corner; colorful in the collages hanging up and in the tapes and vinyl records arranged on the bookshelf next to the television.
Sunlight poured softly through the windows, filtering past the plants, the purple flowers, and the hand-embroidered curtains.
A clever tail brushed over a few petals, while dark little paws moved nimbly among the brushes laid out to dry on a cloth.
“Good morning, Lilac.” Mike stroked the Siamese cat, who answered him with a slow meow. “Will you keep me company?”
The animal stretched, enjoying a little more of its owner’s affection. It settled into Mike’s arms, watching him curiously with its lilac eyes. When it grew tired, it leapt onto the windowsill overlooking the porch.
“Wait for me, okay? Wait for me.” Mike ran into their studio and, from the side dedicated to his hobbies, retrieved his classical guitar. He passed shelves full of characters from his comics, low dressers covered with decoupage-decorated objects, portraits and books that adorned nearly every stretch of the hallways.
The cat dozed on the windowsill. Its tail, as dark as its paws and muzzle, swayed slowly against some of the large leaves of the plants filling the porch.
“You don’t miss a single one of my playing sessions.” Mike chuckled as he settled onto the swing, not before leaving a kiss between the kitty’s ears. “I should’ve suspected you’d already figured it out.” He rested the guitar on his legs, stretching them out on the soft cushion, and began to pluck a few notes. He closed his eyes, feeling the air tease the hair on his forehead. He heard the sweet song of the little birds in the trees of his garden, so he decided to follow their melody, creating in a short time a tune that aligned with theirs.
Mike was just about to reach a steady rhythm when something—a strange, deep sensation—made his heart leap out of time. He immediately opened his eyes and turned toward Lilac.
The cat was sleeping on the windowsill. It was at peace.
And so was the nature surrounding him.
Everything was calm and slow. Like the past few years.
But that inner jolt, that turmoil that had churned his insides, pulled Mike far back in time.
Suddenly the peace—one he had struggled to learn how to live with over the years—shattered before his eyes. It was as if the reality he knew had cracked into countless tiny shards of glass, leaving him with a heavy emptiness deep in his stomach.
Mike knew that feeling. Far too well. And he didn’t like it at all.
Quickly, he abandoned the guitar and the sweet melody of the birds and followed that unnatural—yet instinctive—urge that had always led him back to her.
“I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs
The smell of smoke would hang around this long
'Cause I knew everything when I was young
I knew I'd curse you for the longest time
Chasin' shadows in the grocery line
I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired
And you'd be standin' in my front porch light.”
cardigan, Taylor Swift
This time as well, it was like the first one that had happened to him, back in November 1987.
That undefined moment, with the chilling and liberating taste of infinity, which had sent him flying back into the past, reminding him of the true beats of the heart and the burning fire of extinguished blood amid screams and tears; awakening the soul’s hope with a single invisible touch of a hand on his shoulder.
His hands, trembling and motionless on the keys of his typewriter, and the word “mage” pulsing like a newborn star beneath his eyes, growing more and more clouded.
The page blurred before his fogged vision, while the grip on his shoulder grew stronger and more real.
Mike had then turned around and—around him, everything went black for an instant.
That sensation of pure free fall into the void and of true life vanished, just as it had appeared.
In the blink of an eye, everything ended.
With a snap of fingers, everything was dead. Again.
Except—
The echo of a soft voice, rich with love, thundered in his ears, burning his heart.
It was calling him.
“Is it… you?”
The desk lamp in his bedroom went out, just a few moments before the power in his dormitory failed.
“But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west
I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best
But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me.
But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm
If your cascade ocean wave blues come
All these people think love's for show
But I would die for you in secret.”
peace, Taylor Swift
And now—in his present—he turned off the car and got out quickly.
The supermarket was across the street.
Mike took a deep breath, devising a sort of improvised plan as his legs started moving toward the entrance. He quickly put on his hat, flattening a few black curls.
“Curls! Make them prettier!” Betty had once told him before falling asleep in his arms.
Mike was about to go in when the image of the angelic face that filled his dreams was shattered by the dull sound of breaking glass. Pushed by adrenaline, he slammed open the entrance door of the bar next to the supermarket and saw mugs scattered across the floor in stinking puddles of beer.
