Home At Last (Evelyn Du)

Epilogue

Spring

George decides that today is the day he stops.

He's at the doors of the library again, standing tall and firm. He does not intend to back out this time, he's hyped himself too much for this.

He has to do this, he has to face reality.

He pushes the wooden doors open, and immediately he is enveloped in the scent of grass and sandalwood. It causes a stir in his heart, pulling and tugging at the long-suppressed memories he chose to push away for the sake of comfort. It's oddly nostalgic as if he's walking into an old hazy memory. Frayed at the edges yet bittersweet.

His steps still echo, yet this time is accompanied by the chatter of young children.

He looks to the tables in the middle, now some of them are half-filled with multiple young faces, headfirst into fairy tales and storybooks. Their loud mumbling is and happy giggles are so infectious in fact, that they manage to bring a weak smile onto his face.

He's glad more people are visiting the library now. He's glad that they've hired an actual lady on the front desk to shush at the children when they're being too loud. He's glad his former place of sanctuary, has become one for all ages and sizes.

He eyes his seat by the window sill, around it there are still the usual piles of books and papers.

George sucks in a breath, closes his eyes, and releases. He can still imagine a mess of blonde hair, and freckled cheeks. Sitting in that same spot, nursing another book in hand with a large smile.

With slow, plaintive steps. He approaches the window sill.

He looks over, the view outside is simply magnificent. The sky is painted in bright cerulean, and tinged with orange. The clouds, soft and white as they drift across the endless blue. It's peaceful.

George looks down to the books, coated with a fine layer of dust. So thick to the point where you can't even make out the title. He stares at it for a moment, a sudden pang in his chest as he recalls all the lovely memories he had here. He lifts his hand, and gently sweeps away at the dust. Revealing a light pink cover with gold titling.

He chokes back a sob.

"De Profundis, meaning heartfelt cry of anguish or sorrow."

The man's voice still echoes in his barren mind. It feels like just yesterday he met Elior, with shaky hands and an ecstatic voice. Eyes sparkling viridian as he talked about his favorite book.

George lets out a watery laugh at the thought, he remembers how Elior used to ramble about poetry.

With trembling fingers, he slowly pries the dusty book open. Inside, the first thing he sees is the note Elior used to ask him out. Beside it, are dried carnation petals, still firmly pressed on the paper like glue. They stand as a homage, as a distant memory.

I like books, you like books, why don't we start writing the story of us-

George reads it aloud, his voice cracking and breaking while doing so. He clutches the note tightly to his chest. He feels wet streaks begin to fall from his eyes, clouding his vision with tears. His mouth quivers into a broken wail, as he weeps for the man he loved eons ago. His faraway lover, his wayward heart. His Elior.

"I-I'm sorry" He gasps, furiously rubbing away his tears. Elior wouldn't have wanted him to cry over a dead man. "I broke my promise."

"I can't wait any longer."

He stands there for a bit longer. Just as much time as he needs to let go. He's been mourning for too long now.

Before he turns to leave for the door, someone calls out to him.

"Am I late again?"

George stands still.

Something, maybe the hope that died in him long ago- a spark of it, just an ember. Comes back full force, as a bustling, powerful flame. It eats him up inside, burning and all-consuming as it gives him the strength to turn around.

George lets out a watery and broken laugh, but still a laugh.

Elior is there, in a wheelchair with bandages littering his body and face. He's smiling while holding a fresh bouquet and chrysanthemums and carnations.

George laughs again, he's there.

"No," George manages between the waterfall of tears that flow down his cheeks. "No, you're not."

I've been waiting all this time.

It all seems false for a moment. Elior wouldn't have come back so suddenly would he? But then again, who was George to deny it? He's written a mountain of letters, all piled and stacked somewhere in his house- waiting to be sent to the man in front of him.

He's withstood the cold and the rain. The pain and the heartache. He has loved stone so it could be turned into marble. George is a boat at sea made to withstand the most treacherous of storms. He is a willow tree in the thunder, standing unafraid and proud in peril. He is brimstone and hellfire in the form of an aching- lovelorn heart.

Elior shuffles awkwardly in his seat, George takes the moment to absorb everything. From how overgrown his hair is now, to the way he favors his left side more now. Elior fumbles with the bouquet, ruffling the flowers to perfection and fixing the stems. He glances upwards to George with a lopsided grin.

"Uh-- for you?" He gestures stiffly to the arrangement of flowers.

George tackles him in a hug.

"Woah-- easy now. I'm quite fragile as you can see." Elior chuckles half-heartedly, dropping the flowers to his lap, and returning the embrace to George. He draws soothing circles on his back when George's body starts racking with sobs. He presses light kisses to the crown of his head.

"I- I was waiting-- every day--" George stammers, but he just can't stop the tears.

Elior smiles at him tenderly, he lifts George's head and cups one of his cheeks gently. "I was told. I arrived at the station today, and you weren't there."

Elior's eyes fall crestfallen as he continues. "I thought you forgot about our promise."

George retorts saying "I would never. I thought you broke yours."

The blonde's eyes watch him. "I was about too, I was holding your letters when they took me. I thought I was going to die , George." He laughs bitterly.

"Then why didn't you?" George asks, he so easily could have done so. He so easily could've just left him to mourn for the rest of his life. So George would have the courage to open the letter in the drawer by his bed stand. He could've left George as fast as he came.

Elior could have just left and forgotten about George if he wanted too.

The blonde chuckled, "I promised you I'd come back, didn't I?"

Oh, George thinks to himself, a smile tugging at his lips, that's why.

They sit there, in the middle of a now lively library in the middle of a spring. Holding each other close so that they may never lose each other again. George feels as if he's coming home to something he lost so long ago. Elior feels the same, as he holds George closer, hoping to feel the reality of it all. George feels as if he was always meant to be here, that Elior never left at all. That the only place that belongs is in his arms.

Elior suddenly laughs. George can feel it as he reverberates across his body.

"What is it?"

He wheezes, "I said I would kiss you when I came back, didn't I?"

George smiles, and for the first time again. He feels like he can be happy without consequence.

"Then do it."

He smiles shyly, running his thumb across George's cheek bone as he leans in, and George can feel the smile on his face when he presses his lips against his. It's sweet, like the flowers between them, soft like a new spring. it feels right.

"Welcome home, Elior."

Somewhere behind them, an old, yellowed note sits in between the pages of De Profundis;

"When you really want love, you will find it waiting for you.