something holy .

Francis knows that he has responsibilities to get back to, that Maddie will be waiting for him to return home. He has to go if only to prove that he’s not his father. His father would have stayed, abandoning any sort of moral obligation that he might have had. But he’s thousands of miles away and Frankie hasn’t heard from him in years. He doesn’t even mind. That’s the difference between the man Amos used to know and the one standing in front of him now.

This man doesn’t give a fuck.

“I can’t tonight.” Frankie sounds genuinely sorry. “I don’t spend more than one night away from my daughter if I can help it,” he admits. “She’s five. And she still needs me, so I’ve got to go back to her.” He smiles when he talks about her. It’s obvious that he loves her with his whole entire heart. “Maybe- maybe you could come and have dinner with us?”

Normally Francis wouldn’t be so willing to let someone new meet her, but Amos wasn’t just anyone. “Not tonight. Friday perhaps?”

There's a nod to his head, an understanding to the words he's saying. Where Amos could throw caution to the wind and abandon everything at the drop of a hat, Francis didn't have the same luxury.

He'd kiss him again, coffee soaked mouths. "I'd like that," he can't help but smile at the idea himself. The idea that Francis is still willing to let Amos into his life, just like they were teens again. Prying into eachother trying to find the things that made them. Those secrets they kept from the world.

Francis still let him in. He promised him more then tangled sheets, and hungry whispers uttered in the safety of night.

Frankie could admit that the feeling of Amos’ hands on his belt was tempting. He would happily stay there forever, their bodies intertwined and becoming one. But he also knew that he had to leave and get back to his real life. He put his hands on Amos’ cheeks so he could look at him properly before he leaned in and kissed him one more time.

“I’ll have to accept that offering another time, my love.” He stood on his toes so he could kiss Amos on the forehead. “I have a life to get back to. But you- you can be part of it. Soon,” he promised.

Amos only grins as Francus pulls him back, bright eyes full of life dancing with amusement as he continues to unbuckle his belt. Pulling him closer to his hips, he meets Frankie's forehead kiss followed by one to his lips.

"Or you can let me keep you here," getting back to life seemed all too overrated, especially for a man who'd run away from his own. He considered asking Frankie to do the same with him, they pack their bags of this town and leave. Anywhere, he'd be happy with him.

Frankie felt like his smile was totally permanent now. He knew that the second he left he would be scared that Amos would disappear again. He’d go back to his life and his family and maybe everything that happened here would necome redundant. He didn’t want that. It was the very last thing he wanted so he had to make him promise that they’d see each other again.

He shook his head, “I’m just telling the truth.” He placed his hand on top of Amos’, smiling gently at the feeling of his hand. Smooth and perfect skin. He wished he could stay longer and explore every inch of his body again. “I don’t want you to be a secret,” he said boldly. He looked Amos in the eye, “Not any more.”

Iridescent light cascades from the rising sun and reflects Amos' gaze, there's a sadness to it that drowns him in Frankie's words. The only appropriate response is to kiss Francis until he's breathless, and the beating at his caged chest grows.

He breaks the kiss to jump down from the bench, and press his body into Francis as he kisses him again. "I never thought our truths would sound the same."

Warmth rose in Frankie’s chest and he really felt like he could float away. Perhaps he was in heaven and he just hadn’t realised it yet. It would make sense that Amos would be there. Although what they did last night was so far from angelic that he knew that wasn’t the case. He could still feel the echo of Amos’ hands on him, the feeling of his soft skin at his own fingertips and the heavenly pleading that had filled the air.

“Is forever too long to ask?” Frankie offered with a childish pout. He leaned against Amos, their arms touching. It was a tempting offer, to hide away in this penthouse forever. “Would you like to have dinner one night?” he asked. “Wherever you want, you choose.”

Warm mug in his hands, steam trailing to his face, he can't help but stare back at Francis as he presses closer to his side. He could keep him here in this moment until the end of time. Just the two of them alone in this world, held close.

"You don't have to do that, Frankie." He reaches a hand to the side of his face, brushing gentle fingers along his jaw. He's quiet when he speaks, as if afraid to disturb the morning. "You don't have to tell me the things I want to hear."