The wooden counter was empty.
The customers stood frozen, watching the scene unfold before them.
The owner held the only little girl in the place safely, far too crowded for the early hour.
The man at the center of the chaos reeked terribly and pointed, shouting, toward the woman a few meters away. He had spat near her shoes, cursing in a language other than Icelandic, distorted by the stammer caused by his obvious morning drunkenness.
“I-I saw you! I s-saw what you did, w-witch!” he yelled, pointing at the woman and the girl. “Y-you… wanted to s-steal… my beer! You made it f-fly… out of my hands…!” Then he turned to the onlookers and the owner. “I s-saw it! I—” He froze when he met the only gaze in the small crowd that showed no fear at all.
From beneath the brim of his hat, Mike was skewering him with his glare.
“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” the woman interjected, cutting through Mike’s silent, piercing threat. “As I already said,” she added, her voice calm and measured.
“Shut up, witch!”
“We just came for take-away coffees.” Then she turned to the owner. “Tell me the cost of the broken glasses, and I’ll pay for all of them.”
“D-don’t you l-listen?!” the drunk man shouted, glaring at her with bloodshot eyes.
“I think you can stop insulting my wife,” Mike said in a warning tone, giving a firm pat on the foul-smelling man’s shoulder, making him stagger a few steps forward. “What do you think?”
The little girl wrenched free from the owner’s grip and ran, but the woman stopped her. “Daddy!” she screamed, before being silenced.
Mike turned, alarmed, but when he met the child’s calm, slightly confused gaze, a smile lit up his face, tense from anger. He relaxed as his wife scooped up their daughter, silently telling him with her eyes to let it go.
Mike shot one last sharp look at the drunk, who tried in vain to throw a punch. He was too slow. So it was easy for Mike to stop him, blocking the fist. He gripped the man’s knuckles and, staring at him with calm superiority, said,
“Do not ever harass or insult my family again.”
The man flailed, then suddenly froze in place, motionless like a statue.
Mike wasn’t surprised. He used the moment to tighten his grip on the hand.
The drunk’s eyes darted around rapidly, trying to make sense, through the fog of his vision, of why his pants were getting wet…
The little girl began to giggle in her mother’s arms, who was blowing her nose, followed by the whispered surprise and amusement of the other villagers.
“Next time, don’t overdo it with alcohol," Mike said, releasing the man, who fell to the ground in fear. “You can’t control yourself anymore.” He bent down and murmured, “You don’t have to act like that in front of a woman and a child. Show some respect.”
“Mike.”
He turned immediately, and two brown eyes—along with the other sly, dark gaze like his own—were already waiting for him at the exit.
“I’ve paid for everything. Let’s go home.”
The little girl signaled him to follow, cheerfully carrying the teddy bear her father had once given her mother, now hers since the day she opened her eyes to the world.
She had called it “Bacca”—after playing with some of his father’s Star Wars toys—as a nickname for Chewbacca. A word still too difficult for her.
Just like she had renamed Lilac “Lala.”
Mike was truly happy to reach the women of his life, holding them close to take them away from that greasy, smelly bar as quickly as possible.
No one spoke in the car.
Mike and El exchanged a knowing glance before he started the engine.
The silence of the ride was occasionally broken by a song the little girl hummed, taken from his vinyl collection.
Mike smiled at his daughter through the rearview mirror, watching her pigtails sway, but from the corner of his eye he noticed the worry line on his wife’s forehead growing more pronounced.
“But I know you're not scared of anything at all
Don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away
But I know I had the best day with you today.”
The Best Day, Taylor Swift
“Mommy! Mommy!” the little girl ran through the flowers, a crumpled sheet in one hand and some crayons in the other.
Mike followed his daughter with a huge smile on his face, laughing at every little hop she made in the grass, too tall for her.
Sitting under the oldest and largest tree in their garden, El waited for them, cheerful, her arms already ready to welcome them.
Mike quickened his pace and, with a leap, scooped up his daughter. They spun together through the air before landing in the grass next to his wife.
