What if I told you how much I like it when we kiss?

If I expressed that to you,

Properly,

Can't you see how it would taint every new kiss we share?

How they would never be natural?

If you know I like it, and you do it, then you are doing it simply because you want to make me happy.

And not because you want to.

Do you understand?

If my preferences start to dictate your actions

Then I will never again get to kiss

The lips that simply wanted mine

For selfish reasons.

Our eyes met

At least four or five times

Before we ever did.

And yet,

It was that last time,

That they failed to find each other

Cast to the floor,

Adoring your lips,

Or vigilant of what was happening with my hands-

Their hands too full, it seems, to greet a gaze which was equally occupied.

An eye

Can grow shy,

After all.

And the bloodshot blush that lingered the next morning

Was all the reminder I needed

That I stared at the sun for too long

Out of all the mistakes I've made in my life (and the list is long), this one may well be the funniest.

Well, sure, I can laugh at it now because of how things have ended up, but there was certainly a time when this was nothing but a black mark on an otherwise faultless career. How hilarious it is to now be receiving help from the man that once sought to ruin me.

Some of the stops along the way from A to B are hazy to me, because any attempt to understand that man will result in nothing but a hefty bill for aspirin, but I can't help wondering if this wasn't his goal all along.

If it was, there's no way I could hold on to such petty feelings like resentment. "Respect" might be more than he deserves, but I will nevertheless acknowledge his skill.

And, of course, it's all the easier to think fondly of a past love, when both parties have a current love much stronger than whatever they thought they used to share.

So how did it all begin? Well, as most things do: one night in a bar.

The bar in question had been like a second home to me in my youth, though I only visited it once a week by that point. Nowadays it's rare that I find time to go once a month, but I can never seem to relax until I do. The owner is quite dear to me, you see. Reggie was his name, and it was only natural that he named his bar in kind.

The man who saved me from a life on the streets and practically raised me was fond of this bar owner, so naturally I was, as well.

I walked in and was silently handed my usual, the owner mid-conversation with another patron and not even meeting my eyes as he passed over my drink. While taking a generous sip, I eyed the hulk of a man taking up Reggie's attention with thinly veiled jealousy.

I'd never seen him there before, so figured he must be new - either to the city or to it's criminal underworld. Reggie's patrons are almost exclusively criminals, most of which worked for me in one way or another. Though, it's not like I remember the faces or names of everyone on payroll, and members of opposing organisations frequent the place, too. The "No Shop-Talk" rule is heavily enforced, and the bar is an established neutral-zone, so it's basically the only place in the city where people from this line of work can lower their guard and get a drink.

Still, it was somewhat disheartening that I'd been so focussed on being a leader and a businessman that I felt so little kinship with these people.

It's served me well, though. When my mentor disappeared almost twenty years ago, I was able to take his place as head of the Cadwell crime syndicate and change up our operations so much that I was a recognised and respected face even to regular civilians.

I'd turned 40 only a few days prior, so that must have also worked as excellent kindling to help the flames of what I might as well admit was a midlife-crisis. A sense of lost youth. Yearning for the glory days. Or, the gorey days, as they might well have been. The adventure and adrenaline that I lacked in my current position.

While my mind swirled with those murky thoughts, it seemed my eyes remained fixed on that man at the bar.

He was taller than me by half a foot, and the thin grey shirt he wore did nothing to hide a body that could have only been achieved by over a decade of harsh training. Did I also look like that when I was in my twenties? I had an idle thought about going to the gym more.

“You’ve been staring at me pretty hard. See something you like?” That there. Those were his first words to me. He’d walked over while I was looking at him and snapped me out of my depressive daze.

The fact that he was daring enough to speak to me like that meant he must not have known who I was. That itself was actually quite refreshing. “If I say yes?” I asked.

“If that happens, then I’d tell you that the hotel I’m staying in is only ten minutes from here. Is that what you’re saying?” He bent down so his face was right next to mine.

I figured: fuck it, why not?

I put a hand on his shoulder to push him away from me so I could eye him up and down once more, to make a detailed appraisal. “Yes,” I said, setting my glass down and leaving the bar with him.

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. It was rampant and sordid and wonderful. I felt like a new wind had blown into me. Full of energy, I ravaged him thoroughly until 3am.

He seemed to have eventually tired himself out, and I needed to get back to work, so it was the perfect time to leave. He didn’t make a sound while I got dressed, but his eyes snapped open when I lit up a cigarette.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, a little hesitantly. He sounded almost childlike.

“What, did you want me to stay and cuddle?” I mocked.

“N-no!” he insisted, pouting. I scoffed.

“Shame. I would’ve done it if you’d asked.” I walked myself out, raising a hand without looking back to wave farewell.

