Authors Note (A/N): I keep switching between "you" and "him" but you and him are the same person, interchanging. Whatever.
If an island was invaded by an army of terrible monsters and you were standing on the opposite side, I would fight to you with my last breath. With you, everything makes sense. With you, those lunitical ideas I can't seem to connect are all the sudden wise and full of logic. Your golden smile makes me smile, your laugh is contagious. Everything about you is contagious. And I can't explain why I feel this way.
But all I really know, is that my love for you is an everlasting ocean. The sea can never be dried up, shriveled or shrunk, and neither can my love.
If the gods themselves stood between us on the great Mount Olympus, sacred place for the powerful immortals, I would fight them with my bare hands. And to reach you, while heaving my last breath, would be a piece of serendipity protruding from my lips.
All I want to do, is be by your side. You are my completion, the thing I've been missing all these years. I never even realized, why I was so lonely. But when I found you, it was like I'd reconnected my left arm.
At present. We are not on an island. We are not on Olympus. You are standing across from me, holding a javelin with anger in your eyes. Fire rages around us, we are on a hill top. Just a few feet away is one of the houses that starts New Rome. You are trying to kill me.
I don't understand how we got here. I know what has happened, but my mind will not accept it. Somewhere in my thoughts, they keep whispering that I should trust him, hug him, hug you. You are my missing half, and I cannot live without you. How can I kill you? But that would only leave one other option: Let you kill me.
Am I really so ready to accept death on your behalf? Even with you sheathing underneath those perfect blue eyes? If I had a bit more time...I could make you understand. But your already screaming a horrific battle cry, a war shriek. Your charging, and I am doing nothing. I watch you come closer, then I close my eyes and watch the point of your weapon pierce skin.
And it stops. I open one eye, timidly. Your standing in front of me, tears falling from your cheeks. Then you shake your head, pull back the javelin and toss it to the ground.
I'm almost sobbing with relief and horrible convulsing chokes that erupt from my throat. I've escaped with nothing more than a paper cut. A small scratch. Something stirs inside of me, and I look at him. I am still confused why he would choose not to kill me.
I tilt my head at him, shifting my gaze until I'm completely focused on him, his eyes, his shameful face. I'm not mad at him, and I can tell by the way he shuffles his feet in the sodden dirt below us, he is wrestling with guilt.
How could he have killed me? Would he have killed me, if I fought back? I can't let these questions loose in my mind. They are a danger to this positive thinking. If I'd lifted one hand to stop him, one word uttered from my mouth (words can be much more harmful then any weapon) could he have just so easily thrown a glinting golden weapon into my main arteries?
And suddenly, when I see you crumple to your knees, not from a wound but from grief over the monster you fear you've become, I'm filled with compassion. I rush forward, gather you in my arms. Your shaking, terrified of yourself.
"It's okay," I promise, a soothing voice to meet your ears. Words that sound empty but when said in the right way could mean more than a million dollars. And I can tell that he is grateful by the tiny nod he gives, the small whimper that escapes his throat.
He is filling my arms with the bulk of his body, but I don't care. If I cold hold him for a century, I would be grateful.
We are sitting on top of your bed. You are asleep. I've been thinking. None of that is real, none of that ever happened. But sometimes, I let my mind wander, to the darkest depths of my thoughts. Things I like to imagine. Thinking about finding you. And sometimes I wonder, if there was ever a greater brother than you.