El was radiant. Beautiful, with her soft, serene features. She laughed wholeheartedly, a sound that melted Mike’s heart.
He shot her a playful glance while tickling the little girl, holding her on his stomach.
“Watch out for Becca, Beth!” El said, playfully moving the teddy bear over her husband’s black hair to catch the daughter’s attention. “He’s teamed up with Dad and wants to tickle you too! He’s jealous because you were only playing with Lilac.”
“But, Mom… Lala wanted our cuddles!” Mike answered for the girl, adjusting her two pigtails. They reminded him of the hairstyle his mother used to make for his sister Holly, but curly like his sister Nancy… “Isn’t that right, my sweet Betty?”
“Rory too.”
El pouted playfully. “You even went to the barn?! And I was waiting for your lunch… Now I’m too hungry!” She theatrically touched her belly in mock sadness. “I can never leave you alone.”
The little girl slid off her father’s stomach and ran straight into her mother’s arms, showering her with kisses on the cheek. “Sorry, sorry, Mom!”
Mike took advantage of the cuddle moment between mother and daughter to arrange the plates on the picnic blanket and the basket with all the sandwiches they had prepared together with Betty and Lilac. Then he pulled out the camcorder and began filming his beautiful family as they laughed and played with him.
“How’s Rory, sweetheart? Did you pet him gently?” El helped the little girl eat her portion of food, smaller and simpler, while Mike kept making his daughter laugh with funny faces between bites.
Betty nodded. “Rory’s good. He has a big belly!”
El wrinkled her nose, amused, looking at her husband. They could barely hold back their laughter. “Why, my love?”
“Because all the hay Dad gave him was gone in no time!”
“He was hungry, Betty. Now he’s stronger and less tired. Just like you… Be good…” Mike followed his daughter’s face as she wriggled from her mother’s arms to pick up her crayons and papers. “We’ll play later. But now, finish your lunch. Do you want to be strong like Rory too?”
“Elizabeth,” El called, “take the cheese pieces. The crayons are for later…”
The little girl shook her head and opened her mouth for another bite. “Afterwards we’ll go to the water with Rory. He needs to drink.”
The two parents exchanged a knowing glance. “Do you want to go to the waterfalls, sweetheart?”
“Yes. With Rory. And Becca. Lala can’t. She might get lost, like Daddy says.”
El wiped her mouth with a napkin. “And the tea party with your stuffed friends? You wanted to make…” She tapped the teddy’s ears, “a surprise party for Becca?”
“Yes…” the girl whispered, “but I like running with Rory more. Don’t tell Becca…”
El chuckled, watching her husband, who had meanwhile laid down on the blanket, observing them all this time with an enchanted, loving expression. Occasionally he whistled or snapped a picture. A hint of mischief flickered in his dark eyes and sly little smile. “Take that look off, Wheeler,” she whispered, blushing.
Despite all the years together, despite the battles won and lost, the marriage and the family they had built in Iceland, Mike still—he didn’t even know how—managed to embarrass his El.
His heart raced at those rosy cheeks, that treasured smile of their first innocent kisses and the vault of their most intimate, mature moments.
Oh… in that moment, at that instant, Mike would have taken her in his arms, holding her close, brushing their noses together, sighing on her lips how much he loved her, how important she was, how wonderful she was. In every way. And then, without restraint, he would have gently laid her down among the yellow and purple flowers. Their breaths would mingle, their eyes half-closed amid the stars of their wishes, their mouths a few gasps apart, and…
“Daddy, promise me?”
Mike shook his head, turning away from his wife, who rolled her eyes and chuckled at his lost, infatuated expression. “What, love?”
“If I finish my sandwich… will we go to the water with Rory?”
“All right, sweetheart. You and I will go with Rory and ride to the waterfalls.”
“Mommy too?”
“Of course!”
Betty nodded, shaking her pigtails. “Promise?”
Mike gave her a little tap on the nose. “Promise, my princess.”
Immediately, the little girl took another bite of her sandwich, looking satisfied and overjoyed at her parents, who were grinning at each other like two young lovebirds.
Hugged together, Mike and El exchanged long, secret glances, silent but screaming with emotions too strong to contain.