My PA came to drive me back to the office, and gave me an uncertain glance when he noticed the state of my suit. That man from the bar had left quite a bit of himself on the collar of my shirt after I let him enjoy my mouth. “Yes, I suppose you should send this to be cleaned,” I answered him before he could ask.

“Yes, sir. There’s a spare suit in the back prepared for you.”

“How considerate.”

I worked hard for the next week. There was a certain supply group I had my eyes on for some time, and I was getting close to finalising a deal with them. I also got an unusually high number of reports on smaller rival gangs making noise. I took the appropriate measures, but I could tell that wouldn’t cut it for long. It certainly took up a lot of my time.

My weekly visit to Reggie’s couldn’t come soon enough. I did vaguely wonder if I might run into that man again, and no sooner than the thought came to me, so did he.

As soon as I walked into Reggie’s he spotted me and strutted over, two drinks in hand. I could tell from a look that one was my usual order. I glanced past him to see Reggie give me a nod from behind the bar, to say that the drink was safe.

“Back for more?” he asked, looking down at me with half-lidded eyes. I returned the look and took the drink. “You didn’t even ask for my name last time.”

“Why would I?”

“Well, it’s a pretty good name.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be handing it out so easily.”

“It’s not been easy! I’ve been trying to find you all week!” he whined. I found myself smirking.

Well, I had no problem giving him another round. I'm sure part of me was hoping for this exact opportunity. But I was hardly going to play along with someone acting needy.

He followed me around the bar, dropping hints that even a man with no hands could easily pick up. It was equal parts amusing and annoying.

I stepped outside to smoke and he followed suit. The cigarette looked tiny in his huge hands.

"Listen," I started, pushing my hair back out of my face, "I don't like troubling myself with people that can't be useful to me."

"Oh, come on, I'd say you got some pretty good use out of me last time," he boasted, cocking an eyebrow. There was a deep scar cutting through it about midway, which I reached up to trace a finger over. He looked at me with fairly obvious motives as he leaned into my hand.

"So you want to be my bitch, is that it?"

"... Well," he trailed his eyes away, then brought them back, accompanied by a hungry smile. "What's so wrong with that…?"

I took him someplace where I could show him just what he was getting himself into. Something dark took over me that night, as I was completely unrestrained in how I used him in every way I wanted. He was tied and bent and filled from all sides, his watering eyes and muffled screams only egging me on further as I carved possession into his body.

His hair was barely long enough to grab, but I held a chunk of it and wrenched him around to look at me while I continued to pound into him from behind.

"Well? Is this what you wanted?" I mocked, but one look at his face told me that it was.

A shiver shot up my spine.

I remember wondering what sort of person he was, and feeling compelled to find out.

I flipped him over so I could watch him properly until I'd finished, my curiosity only growing with each expression of pain and pleasure he made.

"That was great!" he told me with a satisfied sigh, while I lit up a cigarette. "My back was hurting for ages and that totally sorted it out!" he laughed. "Thanks."

He reached for his clothes and made an attempt to leave but I caught his wrist and hauled him back to the bed. "Where do you think you're going?" I asked, annoyed. "Weren't you the one that wanted me to sleep over last time?"

Not that there was any sleep to be had that night. I started right back up where we'd left off and was determined to keep going until he was a complete mess, but the stamina of a 20-something proved to be a formidable foe. So much so that I was almost late for work.

I hadn't slept a wink, but damn if I didn't feel energised. Once again, it seemed like one night with that man had added ten years to my life. And I still didn't even know his name.

The deal with the supply group was finally accepted. Work seemed to be looking up. I wanted to see him again.

I paid a visit to a local information broker before making my way to Reggie's that week, and I had the misfortune of meeting a new hire there. About a year later, the broker was dead, and his position was taken over by that new hire, but the information was just as good (if not better) so no one had any complaints.

I walked to Reggie's after that, having learned that there would be an attempt on my life soon. I had been feeling quite untouchable that week, so strolling into the lion's den with a neon sign around my neck saying "free meat" seemed perfectly reasonable.

During the walk, I crossed paths with that man again.

"Headed to Reggie's?" he asked with a smile that didn't quite reach his hungry eyes.

"Seems so."

"This is becoming a regular thing. Do you always go this day of the week?"

"I suppose I do."

"Well I guess I can save a lot of time if I know which day to go down."

I realised that he'd been going there every night in the hopes of seeing me. The thought made me laugh.

I took out a cigarette and considered asking for his name, but didn't get the chance.

"We're being followed," he told me in a quiet but casual tone.

"I know," I sighed, vaguely looking at the reflections of windows to watch the shadows and guess how many there were. "I'll meet you at Reggie's: you take care of it."