Frankie chuckled and walked over to sit next to him. The corners of his eyes crinkled up when he smiled - his face showed nothing but pure delight. He leaned forward onto the bench and looked down into the dark liquid in his cup. He didn’t like coffee much, but he could pretend. “Charming as ever, my friend.”

The reminder of the outside world was a difficult thing to grasp, that was obvious by the sigh that escaped. He closed his eyes and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyelids. “Oh, what’s life without a little bit of excitement.” He laughed and sat back. He leaned over and rested his chin on Amos’ shoulder. “When can I see you again? I’ll only leave when I know the answer.”

Amos' bright hues trace the new lines that crinkle on Frankies face, wanting to graze his thumb against each new piece of age and find all those parts of him he missed. Where the sunlight paints the morning rose tinted, and he could ask this to last forever.

A laugh bubbles to his lips at his confidence, never thinking he'd see such in Francis. He can't look away, the same way one wishes not to pry their gaze away from the night sky. He was the moon, and the stars, and Amos wanted to burn his hands holding him. "That's no incentive to give you an answer."

Frankie couldn’t argue with that. That was exactly what had brought him to this town. Well, not exactly but it was what had made him stay. He had first come because he tried to convince himself he was in love merely because she liked him. He followed her across the country just because she looked at him with admiration. He wished he had followed Amos instead.

The kisses didn’t need to be stolen anymore and it made his heart swell with happiness. The second Amos left the room he lay down. Sprawled across the bed he took a deep breath and laughed. He had never been happier in his entire life. Even the first time hadn’t amounted to this. He lay there for a few minutes, relishing in the feeling before finally getting up.

He dressed himself quickly because he knew he would have to take his leave soon. He called the nanny, who was only moderately annoyed by his continued absence. When he emerged he just watched Amos for a moment with a small smile on his face. “I never thought you could look more beautiful and yet here you are. Proving me wrong again.”

Amos swivels slightly to look over his shoulder to look at the man whos stepped into the room. He wants to tell him to never leave, to stay here with him in this hideaway until the end of time. Or to leave with him, take the clothes on his back and drive until the two of them can find a place they can call their own.

But instead he offers him a gentle smile, sunlight beginning to crest the horizon and dance refelctions across the face.

"I could say the same to you, but those clothes truly are hindering your chances." Jumping down from the bench, Amos pours out two mugs of coffee and slips one across the bench for Francis.

“No.” Frankie answered too quickly. He was embarrassed perhaps for the first time since they had reunited. The old Frankie’s conscious was creeping up on him, making feel like a helpless teenager all over again. His eyes didn’t leave Amos for a second, though. Disappointment flickered across his face when he pulled on the underwear, but it didn’t last long.

Frankie watched him walk around the bed, glad that he approached or he would have just pulled him towards him anyway. He looked up at him and smiled, “I don’t want you to leave any time soon.” He put his hand on the back of Amos’ neck and pulled him down into another kiss. “But this place… God, it’s depressing.”

For the first time since he’s woken in this bed, Amos doesn’t look out to the still waves in the morning. The first time he hasn’t thought about the salt that carries in from the windows, or the way he can taste it on his tongue. Or the way he wished it would swallow him in its bitter embrace. Cold daggers searing skin, he’s let his head fall beneath the waves, as they stay stagnant in the false dawn.

Allowing himself be pulled into another kiss, he rests a hand against Frankie’s shoulder. Warmth under his hand. Something real. “I don’t believe you.” He lies through the kiss.

It doesn’t matter he has a daughter, it doesn’t matter how long they’d been apart. He’d settled some of that ache that spends its days eating away Amos’ insides. “Perhaps that’s what attracted us to the town.”

He pulls back slowly, not wanting to distance between them again. Hearing those words from Francis lips floods his ears, and he wants it all again. For the other to sink his teeth into him and keep him by his side. “I’m going to start the coffee.”

Amos can’t resist leaning back into another kiss before he heads towards the kitchen. Before long he’s got the percolator on the stove, and sitting on his bench, back to the room just watching the steam dissipate into the air.

Francis smiled and wrapped his arm around Amos. He pressed a gentle kiss to the other man’s head. Beautiful - there’s no other way to describe Amos in the morning light. But as sudden as his delight washed over him, came the dread. This wasn’t real life - could it be real life.

