Michaels in Love (BoyXBoy) English

Epilogue - Season 1

The wind screamed like a banshee in the dead of night, slicing through the churning sea. The skies, cloaked in an ominous darkness, erupted with thunder that shook the earth and lightning that carved jagged scars across the heavens. It was as if the cosmos itself wept or raged for the love story it bore witness to—a tale steeped in longing, loss, and the unyielding hope of reunion.

---

September 29, 1926

Dearest Anghelo Mikaelo,

We will meet again, my love. On the twenty-fifth day of October, in the year 2011, I will find you. You will see me on a train, at a station they call Gilmore—a name of modernity, yet our story will anchor it in eternity.

Our eyes will lock, and time will cease its relentless march.

You will feel the frantic rhythm of my heart, the warmth of my trembling skin, and the heat of my breath mingling with yours. Your gaze will linger on my lips as if drawn by an invisible force, the universe itself willing us closer.

You are him. You are my Anghelo.

The sound of my heartbeat drowns the world, and my lips burn, aching for the closeness of yours.

Anghelo, I feel your soul. It beats in rhythm with mine. I yearn to kiss you, to hold you, to lose myself in you. Decades have passed, centuries have stretched between us, but through every lifetime, I have loved you—again and again, endlessly.

And this time, once more, we will love.

Yours eternally,

Mykolas Severino

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The creak of the MV Sta. Clarita echoed like a lament, its ancient timbers straining against the relentless waves. Inside a dimly lit cabin, sixty-six-year-old Mykolas Severino carefully folded the letter and slipped it into a glass bottle. His hands trembled—not from age, but from the weight of his conviction.

He sealed the bottle and held it close, his eyes closing as he murmured a silent prayer. He had lived long enough to understand that faith and love were often the only constants in a world of chaos.

Blowing out the lantern's flickering flame, Mykolas stepped into the corridor. The sharp scent of saltwater filled his lungs as he moved through the ship, his footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floor. A vision gripped him suddenly, as it had countless times before—a dream, vivid and unrelenting.

Two men lay side by side on a bed in a world that did not yet exist, their faces bathed in the soft glow of a future Mykolas could not comprehend.

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"Mike, I can't sleep."

"Why, my love?"

"I don't know." Michael's voice was hushed, a tremor betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. "Ever since I set foot on the MV Sta. Clarita, this strange feeling hasn't left me."

Mike propped himself up, concern etched on his face. "What kind of feeling?"

"Like... I've been there before. Like I know it—every creak of the boards, every shadowy corner. It was like stepping into a place I'd already lived, though I've never seen it before."

Mike's fingers brushed his cheek. "What else?"

"When I reached the main deck, it was stronger. My heart raced, my skin crawled, but it wasn't fear. It was... familiarity. And then, when I stood at the farthest edge, I felt it—a sharp, searing pain in my chest. It was like something... or someone... was trying to tell me something."

"You think it's a memory? From another life?"

Michael hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I saw myself, Mike. Older, my hands wrinkled. I was on that deck, throwing a bottle into the sea, and the storm... the storm was just like this."

Mike's breath hitched. "Baby... do you know the Sta. Clarita is one of the oldest ships in existence? It's survived wars, storms, and decades. Maybe you were there before. Maybe... you're connected to it."

"You think it's possible?"

Mike smiled, his hand clasping Michael's. "I believe in love that defies time. Maybe we've been here before, Baby. Maybe I've loved you in every lifetime."

Tears glistened in Michael's eyes. "And I've loved you too, Mike. Always."

---

The wind whipped against Mykolas as he reached the ship's deck. The storm raged in full force now, the rain drenching him in seconds. He clutched the bottle to his chest, his grip firm despite the battering gale.

"Anghelo," he murmured, his voice trembling, "wait for me. We will meet again. We will love again."

He stepped to the edge of the ship, the waves below roaring like a hungry beast. With one final glance at the bottle, he hurled it into the sea. The glass caught the lightning's glow for a fleeting second before vanishing into the black abyss.

"Until we meet again, my love..."

A jagged bolt of lightning tore through the sky, illuminating a shadow that shouldn't have been there. Mykolas froze.

A man emerged from the darkness, his face obscured by the storm's fury. The glint of a knife caught Mykolas's eye, and before he could react, the blade plunged into his chest.

Agony exploded through him as he staggered backward, his hand clutching the wound. He fell to the deck, rain mingling with the blood pooling beneath him.

Through the haze of pain, Mykolas's lips moved. "Anghelo..."

The storm screamed louder, the wind carrying his last word into the endless void.

The bottle, its precious contents intact, was carried by the relentless ocean. It drifted through time—years, decades, lifetimes—until it would find the one it was meant for.

Somewhere in the distant future, under a different sky, two souls would collide once more, their love defying the boundaries of time, tragedy, and fate.