“But if you hold me without hurting me
You'll be the first who ever did.”
Cinnamon Girl, Lana Del Rey
On the horizon, the sky was turning a darker blue, fading into a night-blue behind the farthest mountains.
The first stars appeared like angels.
Behind them, the Sun was still golden, like a warm, calm treasure, while the fresh air blew from the waterfalls, accompanying the family as they returned to their country home.
El sat atop the horse, holding little Elizabeth close, increasingly drowsy.
Mike, on the other hand, walked beside Rory, guiding him and nudging him along the reins down the path. He never let go, not even when he paused to check on his women. He was attentive to the road, to the noises among the overly shaded bushes, and to the sky… far too gray for his liking. Despite keeping his gaze fixed on the surrounding nature, he constantly cast at least two glances—one furtive, one more deliberate—toward his wife and daughter riding the horse.
“Everything’s fine,” El had once told him, with a wistful smile. “Beth is about to fall asleep.”
Mike returned the silent smile, letting his eyes darken under his black fringe.
“Mike…”
“You know, El.” He looked straight ahead, toward the forest. “It’s stronger than me. I care too much… about both of you. I’m afraid something might happen.” His gaze softened as he turned toward her. “Can you blame me, my love?”
“But you also know I can handle anything.” She tapped her nose, smiling playfully to lighten the worry that hovered over her husband’s face. “Most of all, I can handle two Wheelers. So there’s nothing to fear.” She laughed.
But the man’s expression didn’t change much. “El. We haven’t talked about it yet,” he sighed, stopping the horse. “This morning…”
“Not now, love.” El stopped him immediately, nodding toward the little one, shifting slightly in her arms.
Mike reached out to take the tiny hand. “Damn…” He pretended to lock his lips with an invisible key.
El gently stroked his cheek. “We’re fine, Mike. Don’t worry. We’re fine.”
He stared at her intently, looking deep into her brown eyes. A trembling worry flickered there, veiled by a soft, enduring faith. More ethereal than the galaxy itself. Deeper than the abysses of love.
“Mike… talk to me. I need to hear you.”
He spotted the little girl, now asleep. “I trust you, El. You know that.” He sighed, letting himself sink into the soft touch of his wife on his cheek with closed eyes. “You know. You are my heart. You know my soul. You know everything about me. You are everything to me.” He exhaled forcefully, as if to imprint those words between their close breaths. “I’m afraid… because I don’t trust others. Humans can be really cruel. We know that.” He bit his lip, taking a moment. “I—I just want to give you two all the happiness I can: endless flower-filled meadows, every color in existence, all the music to dance and sing together by the fireplace, all the funniest toys, all the best eggos in the world, and all my stories and poems as goodnight wishes.”
The sky above them began to take on deeper, more vivid hues. The blue on the horizon had risen, along with the gray clouds.
“I want to protect you by any means: a candelabra, a shovel, or a rocket launcher. Anything. Whatever it takes to see you both serene. Both of you.” He kissed her palm still resting on his face. “I want to defend you with all my strength, not out of mistrust, not because I think you’re weak or out of pride, but… because you are precious. Too precious. To me, you are more precious than all the stars in the sky, more precious than all the most beautiful flowers on this earth.”
A perfect contrast shone around them, beyond the green canopies of the trees. Dark clouds pressed boldly into the violet sea rising nearby, giving breathtaking veins to the mercy of the warm breeze.
A cheeky tear fell onto Mike’s cheek.
He immediately opened his eyes as she wiped it away.
“Sorry.”
Confused, he intertwined his fingers with her wet ones.
“Maybe I still need to get used to… all of this. To the most sincere, true, and pure love. To the luck someone decided to give me, gifting me you along my path. An angel in my escape. A paladin with a big heart who accepted a stranger mage into his life.” El’s teary eyes were a sea of different emotions, luminous and sincere waves. “It’s strange… after all this time… But it’s like I’m still fourteen in Hopper’s cabin or standing at the altar with you… I don’t know—I… I just know I’ve always felt home with you, wherever we are.” Biting her lip, she held back more tears, not wanting to wet her husband’s cheeks again.