“No boyfriend but I- I have a daughter,” he admitted. “I can stay for a while.” He sat up properly, rubbing the back of his neck. His clothes were strewn all over the apartment, he would have to hunt to find them. “When will you leave?” he asked worriedly, assuming this wasn’t permanent.

Amos groans a gentle protest to the other man sitting up, his arm half attempting to weigh him down. Keep him a sleeping body beside him, however he fails. And is left looking up to Francis, tired eyes squinting against the faint light. And he smiles up at him, that sharp smile that adorns his features as a dangerous coaxing. His words tease, "Do you want me to leave already?"

Francis looks so real sitting beside him, denting the bed where his body sinks, and resting against the headboard. It all felt as real as their time at the academy together.

Arms stretch above his head, and Amos gets out from under the covers and convinces himself out of bed. Hands rubbing his face, before he grabs a pair of underwear to wear.

Frankie’s hands were shaking too much for him to really manage to be useful. The only thing he could really do that was worth it was to kiss him and remind him that he hadn’t been forgotten. “The divorce papers say yes,” he said, a slight smirk on his face. He hadn’t thought of his wife in a long time, and he was glad. She had never been good for him. Even before he told her.

He hesitated for just a moment when he realised how they stood. Mostly undressed, different than they had been before yet still inherently the same. “I missed you, Amos.”

A breath stood between them, a moment where each paused. He'd search for Francis' gaze, lips parted and hair disheveled. Battered breaths heave his chest, and he reaches back to Francis, a smile across his face. Where Amos always thought he'd be no kore than the other's well kept secret, he grasps the thought that perhaps, this time- he can be an honest truth.

Frankie might have read his mind, or he just knew Amos too well. He kissed him ferociously, fumbling hands pressed against his chest as he tried to undo the buttons on his shirt. “They know,” he said between kisses. “Everyone knows about me.” His kisses strayed beyond his lips. To his jawline and his neck, desperate to feel as close to him as he could.

He didn’t elaborate, he couldn’t. He was breathless with lust. He could hardly contain himself. He pushed Amos up against the counter, his hands moving swiftly to undo his belt.

They know.

Frankie's words got lost between heavy breaths, and escaped moans. Amos cheeks burnt red, and his hands, too rough, only hurried to slip Frankie's shirt from his shoulders and drop it to the ground. He tries to bring his thoughts back to his words that ring inside his head. Words Amos kisses from his lips.

They were hundreds of miles away from the place they had first kissed, yet it felt the very same. Nerves bubbled up in Frankie’s stomach as his feet pushed him closer to the other man. They weren’t huddled up on a bunk in an empty cabin, but maybe this was better. They were somewhere more private. Somewhere even God couldn’t see them.

He placed his hand on top of Amos’ and he realised then just how much time had passed. It didn’t change a thing. It didn’t change the connection in their hearts. He grabbed the back of the man’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, pressing himself up against him with no restraint. This was where they were meant to be and they both knew it, he was certain.

A creature inside his rib cage, beating- begging to be freed as their lips pressed together. Soft petals to the touch, he tastes of whiskey, and champagne, and forgotten memories that eat him away. He lets the black-bodied mass takes talons to his insides be wild, be free.

He's hungry for this, for Frankie. He always had been.

Bodies pressed together, he presses Frankie back asaginst the counter as he deepens the kiss. Hands grasping as Frankie as if he would be able to pull him closer, as perhaps this close to eachother, he never has to leave his side.

But Amos knows politicians, he knows mayors and he remembers Frankie all those years ago- a girlfriend by his side for appearances. And he's certain at the end of all this that's where he'll go, back to his wife.

Frankie’s expression faltered the second that Amos stepped closer. He felt like he was about to be crushed beneath the man’s mighty fist, and he didn’t care. He wanted to be ground beneath Amos’ heel, brought back in to his tortured world if only just for the sake of one kiss. He’d even settle for just touching him once again before he evaporated into sea mist.

He really hoped this wasn’t a dream.

If it was it was the cruellest dream that his mind had ever conjured up. “I-” Frankie paused. He didn’t have an adequate answer. He always chose his words carefully, so much so that it almost became his whole personality. Cautious, that was all he was. “How can you see me if I’m not sure who I am?”

