Michael opened the door quietly and stepped into his apartment. Inside, the darkness seemed almost a living, breathing entity, waiting to greet him. He walked, by sense memory, to the kitchen, where he placed a package in the freezer and then washed his hands. Then he went to his room--their room--to find Ben. An almost imperceptible glow threw the Lucite door panel into relief. He entered.
The bedroom was lit by a small candle burning on the bedside table. He knew that it was there to light his way. It was thoughtful, and it was so... so 'Ben' in one of the thousand small ways he said, "I love you." The words didn't have to come attached to a grand gesture or a lavishly expensive gift. They didn't have to be shouted from the rooftops or broadcast from a stage where all the world could hear and be amazed at the spectacle. Love was there in the way Ben always found a way to be near Michael--touching him, holding him, always there, as if the alternative--to be apart from Michael--would be too painful to bear.
Love was there in Ben's voice when he talked with excitement about what he had taught or what he had learned that day, or the people he had met, because he knew instinctively that Michael would want to listen--that he would want to immerse himself in every possible moment because no one knew how many moments there would be.
It was in the way he let Michael go when it would be easier to say, "Stay. Don't leave me for him." Ben knew, with an acceptance that seemed almost too giving, that their love was like a butterfly--born of something ripe with unlikely potential, now grown and metamorphosed into a creature of aching beauty and deceptive delicacy. Touch that creature, love, with a rough hand and it suffered to untold depths, but set it free and it was strong enough to brave the elements and fly the distance.
Michael tiptoed to the bedside and sat gingerly so as not to disturb the man in his bed. Ben had fallen asleep with his glasses on, as he had so many times before, waiting for his errant lover to return. Michael gently pulled them off, as he had done so many nights before, and put them on the bedside table.
So many nights. Some of them spent here, but most at Ben's place--his old place--before he had folded and wrapped his life, boxed it, and marched it into Michael's. Even now, the evidence of their intertwining lives surrounded the bed like some surreal moat surrounding a tiny island for two. They had shuttled back and forth for months, but now love had moved in to stay.
Ben's eyes fluttered, and the sleeping, gentle giant awoke from slumber. "Hi, baby. Another late night at the store?"
"Yeah. I had a lot of inventory to catalogue. It's been slow going. I can't concentrate like I used to."
"Come here." Ben opened his arms and folded his lover into a warm embrace. Add this item to the list of a thousand: the way Ben knew just when to be there with open arms that held, but didn't smother--offering unconditional shelter and comfort from the vagaries of worlds external and internal.
"I missed you, Ben."
"You just saw me a few hours ago."
"I know. That's why I missed you."
"Why so sad, Michael?"
Item: the way Ben knew how to rub Michael's back in a perfect circle--the pressure, the warmth, and the speed all balanced perfectly to draw out evil humors.
"Just tired I guess."
"Did you see him?"
Item: the way Ben drove straight to the heart of a matter. No need for clarification. No need to indulge in silly machinations to avoid hurt feelings--only real love and an openness that said, "You can tell me anything."
The signature of the unnamed subject of their discussion was imprinted on Michael's face in a black and blue tattoo. It was in the sag of Michael's shoulder as he asked himself, "Why?" It was in the defeat in his eyes when he convinced himself that he deserved it because to do otherwise would make him question whether the bruise and all the anger behind it was something he could move beyond.
"Yes, I saw him." Those four words spoke volumes for what they didn't say as much as for what they did say. Left out were the words to say Brian had apologized. He hadn't. At least, not in a way that could easily be understood. Not in a way that was anyone's but Brian's. Did he regret? Supposedly. His regret, if that's what it was, sat in a dripping box in the freezer, bleeding in the way Michael's heart had bled for his friend.
"Did you discuss it?"
Had they? Even now, having been there, Michael didn't feel that they really had--wasn't sure that they ever would. But that had always been their way--his and Brian's--a dance that always kept them in arm's reach while also keeping them at arm's length. Looking from the outside, what would Michael have said about this relationship? Would he say it was good, healthy, credible, sane... worth it? Maybe not, but it had been as necessary to him as air and water and sustenance.