Mike, thanks to his height, rose onto his toes and reached his wife’s forehead, leaning slightly toward her. “Don’t cry, my love” murmured.
The sky had now become a lilac meadow bordered by increasingly deep gray streaks.
“You still have to put up with me for so much more time…” Mike whispered, joking to make his wife smile. “Let’s go home, my beloved.”
El nodded, smiling, as Mike kissed her face to dry it. “Yes, let’s go home.”
After leaving a kiss on her knuckles, he pulled Rory’s reins and, like a true paladin, escorted his princess and his mage queen to their home, in time, before the storm could swallow the entire region.
“'Cause they said the end is comin', everyone's up to somethin'
I find myself runnin' home to your sweet nothings.”
Sweet Nothings, Taylor Swift
“Did you put her to bed?”
“She’s sleeping like a log. It’s been a long day for her. She had more fun at the waterfalls than ever before.” Mike ruffled his hair and flopped onto the couch next to El. “The poems I wrote for you… they always make her fall asleep. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or not.”
She laughed warmly, stopping her fingers from strumming her husband’s guitar. “Did you take the daisies out of her hair?”
“Only when I was sure she wasn’t listening anymore. You really made her a lovely little crown. Now it’s on her nightstand.”
The fire crackled in the fireplace before them.
Rain poured endlessly behind them, drenching the windowpanes.
Summer storms in Iceland caused temperatures to drop sharply, so there was always a small stock of wood kept even in the summer.
“Do you want to play something?”
El touched her nose playfully—just like Beth did—and leaned against Mike’s shoulder, listening to his warm breath against her. “Maybe… you could sing something to me.” She handed him the guitar, and he began plucking the strings.
A well-known tune. Classic. Romantic. Intense. Timeless.
Just like them.
When Mike started humming the song of their SnowBall, El’s cheeks were already as warm as the flames illuminating the dim room.
Their Polaroid from that unforgettable night watched them from the mantelpiece above the fireplace, right next to the one from their wedding: captured in their funniest, most loving expressions, Mike proudly displaying their rings, and El joyfully raising her forget-me-not bouquet.
“I dream at night, I can only see your face. I look around, but it's you I can't replace.” Mike played the guitar perfectly, knowing every single note of their song by heart. So, as the melody filled their small intimate space, he didn’t take his eyes off his wife for a single moment, savoring every tiny change on her face: relaxed features, shy lips, mischievous eyes, but the gaze… completely in love, lost in his.
An invisible connection—the same one that had bound them from day one—embraced them, merging them into a single moment where time and space ceased to exist, and only the glimmers at the corners of their eyes shone like stars, guiding them to another dimension. Just them. Immersed in a soft, indissoluble fog pulsing to the rhythm of their linked heartbeats, they navigated the depths of each other’s eyes, searching for their souls laid bare. Always there. Always present. Always visible and accessible to one another. And that was enough.
The rest of the world was outside, alien to this secret game, to that ethereal language only they understood.
El’s heart was bursting. Irresistibly, hopelessly lost in his confident, decisive movements; in his melodious voice; in his gaze with no escape, chained to hers. El felt every fiber of her body shiver, screaming how much she loved this person, this soul she had chosen to have forever by her side.
The black curls fell teasingly over Mike’s forehead as he moved his head to follow the rhythm and make her laugh with a funny face.
Adorable.
She loved every single curl of that black hair. And she had a wild urge to— She stretched a hand toward the other face. “This song can’t go without a dance. Will you dance with me?”
Mike set down the guitar, intertwined their fingers, and— “Oh, can't you see you belong to me? How my poor heart aches with every step you take.” He continued singing a cappella, more tenderly and sensually, drawing her close in a swift gesture as they began to spin slowly to the blazing rhythm of the fire.
Their hearts melted into memories, blossoming in the present to flourish in the future that awaited them.
With their foreheads close, Mike whispered the next verses in her ear, in a lower, deeper tone, like little promises: “I'll be watching you, every breath you take, every move you make. Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you.”
Shivers raced across El’s skin, electrified wherever their bodies touched or brushed.
“Mike…”
Their faces were inches apart. Their breaths had become one. Warm, soft, inviting.
