an intuition that
this is where i belong , standing with
you in my arms
They’d met in the fall; under a wise, ancient oak, Eros recalls. A thunderstorm had shaken the valley, sent fierce rains battering upon them. They hadn’t talked for long, only until the storm waned, but he vaguely remembers making a thorough embarrassment of himself. And yet Aion hadn’t laughed, or turned tail. Meek, a persistent stutter; Eros marvels at how far he’s come since. A bud, properly tended, blossoms into the most beautiful of blooms.
He remembers the early days of their relationship, hidden glances and hesitant touches. When Aion would shy away from him if he got too close. When they didn’t know how the other’s lips felt, or skin tasted, but their hearts were full of anticipation anyway.
And then, how they did, how they—slowly, haltingly—came to know one another so intimately that they became intrinsically linked; where there was Aion, there was Eros and Eros, Aion. Losing him was, in principle, losing a piece of his heart itself.
No wonder it had rattled him so deeply; to go without a part of oneself is to be wholly incomplete.
And then, it is to notice bit after bit abrade in the prolonged absence of unity, the way seaside cliffs continue to erode in the waves after a violent storm first splits the stone in two. Arches form, reaching out to the lost fragment, but later splinter off themselves. Still, they try, forming and reforming until there is no rock left.
Eros has never seen a sea stack rejoined with its lost half, has never seen a weathered cliff reform. And yet, he somehow finds himself standing in front of his lost half, only steps away from his long-awaited homecoming.
They collide, like crashing waves, thoughts and emotions a glittering sea spray around them. Eros holds him tighter, nuzzles at his withers and down his spine and positively glows, as if Aion is all it takes to restore his radiance. (Not that it would surprise him, surely a soul burns brighter when its halves become whole again.)
Eros presses his nose to Aion’s back once more, then they untangle. He knows that they’ll have to talk, eventually, inevitably, but discussing their time apart seems inconsequential, irreverent even, when they’ve only just been reunited. When Aion asks, a subtle sadness dims the glimmer in his eyes, but he blinks and it’s gone as fast as it had appeared.
He rests his head against Aion’s, ever-eager for the reassurance found in comfort and closeness. Eros kisses down his cheek, the feathered bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his lips.
@aion <3
