Win and Bright meet for the first time under tragic circumstances. At least Win believes it to be the first time. Who could forget ever meeting a force like Bright? But Bright seems to act like he knows Win - and he is not exactly happy that they me...
A/N: Just want to remind everyone these are not historically accurate.
New York was still but it was a quiet laced with defiance and anger.
Tomorrow, another riot was bound to happen. They have been happening with alarming frequency now - almost daily. The drag queens were at the forefront, heels shun for placards and makeshift shields. Behind them every queer person that just wanted a very basic thing - to exist.
It was getting more violent now, the police more vicious against the protesters than ever before.
Bright wondered once again why humans and their gods were so hellbent on destroying love for something as paltry as color or genitals or whatever whatnot bullshit hindrance to happiness they could think of.
Something hits him on the chest.
Bright glances upwards.
He is beautiful, he thinks to himself, all other thoughts fleeing his head.
"You weren't listening were you?," Win asks, pierced eyebrow arched as he removes his spectacles.
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Bright scratches his nape and gives Win a sheepish smile. "Got lost there for a moment."
"And what, could be more interesting than me?"
"Nothing. I was thinking of you."
"Liar," Metawin grins, popping an almond into his mouth.
"I'm not! I was thinking about you...and the riots."
Win sighs. "Can we not argue about this again?"
"I'm not arguing. I'm just worried."
Win reaches for Bright's hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "I am going because it is important."
Bright tries to protest but Win doesn't let him.
"You will trust me to go," Win smiles, "because I am important to you."
Bright nods. Fine.
"Besides," Win says with a big grin, his beautiful eyes disappearing into moons. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Bright tries not to react to the question. Tries to swallow back the ever present under current of fear that was starting to grow stronger.
How many lives has he lived with Win at this point? How many times has he experienced the world ripping them apart? How many times has the curse killed the man he loved?
In every lifetime he has tried everything to stop it. And in every lifetime he has miserably failed.
The first few lives Bright had made Win remember who he was, who they were. But recently, he didn't see the point of making Win feel the dread he felt, this anticipation of suffering.
Recently, Bright simply found Win and wooed him. Made the man he was in whatever timeline fall for him.
Thankfully, Win always fell.
Sometimes, Bright wanted to lock Win inside a grand glass cage, keep him safe from the world, constantly under Bright's watch. But wouldn't that be a form of horrible death too?
So, he lets Win live his life. While Bright tries his very best to find a way to break their curse.
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"You're lost in your thoughts again," Win sulks.
"I'm sorry," Bright says, running his fingers through Win's hair. "I'm here. I promise."
"You better be. Cooking all of this took so much effort and almost all my salary." He points to the spread next to their bed that took him all morning to make.
"They're the best pancakes I've ever had," Bright says, proceeding to stuff his mouth with a forkful to prove his point.
"Those are crepes!," came Win's indignant response.
Bright's eyes widen and he begins to apologize but too late.
Win was on him now, tickling him mercilessly. Fingers hitting the secret spots just under his ribs and that specific spot in his armpits.
They roll around the sparse bed, laughing and cackling. Once or twice almost kicking the small table of food.
"Stop," Bright wheezes and Win does.
They continue giggling as Bright gazes upwards and Win returns his stare. The giggles eventually die down and they look at each other in silence. As if they were both equally stunned that they were both real and they were both here.
"I love you, you know that? I love you Bright."
Win has always had that magic. Bright's fears and misgivings dissipate like a fine mist. There was only his loudly beating heart now. There was only Metawin.
"I love you Win," he says in return.
"Forever?"
Bright smiles a wistful smile. Here is a promise he knew he could keep. "Forever."
Win kisses him. Gentle and sweet. He feels their mouths melt and meld. A familiar warmth climbing their veins. Win's tongue against his, their fingers on each other's hair then each other's skin- grasping and dancing and coaxing.
When people speak of heaven, surely they must mean this - ecstasy wrapped in comfort. The thrill of an everlasting union, of a love that was so undeniably irrevocably real, you could feel it on every sinew, read it in every goosebump, hear it in every intake of breath.
They break free from each other for a moment. But it isn't long before they're limbs intertwine. As if their bodies had magnets that worked exclusively on each other.
Bright lays his head on Win's chest. "Stay with me," he says quietly.
"Til death do us part," Win promises against Bright's thick hair.
"No death can keep me away from you," Bright says, arms possessively tightening against Win's torso.
This is how they spent the whole day. Lost in their own world, drowning in each other's kisses.
Fear and uncertainty and violence still existed - but those were problems for other days and other times.
Bright wanted to savor this. This sacred moment where he could believe both of them could lead a happy and normal life. Where he could pretend that the world believed that their love is worthy as any other kind of love. Where he could forget that the gods themselves wanted to break them apart.
Metawin made the savoring easy. Made the believing effortless. As long as he was there- lips smiling against Bright's body, fingers walking up and down Bright's arm, laugh lingering in the air - then everything felt right.