"Wa-? Why should I?!"

"I'll buy you a round for each head."

"Deal," was his immediate response. I left him to it, half wondering if I might never see him again.

It barely took him fifteen minutes.

"Eight rounds it is!" he declared, panting, when he walked up to the bar.

I learned from that, that even if he was fairly new to the underworld, he could be useful. And those muscles weren't just for show.

After the eight rounds, he was dead drunk and passed out on my shoulder. Reggie made some comment about that, but I pointedly ignored him.

I decided to take him back to my place, since it would be easier for work and I hadn't had my fill of him yet that night.

He asked some questions in a half-conscious stupor while I undressed him, and I don't remember all of it now but I wish I did. It was probably the start of things.

The start of him asking questions.

It didn't phase me much, because they always seemed fairly innocent. He was obviously new to everything and simply curious, so I naturally felt myself filling a mentor-like role.

Just imagining myself like that gave me an awkward happiness. I tried to act like my mentor had with me, but with a lot of sex added in, of course. I distinctly remember discussing my recent deal with the supply group while ravaging him in the shower.

He said he wasn't affiliated with any particular group yet, but had done odd jobs with some of the chop-shops and cleaners since moving to the city. I considered hiring him, but had a distinctly difficult time deciding where he would be best suited. Something close to me would be preferable, but he didn't have the experience. His public image, as well, was too tarnished to be associated with someone like me.

We would meet every week, always at the same time and place. Sometimes we would stay together the next day, but mostly we went our separate ways by morning. Just knowing he would be there for me made my trips to Reggie's feel exciting.

And I still didn't even know his name.

But I would learn it soon enough. It felt like I'd made some cosmic mistake in learning it after so much time had passed, since that's when everything began to fall apart.

I'd visited the information broker for something unrelated, but before leaving I decided on a whim to ask for the name of the man I'd been with.

Duke Peers.

And then, that night, while frantically dealing with the aftermath of that supply group canceling their deal with us, and the wasted money and men, I scoured for the name of whoever had bought them out from under us.

Duke Peers.

I froze in place while staring at my computer, and suddenly several thoughts flickered across my mind.

It wasn't just the supply chain.

"Peers" was a name that had been taunting me for some time.

Many of the Cadwell-owned facilities overseas had been taken over by someone with the same name. And, recently, even some domestic businesses were getting bought out or taken over by force.

The hotel he was staying at. It used to be one of our fronts, but three weeks after knowing him the building was handed over to a Peers, and I discovered there was a whole chain of hotels with the name popping up.

It's not like everything I talked about with him was stolen from me, because I surely would have known sooner. But few and far between, business was failing regarding projects that I'd spoken about with him.

How convenient, then, that our weekly appointment was drawing close.

And this time, I brought my gun.

Despite the rage that was consuming me, I still was painfully aware that I couldn't cause a scene in Reggie's. So, I held my tongue until I took him to a secondary location.

In a parking garage some miles away, after being tempted by the promise of car-sex, I could finally teach him what happens to those that betray the Cadwells.

My men were already waiting for us, hiding, but I needed to take the first shot. As a matter of pride.

I opened the door for him and he looked around before letting out a little laugh. "I guess the car-sex is off the table," he accurately surmised.

"Correct."

"But now I'm thinking about table-sex. Sure there isn't time to bend me over a table real quick, before you fire your load and have your men all over me?"

I punched him. It landed on his mouth, so his teeth did some damage to both of us. His lips were thoroughly split, thanks in part to the rings I was wearing, but my knuckles were just as bloodied.

While I was still registering the pain of the punch, he'd pulled out a gun of his own and shot my right leg.

The men positioned around the parking garage rushed in, but he was like a fucking blender with how he cut them all down singlehandedly. I didn't even see him take any damage. All I could do was watch from the ground as he took everyone out, and even amidst all that I just found myself wishing there was someone like him working for me.

He'd just finished taking care of everyone else, and was turning towards me, when a car burned rubber to pull up beside him. The door opened and he smoothly moved to enter.

Genuinely believing that may be the last time I ever saw him, I felt compelled to ask. Just for peace of mind. "Was everything you did with me planned? Did you ever feel anything for me?!"

He looked down at me with emotionless eyes. "Of course it was planned. But, please don't misunderstand all this as an act of hate. I actually have a lot of respect for you, Callahan."

That was the first time he'd called me by name.

He drove off, and I was left to sit in my own blood, along with that of several subordinates.

There was certainly a mix of thoughts and emotions when the next week rolled around and the day of our usual meet-up arrived.

He was nowhere to be seen when I entered the bar. I looked at Reggie and he lowered his head.

"You're a damn fool," he sighed, the disappointment in his voice stinging like a slap to the face.

