“You have that look you get when I’ve caught you doing something ancient and terrible. What’s going on?”
Jasper hadn’t meant to startle Xanthe or disturb him, truly. Their reservation was at seven, and this restaurant was trigger happy when it came to giving your table away when you weren’t even five minutes late. And that was on nights it wasn’t a holiday. The office door had been open, so he thought it would be best to collect his partner and maybe they could leave a little early.
Xanthe was sitting on the well worn leather couch Jasper fell asleep on the nights he worked late. He was at least dressed to leave, which was a relief. However, he was motionless, back rigid with a box on his lap. The lid was on the cushion to his right, and he held a piece of paper in his hand. Newsprint, Jasper corrected when he got a little closer, old stuff judging by the fact it was yellowed.
When he got no response, Jasper walked over to the couch. He picked the lid up, also wood, and ran his fingers across it. Xanthe had several boxes like the one on his lap now. Memory boxes he’d called them once. Jasper sat down and kept the lid on his own lap, watching Xanthe carefully.
“Who was I this time?”
“A pilot. English. During World War II.” There was a hint of the slight lisp that, even through several lifetimes, the mouth full of razor-sharp teeth gave him. It was one of Jasper’s favorite things about him.
“How did I die?”
Xanthe did not answer right away. Instead, he smoothed the photo out, delicate so not to tear it. The black and white photo was of a handsome young man in a military uniform, standing proudly beside a plane. At lease this one looked like someone he could be, Jasper decided.
“A Hero.”
The response caught Jasper off guard. He had to smile at the earnest adoration Xanthe said it with. He reached out, settling his hand on the small amount of thigh real-estate not taken up by the box. The contact finally made Xanthe look away from the photo and at him. Those big brown eyes always got the ancient whatever he wanted.
“Perhaps a drink for him tonight, hmm?” Jasper squeezed his thigh gently.
Xanthe chuckled and leaned over, kissing him briefly.
“Thank you. I’ll you meet you downstairs in a moment, okay? Go ahead and call the car.”
Jasper nodded and released Xanthe’s leg. When he stood he set the lid back on the cushion he had lifted it from. He leaned down since he still had Xanthe’s attention, pressing their foreheads together briefly. Jasper smiled as his Partner closed his eyes.
“Love you.”
“I love you as well, Jasper.”
Xanthe waited until he was sure Jasper was gone to open his eyes again. He looked down at the photo briefly, and then set it on top of the smooth lid. He began to shift the other contents of the box carefully in order to slip it back into place.
A piece of potter with a long dead language; A still perfumed letter with faded, cursive, script; An ornate hair comb wrapped in fine lace; The blade of a knife as long as his palm. The letter settled back in to its spot, protected and smooth under the the larger pieces.
“First and Forever.”
Macabress Manuscripts 