An empty silence filled the apartment between the two men's words, where there was no music, no bustling street, no rowdy neighbours. All there was between the two men standing there was crashing waves, and night air. It's enough to remind Amos of those small cabins, of his incense filled room, designed for worship. Or crows, and cicadas, and snapping twigs.

He reaches a hand to the side of Frankie's face, his thumb gentle across his skin feeling those lines he doesn't remember. Finding the new parts of Frankie.

Frankie always thought that Amos was fearless. He always came across that that was in their younger days. He was someone that Francis had always admired because of his fearlessness. So confident yet fragile, he knew that a broken heart beat inside of him and now he could see that it had never been fixed.

Sometimes he imagined himself meeting Amos again. Somewhere strikingly similar to how they had met that night. A large hall, full of people, but only focused on each other. In his dreams Amos was whole, looking in his eyes now he knew only half of his dream had come true. He sipped the whiskey halfheartedly before placing it down right next to Amos’. He struggled to understand the distance they ought to keep.

He longed to reach out and touch his hand. He’d forgotten how much his soul longed to intertwine with the other’s. “God doesn’t watch here,” he said softly. He looked up at him, a gentle smile on his face. The kind of smile that usually got him what he wanted. “Perhaps I should start believing in fate?”

He's not suprised to hear that Frankie thought as much, he'd always told even himself he was fearless. Over, and over. When his knees bruised against hardwood floors, and white knuckles wrung around rosary beads, offering prayers to someone he was afraid just might be listening.

Amos would hide those soft parts of himself, peach bruised flesh, hungry to be bitten into. He'd hide himself for so long unil he began to rot. A dark mass, caving his insides. Hollowing out a ravine.

If he truly was fearless, he never would have been drawn back to the waters edge.

Still he finds the smile painted across his features, something sharp and hungry as he has another sip of whiskey before placing the glass down besides Frankies. "No ones watching us here."

A gentle step towards Francis, he doesn't take his stare away from the other. But even in the dim light, and sharp edges, it's easy to see that crumbling facade that led Amos to run in the first place.

Frankie followed along behind him, looking back out at the water like he half wanted to be swallowed up. He seemed happier on the outside, but the same demons wreaked havoc inside. He had just gotten better at pushing them down, but now that Amos had appeared he really couldn’t be sure how they would react. He wasn’t expecting some grant decoration, but he had been expecting something a little bit more profound than what he found. No ornaments, just enough to live. Was he a man on the run?

Francis took a while to answer. He was always careful to choose his words, he always had been, but since becoming mayor he had learned the value of promises and action. But Amos wasn’t just someone he was trying to impress. “No, of course not. I’m always afraid. I just learned how to hide it better,” he admitted with a dry smile.

For a moment he had wondered if Amos had sought him out deliberately, but he realised how ridiculous that was as soon as he told him he hadn’t expected to see him. The truth was heavy on his heart. He’d almost let himself live in a fantasy. His eyes found Amos’ for a moment but he soon looked away. He just takes his whiskey and sips it. “I could say the same about you. Are you going to tell me what brings you here? It’s not usually a place people come to unless… they’re hiding. I should know.”

A gentle smile pries itself across Amos’ lips as his fingers tap gently against one of the glasses he poured, looking down into the amber liquid rather than at the man who spoke. It was funny the way things worked, how with age he’d grown worse himself at hiding his own fear. Those ghosts that cling to his shadow, the constant reminders in candlelight and reflections. With each crow call, and asphalt grazed knee, he’d remember like hauntings. Everything he wanted to be running from. Every ounce of himself he’d never be free of.

“I always liked to think I was fearless,” Words almost sweet to taste, he washes away with a sip of whiskey. The glass clinks back against the bench, and he can’t help but look to Francis again. He seems to be the only thing his eyes keep being drawn to. “Convincing others, that’s the easy part. But you could have had me fooled.”

There it is, the question again. Barrelling through the air like the crashing waves that shake the ground. Drawn in, he hears it, again and again. The same question he asks himself at night. Why was he here?

He thinks if he asks himself enough times the truth would change. That one time, the words would be something that are able to leave his mouth. To face my fears, the thought clings to his lungs. A suffocating one, that claws and tears on its way up. Drowning. He knows it, that’s why he was here wasn’t it? To no longer be afraid? But the thought catches in the back of his throat, his hazy eyes unable to lift from Francis, and instead he offers him a bitter smile, and an attempt at finding his teasing tone again. “One day I’ll find somewhere God’s not watching.”