He clearly knew.

"The roof," he told me, without even meeting my eyes.

I limped up the stairs, feeling sufficiently disgusted with myself.

"Duke," I seethed upon seeing his familiar silhouette against the setting sun.

"Oh, so you did learn my name," he smiled. "Pretty good, right?"

I lit up a cigarette as I made my way closer to him, the wound in my leg prickling with each step. "So, you finally got what you wanted," I noted.

"You have no idea what I want. You just know that it isn't you."

That hurt, arguably more than the gun shot.

I was close enough then to see that the wounds I left on his lips had several stitches. "I suppose I was the last one to feel your unscarred lips," I queried, tracing a finger over my own.

"You're seriously underestimating how much I can get up to in a week."

It was not a good night for me. "You must be staking a claim to this city," I growled, changing the subject, "so we won't be able to avoid each other. But know that, from now on, I'll only associate with you in business or in hell."

"This business is already hell." He turned away to survey the skyline.

He was right, and as such I had nothing more to say.

He turned back to me one last time and asked, "it was fun though, wasn't it?"

Thinking back, I have to concede that it was. But, at the time, I just shot at him.

My heart once consisted entirely of emptiness...

But

Now

At least,

There is rage.

Leaving my marks,

In places

I will never revisit.

"I WAZ HERE"

Carved in the tree I walked by

12 years ago

But part of me remains there.

Part that I don't miss

And didn't intend to leave behind,

Because it exists only in the minds of others.

"Who wrote this?"

"What was he like?"

And so,

I think that from now on,

I will sign the trees and benches I pass:

"I am here"

"I can't sleep if I hear you cry."

I suppose the meaning of that sentence is very dependent on how it is spoken.

If I said that the words were spat at me with an accusatory prickle, then it stands to reason that my crying is annoying: something that even burying ones head into pillows couldn't drown out. It would clearly be telling me to keep the volume of my wails to a level that sleeping ears couldn't register, lest I be an inconvenience.

However, if the words were spoken with earnest softness, and the throat-catching twang of disbelief, then it suddenly is a sentence of utter care. Said in such a way, I would know that my cries cannot be ignored because the pain causing them requires addressing with compassion. It would mean there is someone who values my comfort over their rest, or at least enough to delay their rest until the tears subside, and perhaps we will even rest together in a safe embrace?

Yes, it's obvious how much the tone I was told this line in is imperative in deciphering the meaning.

Unfortunately, I was sent it over text.

And so began the best year of my life.

I’ve had so many people’s deaths in my hands before, but to have someone’s life in my hands was a new-found pleasure and privilege.

Since he’d given a whole year of his life to me, I was determined to monopolize it and make sure nothing ended it prematurely. It was a bit of an ordeal at first, since he was prone to putting himself at the precipice of death given half a chance. His sitting so precariously over the edge of that building when we first met should have been indicator enough that he had an indifferent approach to his own mortality.

I stopped killing outside of contracts that year. I didn’t expect that I would, but within the first few weeks I noticed I’d fallen into a mental pattern. Whenever I got the urge to kill, I would think “if I have the choice between killing someone and hanging out with Aevum, of course I’ll choose Aevum” and then I’d go to him.

It seemed he didn’t have much of a life at all before meeting me, with no attachments or obligations, and no place to stay for that matter, so I immediately invited him to live with me. That made everything all the more fun. He showed a bit of reluctance when I offered, and complained that I might get bored of him if he was around me all the time. To that I argued that he should just keep being interesting, so I never get bored, and to his credit he did. But I’m sure he would have been an equal delight to be around if I’d said nothing. That was just his way.

Aevum was such a mysterious man, despite how open and chatty he was. Certain questions he would dance around and certain answers would be lies, but he clearly wanted to share himself with me and I took all I could get, if not a bit more.

No two days that year were the same. We really did make an attempt to do anything and everything, all of it together.

For about three months, the thought of eventually getting to kill him just made me horny as hell. I want to make it clear that the idea and act of killing never gave me any sexual gratification before him. I always had an artistic appreciation for the craft of killing, nothing more, but all of a sudden it excited me so much it was almost embarrassing. I reasoned that it must just be like how some people get boners looking at the Mona Lisa.

But, after those three months, the thought of killing him started to feel different. It was more melancholic, and left a bittersweet taste lingering in my mouth until the next time he kissed me and made me forget about any feeling but the bliss of his presence.

The “dates” started out as a half-joke. I would wine and dine him, or he would take me on long winding walks through the woods, or we would cook for each other and snuggle up on the settee with some RomCom playing in the background as we made out like sexually frustrated teenagers. The dates became more serious the day he called me his boyfriend, and then more so still on the day he told me he loved me.

