If the driver's eyes were not tricking him, the winding road he now found himself navigating was transcending the earth and transforming into a treacherous path of moonlight to the top of the world. His hands were gripping the steering wheel as tightly as they could but he could swear he felt them falling away from it in their fatigue. And yet, he also felt as if he were still, like he wasn't the one determining the motion that propelled him forward. There was a light pressure against his right shoulder which every so often would shift and move as his passenger shifted and moved in their sleep. It was so hard to focus on the street.
The street itself was one that demanded a great deal of attention and if his mind could manage to pay attention to it he would be noting how every twist and curve plunged the vehicle in and out of a momentary, nearly complete darkness. He might have also taken the time to consider the scenery: rich, full trees and the expanse of the great river below them that cut through the valley. The road itself was cut up through massive deposits of a kind of stone he was sure he knew the name of but didn't care to think about at the time. His mind was elsewhere, and the shifting of his passenger once again served to distract him and remind him of this. It was no matter; he had driven this road many times before. It was a very well-beaten path, similar in this way to the track carved into his mind. He could wander along both at once without really having to guide himself along either.
He had first met the pressure against his shoulder five years before. His face twitched lightly when he thought of how young they must have been and how old they had become in what seemed such a short period of time. He was twenty-three then, with nowhere to go and absolutely no idea in his mind how he was going to make anything of himself. The city had always seemed like the place to be when you had no home and no family and this was where he had found himself on a dark and wet afternoon. Stopping anywhere was out of the question in his mind because doing so would only allow him the chance to realize his situation: He was homeless.
As a young man he had convinced himself that he would never be happy where he grew up. His father had died far too young and his mother was fairly disinterested in raising children at all, let alone by herself. He had grown up, in his mind, taking care of himself and relying on no one. It was only right then to leave home and become his own man. He had been prepared to go when he was sixteen, planned out travel arrangements and what he would take. He had decided also what he would leave behind and come to terms with this quite easily. But his plans had changed, like plans often do, and he stayed home until he was twenty nursing his mother's acquired illness and watching as she withered away until she was gone altogether. He left the day after her funeral.
For nearly three years he lived alone with what was left over from his mother's life insurance and the sale of her estate. But jobs were hard to come by in the city, especially when you had no experience and no transportation aside from the city bus which you were also expected to pay to ride. It was a harsh reality check when he found he could no longer pay his rent or even afford to feed himself. Hitting the streets felt a little like diving into a deep pond he couldn't see the bottom of and not expecting the water to be so dark and cold.
He had been hardly sleeping in various parks and bus stations for about a week when this particular dark and wet afternoon rolled around. The day was gray and the sky was fickle, seeming to clear up one minute and pouring on him the next. He felt like he had been walking for three years and he was almost sure he couldn't remember what it was like to have dry feet. Perhaps he had been wandering since he had come to the city? Maybe he never was dry, never had a home at all. As he crossed an empty street to cut through a dimly lit alley way he considered the possibility that he perhaps did not even exist at all. This, surely, was the reason his life seemed so ridiculous in retrospect.
With these thoughts swimming in his head, as his feet swam in his shoes and he swam down the alley, he was completely caught off guard by someone grabbing his shoulders and throwing him with a good amount of force into the nearest wall. It took him a moment to collect himself and sit up. Was his head bleeding? He thought he had felt it hit the wall, but perhaps it was just the headache that had been keeping him company for a few blocks now and the feeling of the rain dripping from his hair down onto the skin of his face. When he did turn around his assailant looked as surprised as he himself felt. This brought a whole new level of confusion to the situation.
The young man staring down at him was of average height and not incredibly tough looking. His blond hair was neat, though some of it fell into his eyes and obscured them as it too dripped water onto his face. For a moment he just looked surprised, then confused, and finally apologetic. He reached a hand out to the man he had just thrown against a wall, a sheepish smile playing at his thin lips.
"Sorry, I thought you were someone else." The stranger explained. It had been a simple mistake, of course, and that was all there was to it.
"That's alright. Don't worry about it." The words had escaped the mouth of the man on the ground before he had thought to say them. Was it really alright? Was he really bleeding? He reached up a hand to touch his head and drew his fingers back down. Was that blood or dirt? He felt dizzy and like his vision was fuzzy, it was hard to tell.
"I really am sorry. I don't just go around throwing people into walls, you know. That wouldn't be very classy of me, would it? Take my hand; I'll make it up to you." The blond man's smile widened a little. The man on the ground now felt very silly, and reached up to take the hand that had been offered to him immediately. It was only polite, after all, and despite the attack this stranger seemed to be fairly polite himself. When he was on his feet he subconsciously moved his free hand to brush himself off.