Frankie recognised the roads - it was hard not to in such a small town. The second he arrived he had made it his mission to know every twist and turn that the town held. It reminded him a little of where they had gone to school. A small community, although it was a tad less elitist. Artists and agriculturists lined the streets. A beautiful mesh of worldly beauty and imagination. In a way it made sense that Amos ended up there. He was a worldly beauty with an imagination.

He knew Amos was destined for a life of scandal. That was what had driven them apart in the first place, but Frankie didn’t mind. Perhaps being part of some gossip would keep him relevant. “And I have a history with good choices. No one can hold this against me,” he said with a coy smile.

When the car stopped he looked out the window, up at the apartments in surprise. He should have expected that Amos lived so close to the water. “I learned to swim,” he said. He knew only Amos would understand the weight of that announcement.

When he climbed out of the car he looked out at the water for a moment before turning to face his new companion. The streetlights illuminated his handsome face, making him look like a ghost. “I could never be too busy for you.”

He didn’t pick the town, not before he was driving though it one day and decided to stop at the motel for the night, and the night turned to a week. Then the motel turned into an apartment, and that week into two. It reminded him of home. Not in the sense that it was a place he could see himself settling down in, rather a small town filled with art, and beauty, and sea spray, that was reminiscent of the one he’d left long ago. 

“Don’t worry, I know how to change that.” He can’t help but stare back at Frankie, under the streetlights with the sounds of the ocean so close by. The drumming fills his ears, wind off the water bats them as they stand still by the roadside. The only thing stopping him from closing the distance between them is the thought that perhaps they’re being watched out here, he doesn’t think it likely he’d been followed all the way out to the nowhere town, but Amos is so accustomed to being in the public’s eye he doesn’t want to risk the chances. Not for Francis.

“It’s that what’s changed in you? You’re no longer afraid?” The words are gentle leaving his lips, eyes tracing over Francis as if trying to find the answer himself. To be unafraid, how he was envious of that. The searching would only last so long though, before Amos turns his gaze away, and leads them into the apartment complex, and up to the penthouse.

Amos’ laughter filled Frankie up and warmed him from the inside out. It was a sound that could give dying angels a new lease of life. A man who saw himself as the villain was actually the hero - only when he laughed. He looked out the window, not a clue where they were going. For all he knew he was being led to his death.

“I think they won me over first. After that…” Frankie shook his head. It was so easy to just tell them what they wanted to hear. He laughed, “Well, it’s a fair question.” He glanced over but forced himself to look away. He didn’t want to waste his seemingly finite credits. Perhaps Amos would suddenly decide he had been looked at enough and shun him again.

“I saw something a while ago. About a movie with um- that blonde woman,” Frankie said dismissively. His pop culture knowledge had always been abysmal. It should be no surprise that he hadn’t kept up. “But I am a busy man.”

There was something dangerous to Frankie’s words, a kind of danger Amos had long since forgotten he held. He’d forgotten the way his voice carried a promise with each new sentence, and that when he laughed- Amos felt it stir up the storm that coursed inside him. 

Watching the road travel before them, his headlights beaming and swallowing each bit of gravel. Streetlights pour in through the window, flashes of passing life outside this car. He wants to look to him again, take in the sight of someone he’d forgotten. Someone who he wanted to reach into his dark pit centre, and find the things that made him. 

The man he’d forget, for he always knew Frankie could never be the man he was meant to be with someone like Amos by his side.

But tonight, caution thrown to the wind. Amos was a man of impulse, of uncertainty- that would never change. He’d laugh again, at Frankie’s words. “Well let me tell you, if anyone in there’s up to date you’ll hope they didn’t see you leaving with me.” He glances over again, smile sharp on his features. “I have a history with politicians.”

He wants to know more, so much more than anything he could ask. Amos wanted to know everything Frankie had become, everything he missed out on. But he settles with turning off the car’s engine as they pull up across the road from an apartment complex, built to over watch the ocean. Somewhere he could watch the waves crash each morning, and hear barreling as he sleeps each night.