This was on the seventh month.

I can’t begin to explain how that made me feel. It was as though all my feelings and frustrations were being brought to a boil for months, only to suddenly fall flat with clap cold and calm clarity when I realised I was in love with him as well.

That realisation compelled me to show him off. I even took him along with me on several contract killings, simply so I could tell the targets that he was my boyfriend and we were in love.

One instance in particular of me doing that made my target damn near kill himself with the envy. He was a forty-something businessman on his way to propose to his twenty-something girlfriend of two months. Guy was loaded, so the girl might have been better off marrying before asking me to kill him, but seemed as though she was so disgusted when she saw he’d bought a ring that she paid extra for me to kill him that night.

Aevum and I almost always wore matching outfits at that point in our relationship, and I would hold his cold little hands as often as possible. The man asked if we were a couple, and congratulated us, and then happily explained that he was on his way to propose, telling us each to think about popping the question since “time is short”.

Aevum was uncharacteristically angry when he said that. ”‘Till death do us part’ is such a cheap out. If you really loved someone then why would you end it with death? What kind of shallow horseshit is that?” he fumed, throwing his hands aggressively in the air. There was some strength unbefitting of his skinny arms, and I guess I’d call that strength ‘blind rage’, as he threw the man to the floor and snatched away the engagement ring in his pocket.

“Hey, Aev, wait, that’s my job-” I said in a mild panic, worried he’d kill the guy.

“And speaking of shallow horseshit!” Aevum threw the ring box to the side. “Your girlfriend hired my boyfriend to kill you!” Thank god he wasn’t going to take my kill I thought, suddenly much calmer, but still unsure why my usually happy-go-lucky boyfriend was now steaming with fury. “You don’t know the first thing about relationships and now you’re not even going to die alone, you’re going to die next to something you could never be: a happy couple!”

The guy completely broke down emotionally and even took out a folding knife to try and finish himself, so I quickly killed him before he had the chance. I then picked up Aevum under his arms and placed a kiss on his head. “Feel better?” I asked him.

“Yeah…” I gave him a tight embrace, kissing and nibbling his ears until he finally started laughing again and embraced me back. “Oh wait, let me go real quick,” he requested. I released him and he trotted over to where he’d thrown the man’s engagement ring.

“What’re you gonna do with that?” I asked.

“It looked really nice, actually. Figured this is like grave robbing but with less steps,” he answered with a smile.

Thankfully whenever I took him to contracts after that he always remained happy and calm, so I just got more curious about what set him off that time. But being able to bring your lover to work was so much fun that I forgot all about that incident fairly soon.

Aevum and I were practically joined at the hip, and I had “smitten” written all over my face, according to a regular client.

“Just don’t let it affect ya work,” he warned me. “Just cause ya got yourself a young lover don’t mean I’m payin’ double, or funding yous’s honeymoon, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved a hand. “But your last cheque did pay for this cute little leather number I slipped him into, so thanks for that,” I said slyly, winking.

“He actually spent it on His&His embroidered pillowcases,” Aevum corrected as he walked in and gave me a playful slap on the ass. “And nipple clamps,” he added.

“Right, that’s it, didn’t need to know that, I’m leaving,” my contractor raved as he stormed out the door. I pinched Aevum’s cheek.

“Nipple clamps? Really?” I tried to scorn but the smile on my face was all but permanent round this minx.

“You brought up leather,” he countered, ginning devilishly.

I’d actually spent most of the last pay on a weekend trip for us to visit my parents.

They’re dead, naturally, so we were visiting their graves.

I told Aevum, when he asked how long I’d been killing, that I started before I was born. He thought I was joking, but it was half true. There were complications when my mother was pregnant, and she died because of it. While I was being removed from her already dead body, my father killed himself. Both parents dying before I was born clearly had a lot of influence on the life I lead. That said, I feel like I have a good relationship with them. I visit their graves on holidays and birthdays, I’m always very open with them about what’s going on in my life, and they never pass judgement. Because, obviously, they’re dead.

“This is them!” I announced when we reached the modest headstones. “Mum, dad, this is Aevum, my boyfriend. He’s come to ask for your blessing.” I gave him a playful push and smiled at his nervous look.

“Uh, hello, sir, ma’am, please let me continue to see your son. I promise to look after him!” Aveum told the headstones earnestly, bowing. I didn’t know if he thought I believed their ghosts were watching, if he thought that himself, or if he was just doing a very convincing job of teasing me, but it felt nice.

It’s strange how a family can be two chiseled slabs of granite and a man you’ll be killing in a few months, but that’s just what this life can do to you.