The stranger was looking him over now, a firm grip still holding onto his hand, "I'm Michael. You should let me see that you're cleaned up and dried off. Or if that is being too intrusive allow me to give you a ride home," He offered. Ahh, there they were; his eyes. They were green, maybe brown; a very interesting shade.
"Adrian," This reply was just as automatic as the first and it baffled Adrian that he didn't seem to have to think to speak anymore. Maybe he had hit his head and possibly injured it in a most useful way. "I don't really live… Anywhere." He finished. Admitting this to Michael was strangely easier than admitting it to himself, which he still hadn't fully managed to do. It would take time to accept it.
"That's an interesting choice of residence," Michael said, using the grip he already had on Adrian's hand to shake it, "Adrian." It was then that his gaze was diverted down the alley as it shifted away from Adrian and to two men who had appeared at the end of it. He raised a hand and made a small motion to wave them off. They turned immediately and disappeared back the way they had come from. Michael's eyes returned to Adrian at last, "Want to go get something to eat?"
This was Adrian's very first memory of his new life. For five years he had stuck by Michael's side. Michael had given him a job, a home, a purpose. As he took another sharp turn his mind slipped back into the past once more, remembering two years ago this time. Three years together had felt like forever and Adrian was surprised at how comfortable he was with Michael. He had never grown up with brothers or sisters and he had never bothered to become close to anyone he had ever considered a friend. When he had first arrived in the city he had spent his time alone or conversing with his neighbors if they both happened to be caught outside and unlocking their doors at the same time. But Michael was very different. It wasn't just because he employed Adrian, and employed him to stay close for that matter, it was the man himself.
Adrian had found that when they were not together he felt as if there was some great part of his missing. There was a hole in him that everyone could see and through which he could feel a cold draft blowing. When they were together he did not feel like he was with someone else, but rather like he was entirely whole and he was content to be so. This particular memory was laced with this feeling and it stung him as well as comforted him when he thought about it.
His apartment was nice. It was much nicer than any single man deserved and for this Adrian was immensely grateful. He felt like it was all his and he could wander far and wide without even stepping out his door. At the time he was not wandering, but rather sitting on his large, soft leather couch. He had left his shoes and coat by the door where they were joined by another pair of shoes and another coat as well. Michael spent a lot of time with Adrian because they both had a certain affinity for old movies, as well as for each other. He seemed very comfortable on the couch while they enjoyed the vision of Grace Kelly floating across the screen.
"She was very pretty, a wonderful actress too. I envy people like that who automatically have all eyes on them; people who have a presence." Michael said, shifting so that he could lean his body against Adrian's. Adrian's eyes shifted to the other and he was silent for a few moments. Eventually he looked back at the screen.
"You've always got eyes on you, Michael," He decided to inform the other after a few moments.
"Yours," Michael teased, a grin spreading slowly across his face.
"You're right," Adrian replied, "Mine."
"That's what I pay you for," Michael shifted his head a little so he could better look up at his host and bodyguard. Adrian resisted the urge to look down at him and kept his eyes focused on the screen. He would say nothing to that and very little for the rest of the night.
Here was another corner and finally they had reached the top of the mountain they were climbing. Adrian pulled the car into an empty parking spot and cut the engine. They had arrived at a scenic view point high above the valley and city below. From here the river looked longer and the moonlight shone brighter than anywhere else. They had come here many times before together, it was nothing out of the ordinary. He glanced to his side at the sleeping man and gently nudged him awake. Michael sat up and rubbed his eyes briefly with the back of one of his hands. When he could see properly he glanced at Adrian, "So this is where you wanted to come? You could have told me, Adrian."
He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, letting himself out of the car and pushing the door shut behind him. Adrian watched him for a few moments from his own seat, then got out of the car as well and moved to stand a few yards behind Michael, who was already up on the railing and leaning over to see the drop below. A few gusts of wind nearly knocked him over, tossing his hair about and making it hard for him to balance.
Adrian's mind was once again slipping back to the past. Yet again it was not as far as the last time. They had been in this spot nearly one year ago. It was around Michael's birthday and after a grand party the two had slipped away together. Wherever Michael went, so too did Adrian.
It wasn't such a long drive from the city, but even if it were it would have been worth it. When they had arrived they had exited the car and Michael had promptly hopped up onto the hood of it. He had laid down there and turned his eyes up to the heavens to watch the stars which seem so stationary and yet also like they were somehow shifting. The whole sky was shifting that night, Adrian thought, as he climbed up to lay next to the other man.