Was it still so necessary? Yes, but not in it's old incarnation. Old habits die hard, and so it was for Michael--but a new habit had come along to fulfill his needs. The new habit wasn't shiny and bright like a new coin that everyone envied and wanted to possess. It had a patina that spoke of life lived to the fullest. It was rubbed worn with living, but still your favorite coin because the feel of it in your hands was like a missing piece in you, so you had to keep it close--had to touch it with your handsto make sure that it was still there.
"Brian doesn't discuss. He demonstrates."
"What was it this time?"
"My mother's heart in a box, apparently."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm going to beg you to make me a steak dinner tomorrow night."
"Are you okay, then?"
"I couldn't be better. I'm here, aren't I?"
Ben smiled with pleasure, the glow of candlelight throwing a golden reflection in those deep blue eyes. Michael's breath caught in his throat at the sight. How could he have forgotten? In all the turmoil of the day and the tumult of his own mind, he had forgotten those blue eyes, so gentle in their compassion now--so fierce before, in their outrage on his behalf. He saw them now and realized what he wanted. He wanted this for Brian--to revel in someone who loves you--all of you--without exception or regret. Someone who took all the parts of you--past, present, future, potential--in one package and cherished it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. And when he saw that Brian had lost another opportunity, Michael cried for his friend and the hurt that he suffered.
"Do you want to talk about it, Michael?"
Michael slid closer and hid his face in the crook of Ben's neck. The faint, spicy scent of his lover reached his senses and soothed him, The warmth of Ben's body warmed all the cold spaces within. The thud of his heart was reassuring. Michael placed his hand over it and counted the beats, felt their strength, celebrated their steady rhythm. He resented each tick of the clock with every fiber of his being. Each moment not spent loving Ben, seemed a sinful waste because it was gone forever with no hope of return.
"There's not much to talk about. I shouldn't have said what I said and he shouldn't have hit me for it. Water under the bridge, right?"
"Do you really think it will be that easy for you both to move on from this?"
"I don't know, Ben. I want to be his friend, but I realize that I was trying too hard. He needs time to realize that the betrayal and loss he's experiencing are real, but they don't make him weak--only human. That they're painful, but they don't have to break him. That I'm here for him when he needs me--if he needs me."
Ben ran his fingers through Michael's hair lightly, needing to touch this amazing soul who had entered his life and implanted itself in his heart. "He does need you and he'll probably figure it out soon. Give him time." He kissed the top of Michael's head before cupping his face and turning it upwards for his loving inspection. "What about your eye? Does it still hurt?"
Almost the same words, but what different feelings they aroused. Then, it had been resentment at the lack of apology, anger at the backlash, disappointment in himself for pushing too hard. Now, it was relief because someone cared enough to ask, a desire to crawl into the loving protection offered, and wonder that this could be his without him knowing what he he had done to deserve it. It was a warm, fluttering feeling of home because he knew that Ben wasn't just asking about his eye.
"It's not bad. It's worse than it looks, but I wouldn't mind if you kissed it better."
"Ask and ye shall receive." And Ben placed a soft kiss on the bruised skin to take the hurt away. "Anything else?"
Michael reached towards Ben's face and traced the planes of the face that had become a part of him--such a huge part, that it should have scared him because it's loss could tear a hole in his soul. Ask for anything? If there was one thing he could have, it would be to see his lover grow old. To watch him change--each year a new line, a gray hair. Each year, a fading of the blue eyes which would never be less than beautiful. Each year another change to the body that only he was privy too. Each year another wealth of memories created and shared and fondly remembered. If he had one wish, that would be it.
"Nothing else. Being here with you is enough." He circled Ben's waist with his arms and pressed as close as he could--as if he could lose himself inside Ben.
Item: Ben didn't push for explanations for Michael's need. He knew without asking. He had waited for this moment, knew that Michael would need him... and he had left a candle burning in the darkness.