We stayed with my parents for a long time, and told them about how we met. I filled in Aevum with all that I’d been told about my parents, and about my relationship with them. I told him parts of my childhood, but said that if I talked about it for too long then my mum would cry. He nodded like he understood completely and didn’t pry.

When I asked if I could ever meet his family he looked up at the sky for a long quiet moment. “Hopefully not anytime soon…” he said quietly.

When we were walking back to the hotel I booked for us he seemed in better spirits. “When you kill me, are you going to give me a grave like theirs? Can you make it next to them?” I ignored the sharp pain in my heart at remembering our promise and laughed instead.

“You want to spend eternity next to your in-laws? Are you crazy?” I joked.

“In-laws…” he repeated under his breath with a little smile. “Why, you worried they’ll tell me embarrassing things about you? Or that I’ll tell them that you still suck your thumb?”

“ONE TIME I did that, okay? One time!”

We visited my parents once more that year, on my birthday. It was a very warm and happy time, but the shadow of inevitably loomed in the distance.

This would all be ending very soon.

The last month of our year together. I was switching between doing my best to enjoy the limited time and spiralling into a panic about it. Aevum never once seemed nervous or regretful that he would be dying soon.

I thought “maybe he just doesn’t like me that much?” but I beat that thought away with a stick as soon as it came. Of course he liked me. That’s why he entrusted a year to me, and has faith that I’ll be able to keep my promise and kill him. No matter what happens. If I broke that promise then he would hate me. It’s better to kill him than to betray him, right?

But, fuck, I really didn’t want to have to kill him.

“Do you know how you’re going to kill me?” he asked two weeks before the due date, totally spoiling our post-coital bliss.

“Yeah,” I answered, sliding a hand up and down his forearm. “Should I tell you? Or do you want to be surprised?”

“Tell me! Tell me!” he pleaded excitedly, practically wagging his tail like a puppy.

“I’m going to strangle you.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Why not use your knife?”

“I want to be touching you, right to the end.” His cheeks flushed and he started wiggling around and nuzzling into me.

“You’re so romantic, Jack! What did I do to deserve you?”

“You gave yourself to me, I guess. And you have a cute face,” I teased, but it was basically the truth. We kissed tenderly and made love rampantly.

And then, eventually but also instantly, it was the day.

“Happy Anniversary, Babe,” a very sleepy Aevum greeted me in the morning. “Half expected you’d do it in my sleep!” he called as he walked into the bathroom.

“No way!” I disregarded. “I made pancakes, I’m not enough of a nice guy to kill you before you have to suffer through eating them. I didn’t even look for a recipe, so prepare yourself.”

“Oh, so it’s death by food poisoning, I see your game!” We laughed. “As last meals go, I don’t really think I’d ask for anything else. Well, maybe rat poison, since it would taste better.”

“Hey! That was so sweet until the end!”

I was infinitely thankful we could still talk and joke like we had for the last 365 days. I decided that I would follow through with my promise and I would not let any sadness or regret ruin our final moments together.

After we ate, or tried to, we dressed in matching outfits like usual and got in the car.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a proper anniversary if we didn’t go to the place we had our first kiss.”

By the time we got to the roof of the apartment complex it was already night fall.

I took out two cigarettes.

We smoked the whole year, but seeing him in that place, inhaling like a pro, not coughing once, washed me with an empty nostalgic feeling. He even tried to blow some smoke rings, but the wind wisped them away. I laughed at that, but there was a lump in my throat all the while.

After we finished I silently took his hand, and lead him to the edge. We sat together and I put him on my lap so we both faced the streets below.

The view really was amazing from up here. I hardly noticed the first time.

Some part of my heart knew that if I waited until the sun rose, and saw it light his eyelashes like golden tinsel once again, that I wouldn’t be able to do this.

I placed my hands on his neck, and he definitely must have felt them tremble.

“You’re warm,” he commented.

“No, you’re just cold,” I responded, my eyes welling up. I swallowed and swallowed but my throat wouldn’t clear. I blinked and blinked but the tears wouldn’t stop.

I started to tighten my grip.

I don’t think I’ve ever been nice, but right then I became cruel. I wanted to drag this out by choking him slowly, even though I had enough strength to crush his windpipe near instantly, and even though I knew this would hurt him much more.

Gradually I tightened the hold, and for a long time he didn’t move aside from slowly stroking my thigh, like he was trying to sooth me.

And then, quite suddenly, his hand left my thigh and went to my wrists. He was tapping me.

No matter what I reminded myself. And kept reminding myself even when those cold little hands clawed into my skin and tore at my arms as he struggled and kicked and writhed to get out of my hold.

It didn’t feel anything like I thought it would a year ago. I got no pleasure from it.

I cried hard but tightened once again.

