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He is a light in my way, surely. I’ve not to doubt it.
From the very first glance, from the very first meeting, he lured me in.
He could have not resorted to crime to indulge me further, if that had been what he had wished for in any lifetime. One word with him is all it takes for me to be entranced.
He could have said a million things when I first spoke to him. Now that I know how he felt, I have no greater regret in life but to not have held him tangled further in that moment. Perhaps then, I could’ve changed his mind.
He needn’t have used me as a pawn in every one of his riddles merely to test my loyalty to him. A direct petition from him may have sufficed.
And surely, he could’ve said all the things he felt directly to me. Yet he had decided for a letter; he had decided not to show me his vulnerability just yet. Only if he had known I’d reciprocated, he would have done.
He can have come to suppose I’d be disgusted at seeing him so naked. Truth is, the instant I knew he was the one that I’d been searching for, The Lord of crime, I wished nothing else but that.
For him to allow me a chance at a glance into his soul without having to spill blood.
He is a man of conflicted feelings, I realised that too. And he must have known, as well, that I held the same towards him.
I have far too many memorable moments; some rather displeasing and a tad others joyful. But none of these could ever get my heart to drum so intensely against my chest as the look on his face when I jumped for him.
What must’ve he felt when he saw me, as his white dove, perhaps, coming to rescue him? To bring peace to him?
What does it feel to have someone who’s only desire, who’s dying wish is to save you?
I didn’t know any of these just yet, as he lies in a persistent lumber product of our great fall.
I expect him to wake up. I have not bothered to phantom what I would do if he never does.
He has to.
I’m my mind, again, he is a fire. I thought it was at its full brightness when I met him. Truth is, it had been dwindling since long ago, and I only noticed this when the flame was ready to be blown away.
But I know, deep in my soul, that his is a pure light indeed, only he fell a victim to this cruel world. He’s a spirit impossible to pacify. He is a spark that fell from a burning pile, fueled by the urge to be consumed by a major, greater cause.
He tends to believe, from what I can deduce, that his tears put out this fire; he hates them for such. Yet he is too blind to see that they’re the kerosene which serves to keep alive this flame I have this persistent need to keep admiring.
I’ve watched him shed a pair of tears. But I want him to fully unravel, and let me look at the mess he is on the inside, just to ease him later on. And keep on, until his mind lives at the uttermost peace he could ever reach, whilst carrying the burden of his malicious deeds.
I’ve grown fond of him. Of his mind. Of his soul.
I’ve grown to adore him in a way I wasn’t ever sure I could. Until now.
I arrive to our new, temporary home, from another case. And just as I am about to keep him company while he’s deep in his sleep, I start to fret. He is not laying down on his bed. He’s not even in his room. I start to worry.
My feet drag themselves around every corner of the house, as if in autopilot mode. I run until I am out of breath, and I let myself inhale once I find him.
Despite being unable to see his full shape, I know he is the one standing there, looking over the edge.
He sits then on a bench, and for a fact I know he has sensed my presence. I take a seat next to him. I thank him and so does he, and then he confesses to me beautiful words. He’s afflicted while doing so, I can see.
So I kneel before him, and hidden in between my words, I promise him something; no matter what he decides he wants to make of his life, I’ll be with him.
I hope he knows I’m a man of my word.
He sheds another tear, and then looks back at me. I could state with conviction that no other sight was of more beauty than his face, with the slightest of breezes hitting him and with watery-like eyes.
He gets up from his seat, and almost stumbles as he does so at last. I am quick enough to catch him and avoid more wounds to his precious body than of now.
—Anything else you need?
He’s back in his room, standing in front of the mirror. From the corner where I stand, I can tell he’s rather unsettled by the wound on his eye.
In exchange for keeping his life, he lost his eye. A doomed fate if I’m asked, but I’m afraid that no matter how much I wanted to, I could not mend it. If I had held him closer, would this have happened? It had been one of the very first things to start haunting me after having woken up for the first time.
Still, the ruby stones he had as eyes, no matter how appalled nor tarnished, looked tremendously alluring. The fire of his soul, reflected behind his gaze. The fire I wished to keep aflame.
He looked at me through the mirroring surface, locking these enchanting eyes of his with mine.
—If it isn’t much trouble, would you mind assisting me with the bandages? I'm afraid I have little ability to wrap them around my eye properly by myself as of now.
I chuckled innocently, his lips curved up daftly into a smile.
—Sure, no problem.
I approached him from behind, reaching out for the bandages in his hands as he extended one of them towards me. I walked in between him and the mirror then, brushing strands of the golden hairs away from his face in order to place the bandage correctly. The fingertips of my hands skimmed slightly against the porcelain of his face as I committed to the task. I was pleased to notice the curve on his lips growing wider.
Once put firmly in place and tightened behind the back of his head, I stepped a few footsteps away. I looked at him with a smile myself.
—Is it okay like that?
—It is perfect. Many thanks, Sherly.
What a lovely nickname. Probably because it came from his lips.
He was still staring at himself in the mirror. An urge to reassure him suddenly invaded myself.
—You look great, Liam. Your eyes look nicely no matter how.
His eye widened ever so slightly—enough for me to catch a glimpse. His head drifted to the side before prompting an answer.
—You needn’t flatter me so much, I can see how I look now.
Yet he was unable to see how beautiful he looked.
—You may think it is flattery instead of honesty.—I walked towards him again, resting my palm on his cheek. He stopped short for a brief second at the sudden contact, just to lean into it very slowly.—But Liam, my companion, when have I ever lied to you?
His chuckle vibrated against my hand on his face, an echo seemed to crowd the room. I let go of his face shortly after.
—I’ll go fetch Billy, I should let him know you’re awake.
—Billy?
Ah. Right.
—He’ll explain himself, worry not. He basically rescued us and stuff.
He kept quiet for an instant.
—I see.
A quick nod and I headed myself for the door, just as I was about to step out—
—Sherly.
I turned around quickly. His tune was…strange; not quite desperate yet not fully composed. He was the one to walk towards me this time. His arms stretched slightly before me.
—Care for a hug?—He bit his lip while saying.
An unexpected request indeed. Not that I’d reject it, however.
I almost threw myself into his embrace; his feet stumbled backwards. I held him as gently as I could. For so long we'd repressed ourselves from our true sentiments. My hands found their place on the small of his back while he clinged to my shoulders. He buried his face on the gap between my neck and shoulder, and I could feel a humid tear sliding down the side of his face, wetting the collar of my shirt.
For I will make a promise.
I’ll keep the spark of such delightful flame; where his soul resides, alive and twinkling, passionately burning within his heart.
And he will not leave my side once. His wrist is to be cuffed with mine once we go beyond this firmament: in the afterlife even, hell or heaven if they exist.
My only wish, or condition if it is seen as such, is that he must never let me go.
And I’m sure he won’t.