Chapter 6 #2
A moment later, he felt Christopher’s arms around him, a tight hug that he returned, gripping the back of Christopher’s jacket as if he could hold him forever. “I am always with you,” Kit said. “Wherever there is an invention that is not quite working, I am there.”
Matthew laughed; it was the first time he had ever laughed in a dream. “You were a great inventor, Kit.”
“The past is not lost to us, or gone forever,” said Kit, even as he drew back from Matthew. He had started to grow more translucent around the edges. “It remains a part of who we are. Even if you were to forget me, I would still be a part of you.”
“I won’t ever forget you,” Matthew said, but Kit was already fading, vanishing into the green-tinged air. Matthew watched him go, but without sorrow this time. He knew he would see him again.
* * *
Matthew woke up, and it was a gentler waking than he had known for a long time.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, reaching for the painful sorrow he always felt when he broke free of his dreams. It did not come.
There was sorrow there, of course, but it was not the agony of a new wound; it was merely a presence, a reminder, like a healed scar.
He rolled onto his side, and found that Sylvain, beside him, was awake. He lay with his head pillowed on his hand, his dark eyes fixed on Matthew. He said, “A nightmare, then?”
Matthew shook his head. “A sad dream. But not a bad one.” He found himself telling Sylvain of the dream, of the park, the laughter, Christopher.
How the dream had always been the same, but tonight, it was different.
When he was done, Sylvain reached out to lay his fingertips lightly over Matthew’s heart.
Matthew shivered; Sylvain’s skin against his was new and thrilling, no matter the context.
“I think your friend Christopher must have been a great teacher,” said Sylvain. “Is that true?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you are stubborn, my Matthew. But I think he has begun to teach you to forgive yourself.”
Matthew remembered what Sylvain had said to him, what seemed like a lifetime ago—you do not seem like someone who is running away. So you must be someone who is looking for something.
He had been looking for something all over the world.
He had looked on land and sea, in deserts and forests, in crowded cities and empty plains.
But it had taken Sylvain to show him that what he needed was to let go of the blame he had pointed at himself like a weapon.
To set it aside and let it go, and face the world unburdened, as terrifying as that might seem.
“What are you thinking?” Sylvain asked hoarsely, his hand sliding down Matthew’s side.
“That it is a little frightening, to imagine going forward without guilt,” said Matthew. “Like leaving a companion behind.”
“You have a new companion now,” said Sylvain.
He bent down to kiss Matthew, and Matthew reached up to twine his arms around Sylvain’s neck, his legs around Sylvain’s waist. They sank into each other, all their words gone to whispers and gasps, to pleas and prayers, to the secret language only lovers could understand.
* * *
The wind off the Sea of Marmara was soft and tinged with salt. Matthew and Sylvain stood at the railing, watching the dark smudge on the horizon sharpen into focus as the Majestic drew closer to Constantinople.
“You know,” Matthew said, reaching down to pat Oscar, who was also gazing through the railings, “they used to call this city the Crossroads of the World. Everyone came here from all over the globe, to trade and do business. A glorious mix.”
“Here’s to glorious mixes,” Sylvain said. The wind blew through his dark curls and Matthew resisted the urge to smooth them down. “I’m looking forward to meeting your friends,” Sylvain added. “What are you thinking we shall do, after this sojourn? Should we travel on, or return to London?”
“I think I’d like to bring you back to London with me,” Matthew said, enjoying how casually Sylvain employed the term we.
“I’d like to show you all the places in the city that are important to me.
I’d like you to meet my friends, my family.
I’d like to kiss you in front of some of the more significant tourist locations—the British Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, Tower Bridge… ”
“Westminster Abbey?”
Matthew shuddered. “Definitely not Westminster Abbey. Sylvain, there is still so much I have to tell you.”
“All right,” Sylvain said. “No Westminster Abbey. And no theater. I think I’ve had quite enough of the theater for some time.”
Matthew took Sylvain’s hand. He didn’t think that in the press of the crowd anyone would notice, and he didn’t care. He felt, for the first time in a long time, as if he had so much to look forward to that he could barely contain his anticipation.
The smudge on the horizon was taking shape: Matthew thought he could see the dome and minarets of Hagia Sofia coming into view.
“What if,” he said to Sylvain, “we discover that the first time we are on land together, we can no longer stand each other? Maybe we only work when we are bouncing around atop the waves.”
“Then I shall buy us a very large bathtub,” said Sylvain.
He pressed his lips to Matthew’s temple, and Matthew half-closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“Or drag you off to live with me on a succession of boats. Because I am not going to be without you, Matthew Fairchild. You, or your ridiculous dog.”
And Matthew laughed, as the ship bore them closer to the docks where his best friend waited, and as Oscar bounded around his and Sylvain’s feet, his tail waving like a banner in the wind.