"What was your plan for life before I became your life?" Michael asked, turning his eyes away from the stars to Adrian, who was already looking at him. Adrian had been considering how they looked together, such a stark contrast to each other. Michael's blond hair was straight and always looked nice, even in his face. His eyes were dark and seemed to change color every time you looked at them. Adrian's hair was dark and a little curly, his eyes a vibrant blue that he had never noticed before until Michael had pointed them out to him one day. He had been very close that day, and Adrian remembered this.
"I had no life before you were my life," Adrian answered, fully believing these words as they left his lips. Michael's mouth had curved into a devious smile as his hand very casually brushed over Adrian's before he linked their fingers and returned his eyes to the sky. He needed to hear nothing else, Adrian supposed, and also turned his eyes upward.
"We will never see anything as beautiful as this in all of our lives, no matter where we travel, because this is our place," Michael's voice rang clear and snapped Adrian back into the present. He nodded to the words even though the other's back was turned to him and he would not see. Michael sighed, closing his eyes and letting going of the railing. He spread his arms wide and leaned against the wind that was pressing against his body. Adrian tensed slightly at the sight of this, but said nothing about it. After a few moments Michael stepped down from the ledge, but not away from it. "I wouldn't want to see anything with anyone else," He said, eyes still looking out over the world below.
"Neither would I," Adrian agreed, his hand shaking violently as he raised it and aimed the gun he had produced from inside of his coat at the back of Michael's head. He was unable to steady it before he fired and the shot missed it's original target, hitting Michael somewhere in the middle of the back and slightly off to the right. Michael hadn't been looking, and he certainly hadn't been expecting this. He stood in shock for a moment before his knees buckled and he hit the ground, blood erupting from the wound where the bullet had torn a hole in him.
It all happened quite quickly, but even so, Adrian had dropped the gun almost as soon as it went off and hurried over to pick Michael up in his arms. He turned him over so he could see his face, his eyes doing their best not to look at the blood. He did not try to stop it; his hand went instead to the side of Michael's face. The man's eyes were wide with shock and he was growing pale already. Adrian's entire body was shaking as he watched him, tears in his eyes to match the tears of pain Michael had rapidly begun to shed. He gently stroked the side of Michael's face, shaking his head and trying to find words. Michael was choking, but he didn't have to say the word for Adrian to know the only question on his mind. His eyes were asking it, 'Why?'
Adrian was sure for a few moments he was unable to breathe, it was almost better to look at the blood, to watch his life drain away from the hole he had made in him instead of looking at those eyes. When he did speak his voice was hoarse and quiet, "I'm so sorry, Michael. I'm so sorry," Was all he managed at first. His mind was jumbled; he didn't fully understand or comprehend what he had done. He took in a deep breath, "They were going to kill you, Michael. There is a hit out on you. Your own family, they wanted to kill you. But I promised I would never let anyone else hurt you, I wouldn't let anyone else touch you."
Adrian's hand moved to Michael's hair, smoothing it back and running his fingers through it. How were you supposed to make a dying man comfortable? What about someone you had killed? He twitched violently, "I volunteered. I didn't want anyone else to hurt you… I didn't want to hurt you, but there is no way to get away! I'm so sorry Michael. Please forgive me, I had to save you. I'm so sorry." As he continued to shake he leaned down and pulled Michael closer to him, holding him tight as his life slipped away. He would feel his breath slowing, and a weak and unsteady hand reaching up to his own hair. It was enough to make him lose it entirely and he broke into another powerful fit of sobs. He loosened his grip slightly and sat up a bit, moving his mouth over to kiss Michael on the lips. The hand in his hair curled at the fingers when he did, and when he pulled away Michael's eyes were barely open.
He had known that stomach and back wounds bled terribly and took a fairly long time to kill someone. This was why when Adrian made the plans he had chosen to aim for the head. He wouldn't even need to explain himself; it would be over and done with. But his hand had not been steady, he had missed. This added to the pain of the act itself, adding the element of having to watch Michael die slowly. When the dying man finally went limp and his chest no longer rose and fell Adrian stayed as he was for a good few minutes. Eventually he got to his feet, taking Michael with him. The man was a bit smaller and fairly easy to carry. He set him down briefly to open the car door then set Michael's body back in the passenger's seat. When this was done he retrieved his gun and placed himself in the driver's seat next to the body.
It took only a few hours for the sun to rise, and Adrian hadn't moved at all until he saw the tinge of red on the horizon. His gaze turned from the sunset now to the body beside him and though his tears were dry he still felt the heaviness in his chest. Looking back at the sky his hand rose and placed the barrel of his gun to the side of his own head. He closed his eyes, remembering just how the world looked at that moment, and then remembering how Michael had looked leaning over the edge of it. Then he pulled the trigger.