“I’m scared too.”
“I know.”
El bit her lip, staying silent for a while.
The fire flickered playfully, warming their dancing bodies.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve known it since this morning. I was just waiting for the moment you’d feel ready to open up.”
“Beth was there… and then lunch, the waterfalls, and you were… amazing, as always. And I—”
“I know, El.”
“Oh, Mike…” She paused, but gripped his shoulders tighter. “Are we really incapable of keeping anything hidden—from each other?" She smiled.
“I have no intention of doing it anymore.”
“Me neither… We made mistakes in the past.” El sighed, breaking the embrace to lean against the mantelpiece. Her eyes fixed on the Polaroids and portraits of little Beth. “Today, at the bar… The drunk man was right.” Her eyes trembled toward her husband, who reached her, caressing her arm. “His mug flew. At one point…” Her breath faltered.
Mike patiently followed her fleeting gaze as she seemed to search for the right words in the room. “What happened?”
El faced him. “I was at the register. I was paying. Beth was with me… in my arms, when… I heard the drunk man shout something like: the mug is flying!” She shrugged. “Immediately, I touched my nose. I thought maybe some sudden change in my powers, if I couldn’t control them anymore, I don’t know…”
Mike moved closer, massaging the tense muscles of her neck.
El broke eye contact for a moment before looking at him with a chilling intensity. “But my nose wasn’t bleeding.”
Then Mike understood. “Betty.”
“Beth. Our Elizabeth had a drop of blood on one nostril.” El stepped away from the mantel and paced in front of the fireplace. “Elizabeth has powers. My powers. My daughter has my powers.” With each sentence, her face darkened, wilting with mounting concern.
Mike took her by the shoulders, halting the spiral of thoughts she was falling into. “Our daughter.” His black eyes met hers, lighter, with such certainty and calm that she exhaled much of her anxiety. “Our daughter, El. We always knew this day would come. We’ve always considered it.”
“I know, Mike, but…”
“We’ll manage, El. Like we always have.”
“And if… this time it’s not enough?” She nervously bit her lips, stepping away from her husband, terrified. “And if… I’ve really put you two in terrible danger?” Tears began to flow. “And if I’ve doomed…” Her voice hardened, “if I’ve doomed her to a horrible life, like mine?” She shook her head, trembling like an autumn leaf tossed by winds stronger than her. “What have I done?!”
Mike took her hands. “Nothing. You did nothing.” He kissed her knuckles, palms, backs of her hands, slowly. “I sought you. I chose this life. I chose you. And if God gave me another chance, another life, I’d do it again. All over again. Everything, El. Everything.”
“Mike, you don’t understand…”
“I do. I’d do anything to have you and Betty again.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Times have changed, El. We’re safe.”
“But our townspeople… If anyone saw Beth, if anyone discovered us… The word would spread. This morning was fine, because the man was drunk, but what if it happened with the most sober person in town? What would we do, Mike?”
“We’ll go to Naboo.”
El massaged her forehead. “Don’t joke.”
“I’m not. Because none of this will happen.”
“Why? You already have a plan?”
Mike intertwined their hands, massaging the spaces between their fingers to calm her trembling further. “El, you’ll be her teacher. You’ll show her how to use her powers, while we explain together when and where she can use them. She’ll be our little padawan.”
El seemed to weigh his words for a moment, letting herself be cradled by Mike’s benevolent, trusting gaze. “Are you sure? What if it all goes wrong?”
“Then—we know where to go.”
A faint smile appeared on her more relaxed face. “I know.”
Mike leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. Both closed their eyes, savoring that moment of intimate unity and understanding. “It’ll be fine, my love. No one will ever separate us.”
El nodded, gently stroking the soft black curls of her husband. “I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispered in a deep voice. “Would you do something for me… with me?”
“With me?” El half-closed her eyes, reflecting the mischief in his.
Without a word, Mike pulled her close and, still with their hands entwined, led her toward the hallway. But instead of the stairs, he turned toward the entrance.
“Mike Wheeler, what are you planning?!”