His body went limp, and I forced myself to keep going for ten more minutes.

My eyes were burning and soundless screams scratched at my throat.

Once he was dead I finally let go of his neck, but couldn’t let go of him. I held his small body tightly to my own, and after I regained the strength in my legs I stood up and carried him away.

“I’m, uh, still a bit against it, but I’ll bury you next to my parents,” I told his body on the drive back, my voice trembling so much that the words were mostly incoherent.

Since I already arranged this, there was a hole waiting for him. No coffin, since he thought they were a waste of money, but we got him a matching headstone. There was one for me too, but that was in storage for the time being.

I buried him quickly, and left in a cowardly hurry because I needed time to process.

On the drive home I managed to replay the highlights of our year, and the empty parts of me refilled with our memories. It really wasn’t that sad of a story, after all. It was a wonderful story, a wonderful year. An amazing man.

I walked inside our house feeling refreshed.

There was an envelope on his side of the bed. My heart raced anxiously, but I had a good feeling about what it might be saying. He was pretty sentimental, to be honest.

I opened it, and that “good feeling” collapsed like the veil over my eyes.

“Hey, Jack! Don’t worry, I’m not actually angry or anything. I knew you wouldn’t be able to do it, so I couldn’t help teasing you, but I’m happy really. Seems that a year wasn’t long enough for me, after all. And until death won’t be long enough either. This is selfish, but I don’t think you’ll mind since I’m always asking selfish things of you. I want an eternity together. I left something for you inside your favourite mug in the cupboard, so go get that, and I’ll meet you on top of the apartments at 5am. Love you”

I sprinted to the cupboard and shatter half the ceramics as I dove for the small box in my mug.

“No, no,” I stammered. Inside the box was the ring he’d taken from that forty-something contract.

I leapt back into the car and tore back to the apparents, sprinting up to the roof.

The sun started to rise over the half an hour I stood there, not knowing what the hell I was waiting for.

I looked at my watch.

05:01

This is not a sad story.

It is a wonderful story, about how I met the most amazing man in the world, and about how I killed him.

Killing wasn’t strictly speaking my profession, as I will always consider myself a student of the craft, but I did receive contracts now and then and it does pay the bills. To train, I also partook in the occasional passion kill, hobby kill, and the much sought after mercy kill.

Right now, I was just killing time.

The roof of a rundown apartment complex was as good a destination as any, and there was a 20 pack of Marlboro burning a hole in my pocket.

Once I realised I had company, inspiration struck faster than my match and I swapped the cigarette for a 4 inch serrated.

The small man who was sat right on the edge, swinging his legs lightly and leaning over far enough that he might just slip off the side, calmly looked my way.

My footsteps weren’t usually so pronounced, but the loose gravel underfoot was giving my approach an unusual fanfare, so I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was to be spotted.

I didn’t make an attempt to hide the knife, and I walked closer.

The man gave me a polite smile like one would give an acquaintance whos name you’d forgotten.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked, just before I was within stabbing range.

Now, I’ve been asked that question hundreds of times, and I thought I’d heard it every way it could be said, but I was wrong. People have asked that calmly, and angrily, and crying, and excited, and horrified, but he didn’t. It was like he wasn’t asking at all. I’m not even sure how to explain it, but it almost felt like a threat.

″...Yes,” I answered, after glancing around to make sure we were alone. Probably because the way he asked had rattled me, I took a very aggressive step forward to try and startle him. He had a look of dull surprise for a moment, but then went back to that polite smile. “You’re not going to try and escape?” I asked for some reason. Plenty of people didn’t try to escape me, though, so why was I so confused?

“Nah,” he said wistfully, looking back over the edge of the building. “I mean, I’m free right now, so I got the time to kill.” He looked back at me with a totally different smile. This one was warm. He chuckled somewhat playfully then. “Get it? ‘Kill’?”

He seemed to be waiting for my approval, but I just couldn’t help the frown that took over my face.

“Forget it, I won’t kill you,” I resigned, twiddling the knife around a little before pocketing it and turning away.

“Ah, that’s what they all say. You’re such a tease,” the man complained, pouting. “Well, I’m gonna be here for a while if you change your mind. Bye, then.” He wiggled his fingers as a farewell without looking at me.

I stomped over to the door leading back inside, unusually irritated, before turning at the last second and calling out to him. “Do you smoke?” I asked. He leaned his head back at the night sky, and then further back until he could see me (upside down).

“If it kills me faster than you will, then I guess it’s never too late to start!” he laughed.

I walked back over and took a seat next to him, taking out and lighting my own cigarette before passing him one. Once he put it between his lips, I slipped both hands behind his head and pulled his face close so I could light him with the embers of my own.

