HONEY WINE

1

It was funny how distant they were considering the fact that the two of them lived on the same estate. Logistically, their lives were entangled. They span around each other like two planets in oblivion, forever encircling but never colliding. 

He would see him in the garden where they walked hand in hand as toddlers and as little children. He would even watch him sometimes. It was pointless to deny the effect that the sight of him had on Alex. Everyone could see it, the light that he emanated. He was like the sun. Truly. When he laid in the green grass and the water from the sprinklers wetted his dirty blond hair, the sun rays reflected off the soaked strands, and his wet skin glittered like gold.

It was not that he liked him. He did not know of him. Or maybe he did, but he forgot.

It was that he was beautiful. Objectively and undeniably.

He watched him sometimes. Like watching a bird fly, or a leaf fall, or a dawn break... He watched him like one watches the wonders of the world; the casual beauty that our ordinary universe bestows upon us daily. He was beautiful, so he watched... Just that.

Alex and his family lived in Niko's grandmother's estate. Niko's grandmother, Dorothy was half-Greek and half-British; born and raised İstanbul.

Dorothy came to the United Kingdom in her twenties to inherit her father's estate. Her father, whom her mother described as a charming British admiral, left them after the war with the promise to sent for them as soon as possible. He never did. He had died a year after he left Turkey, and his family did not know about Dorothy and her mother, until they had discovered the letters that the couple had exchanged. Dorothy had not the slightest idea that she was an heiress to such an estate, nor she knew of how rich her father was. However, being the smart women that they are, it did not take too long for Dorothy and her mother to learn how to navigate their new-found wealth and status in this unknown country. All the while, however, she and her mother had never forgot where they came from and what they stood for; which was part of the reason why Alex and his family were cohabiting the estate.

And now they were here. Alex and Niko, their glances riveted on their plates, with the shared embarrassment of those forgotten memories. Or at least that's what Alex thought, because when he looked up he saw Niko looking at him. "And also," Niko spoke with a smirk, "we were mother naked, weren't we?" They were talking about it again. Them as little babies, taking their first steps hand-in-hand in the sun.

"Yes," Dorothy continued, "but then again you were almost exclusively naked at all times, up until you were around eight, gatoula mou."

"And even after then, we had a hard time dressing you up," continued Niko's father.

"What about Alex?" Niko asked again. This time Alex knew he was looking at him. He could feel his eyes on him, he could even envision his little smirk and somehow he thought the best thing to do was to keep looking at the potatoes au gratin on his plate.

"Oh, he was always more modest than you," Dorothy replied.

"He still is." Alex looked up when he heard Niko's voice again and saw him, as expected, staring and smirking at him. Alex glared back. "Prude," mouthed Niko. Alex stuffed his mouth with potatoes and decided that he was not going to pay him any attention.

That was obviously impossible. 

The ever-pulling gravity of his star. Undeniable.

So he looked back and saw him already given up, already given his attention back to the mouthwatering roast on his plate, his blonde locks falling over his now distracted eyes.