His legs were long and fast, and in the blink of an eye they were under the porch, with rain pouring around them. “You know… before,” he had to raise his voice to be heard, “you told me you still felt like a young girl with me? Still fourteen, like that summer at Hopper’s?” He spread his arms, walking backward toward the edge of the porch, into the rain. “Well, it’s the same for me. And now I feel it more than ever. But I need you to do one thing for me… with me.”
El laughed, gazing at him, a mix of fascination and slight worry, heart racing. Just like that summer of ’85. “What do you want, Wheeler?”
“That we go crazy. You and me. Like the two teenagers in love we were, madly in love. Because that’s what I am. Crazy, but about you.” He stepped back, and again, until the rain began hitting him, soaking his new Star Wars Yoda pajamas. “I want to kiss you, hold you, take your breath away just to give you mine, dance and kiss and kiss you, again and again, under this wonderful rain.” Then, he extended a hand toward his wife. “Would you honor me?”
“You’ll wash your pajamas and my robe?”
Mike rolled his eyes, nodding, while El chuckled. “I’m joking! Although…”
He opened his mouth in mock indignation.
The downpour had soaked him completely, droplets running down his prominent nose, black lashes, and every flattened strand of hair. “The most powerful mage, would welcome into her realm this humble paladin…”
El didn’t let him finish. She ran to him and jumped into his arms. They spun together under the torrential rain. Anchored to her husband’s hips, she softened her gaze, inviting him closer.
Under a deluge—reminiscent of the most important night of their lives—strong and overwhelming as the blood pulsing warmly in their veins, their lips met in a long, hungry kiss.
Mike wrapped his fingers around his wife’s thighs—entwined in her now thin wet robe—pressing gently but firmly on her skin.
Their mouths, an inch apart, gasped, releasing small warm clouds.
Their bodies were burning flames, blessed by nature’s purifying water.
Droplets fell like a liberating song as their tongues began to dance with longing, the salty taste of their saliva mingling with the rain.
El moaned into her husband’s throat as their bodies brushed when he gently lowered her to the ground, without breaking the kiss. Mike’s solid, muscular form was evident through the soaked pajamas beneath her hands, open on his chest. El mentally thanked her husband’s new seasonal lumberjack hobby. Her eyes traveled—drawn and eager—over the fabric clinging to his skin, clearly showing the gentle curves of his biceps. She swallowed and gasped amid the raindrops from her lashes.
“I’m losing it too,” he whispered, brushing a wet strand from her cheek to kiss it.
El smiled, embarrassed, but never looked away from him.
“You want to—” His dark gaze fell on her lips.
“To dance,” she giggled, clutching his neck. “I want to enjoy the rain with you… before a warm shower.”
Mike nodded, barely restraining the urge to scoop her up and carry her straight to their bed. “It can be sensual…”
“Exciting, yes. With you, especially.”
They laughed heartily as he opened their embrace—relishing the view with more than one long glance—and spun her, then held her close under the storm.
“This,” he said. “This is my favorite dream. You, Elizabeth, and our home.”
“Forever.”
“Promise?”
El showed their rings under the rain in their intertwined fingers. “Promise.”
Mike smiled gently, watching her through wet black strands, a soft mischievous expression curling the shadowed corners of his face. A delicate, hungry desire played in his darkness, while his lips lit up at the bright natural glow of El. He lowered his head, hiding his playful, “arrogant” grin, leaning toward his beloved. “I love you,” he whispered, as the rain fell in sweet bursts on their close, warm bodies. He closed his eyes, savoring the indelible scent of his wife.
She smelled like the flowered meadows of their distant lands, kissed by the rain after a long day under the Sun.
She smelled of freedom.
And he was—
“Mike?”
—madly devoted to her, forever, always.
El pulled back slightly, breaking the contact between their foreheads. With her fingers, she pretended to snap a photo of Mike—his wet, serene face, softened, deeply, passionately in love. “We’re fine, my faithful and beloved paladin.”
He pretended to photograph his El as well, smiling, and pulled her into his arms. “We’re fine, my beloved mage, my evermore.”
“I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you
(I can never look away)
I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you
(Things will never be the same)
I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night
(Now I'm wide awake)
And now I see daylight, I only see daylight.”
Daylight, Taylor Swift