He probably inhaled too deeply, in a somewhat surprised gasp, because he suddenly started choking so much the cigarette flew right out of his mouth and over the side of the building.

We both watched it silently fall away.

He peeked up at me sheepishly. “Another!” he almost pleaded and I couldn’t help laughing so I just passed him mine while I giggled on.

This time he managed to avoid dropping it, but he still coughed with each puff, so I kept laughing, and then when he started laughing with me his coughing fit just grew until I had to snatch the cig away from him, shoulders still shaking with my unrestrained chortling.

I took an excessively long drag while maintaining eye contact, and then blew all of it in his face.

“Ah!” He protested, lightly pushing me back and spluttering, but smiling all the same.

I couldn’t remember ever laughing so much, especially not with someone I was going to kill.

His hand remained on my shoulder even after he was breathing normally, and I didn’t mention it. It was a cold and small hand. I wondered what that cold and small hand would feel like if it was clawing into my skin in self defence as I murdered it’s owner.

And the thought alone gave me a semi.

I didn’t kill him that night, though.

We chain smoked through my entire pack until the sun rose. At one point he started to shiver so I gave him my scarf, and considered choking him with it, but didn’t.

We talked a lot that night, but laughed more.

He never asked me why I was going to kill him, or why I didn’t, or if I was going to later on, but he asked me many other things.

Firstly, how long I’d been smoking.

“Since before you were born,” I answered, eyeing the youthful face.

“Oh, not long then,” he quipped with a cheeky upturned lip.

He also asked me if I lived in the apartment complex we were sat atop, so I returned the question. Neither of us did.

“Must just be fate then,” he commented.

“Must be.”

He asked my name, at one point, and like a fool I gave it. My unease at that was short lived, since he gave his in kind immediately after. “Pleased to meet you, Jack. I’m Aevum,” he introduced, extending a hand for me to shake.

I took a soft grasp of it, then snaked a finger up his wrist and gave him a little stroke before taking my hand back.

“You’re warm,” was all he said to that.

“No, you’re just cold,” I told him and he looked genuinely surprised.

“You recon?” I smiled.

“Cold as a corpse.” He laughed. “Should I warm you up?” I asked as I put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into me. How easy it would have been to give him a push and watch him fall over the edge.

“Yes please!” He nuzzled and rubbed his head against my chest vigorously.

“I’m not heating you with friction, are you trying to start a fire?” I squeezed him, and felt positive he would snap if I squeezed hard enough. He slipped an arm around my waist, over my shirt but under my jacket, and I gasped. The gasp was mostly because of how chilled his arm was, but partly because he was touching my weak spot.

We remained partially entangled like that for most of the night, only shifting occasionally. We teased each other several times and it felt comfortable, like we hadn’t just met. Or maybe it was because we’d just met that there were no expectations or rules. It was just a funny and wonderful time.

When dawn was starting to break I gave his head a little pat before asking something I only hadn’t asked earlier for fear of the fun ending.

“If I hadn’t come by, were you going to jump from here?”

“No way,” he assured. “I’m afraid of heights.”

I roared with laughter and ragged him about by his collar.

“Then why sit here?”

“Well, I thought that if I sat here long enough, then someone would come by and kill me. Or, failing that, keep me company,” he explained tartly. I rolled my eyes.

“You want to die?”

“Not particularly. I don’t think I’d mind being killed, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“If you ask me such personal questions you’ll make me blush!” he whined, lacing his fingers with mine and giving me a squeeze.

“Right, sorry,” I giggled. I planted a light kiss on the back of his hand.

The sun rose on his side, so when he turned to look at it I turned to look at him.

With the new lighting I saw just how pretty he was. His features were delicate, and so was his frame, and his eyelashes looked golden in the sun. I raised a hand, undoubtedly with the intention to take his face and make an utter mess of his peach tinted lips, but his words stopped me.

“Do you want to kill me?”

“Yes,” I answered instantly, clearly over eager. “Ah, but,” I backtracked. “Not right now.” He turned around to me and beamed. Aevum made short work of pulling me into a kiss, and I was stunned with how deep and impassioned it was. He left me breathless and flushed when he pulled back.

“I have a proposition,” he said.

“I bet you do.”

“Turn your ‘not right now’ into ‘in a year’.” I raised an eyebrow. “I like your company a lot! And I’m not in any kind of rush, so let me stay with you for a year without killing me.”

“What would we be doing for a year?” I asked, my eyes naturally falling to his lips.

“Anything at all. Everything, even. But you have to promise me,” he began, his serious tone tearing my eyes up to meet his, “that no matter what happens through the year, you will kill me at the end of it.”

This proposition was almost too good to be true.

“Anything at all,” I purred with delight. “I promise.”