Wayfarer at the Zephyr ➵ Solangelo

Part Two: Of Gold and Cerulean

Act V: Thēsauros
ti amo, non ho nessun pensiero che non sia tuo

On the fifth day, Will Solace arose to love.

He wakes up in the folds of immaculate linen and yellow sunshine; and for the first time in all his frozen hours, Will Solace feels the sun. As he stirred, there was a fine, arduous shuffling from across him—Nico di Angelo was muttering in his sleep. Will smiles, ignoring the hurt—avoiding the banes of interim at his cold, sweaty palms.

Nico di Angelo wakes up; Will Solace sees voids of celestial black.

He starts the recalling. In the late 1970s, love found home in a volunteer clinic, somewhere down south. Will prides in the bronzed plaque of his doctorate, standing in his charity work office. He fixes broken arms, broken legs—he patches them up and leaves them to mend. Broken hearts, he has yet to fix, but it was only a couple more miles away.

This was his entryway. The volunteer work in Texas would take him to the utter joys of cardiology, and it would only be a matter of time until he achieves it.

A man follows in, the strands of dark stygian flowing down a youthful face. His following words come in faint, shy undertones. "Is Dr. William Solace here?"

"It's just Will, actually," He smiles.

Red blooms on olive patches of skin. Suddenly the dark veils of hair reveal two eyes the most beautiful he had ever seen, and he feels falling in reverse. The restriction in his chest wanted to jailbreak bars, set itself free, and launch into rolling stones, waving hurricanes, winding sinkholes.

The monophonic thumping tells him, yes, I like his eyes, I like his voice. I think I want to fall in love.

"Nico di Angelo," he brings an outstretched arm, the lilt of frayed nerves evident in his voice, "I'm a researcher. I got relocated from Italy, so I'm subjected to find Dr. William Solace and continue my qualitative study on selected Texan populations," he clears his throat, "I mean—Will. Find Dr. Will Solace. My apologies."

"Okay," Will feels silly, his grin stretching out the coasts of Texas and the warmth of day, "Right, I received the recommendation letter from Professor Knowles. It would be the greatest pleasure to work with you."

He awakens from his trance when the shuffling figure beside him reveals messy locks of hair, dark and uneven. Intense warmth suddenly blinds him, cages his translucence in fragile chambers. He sees dark cosmos stare back at him, the oceans breaking the dam of hot, molten tears. Nico di Angelo awakes crying, hovered above the ghost of him. "Good morning, Will," he breathes.

"Good morning, love." Will smiles, and he feels the sun smiling, too.

­———

"Take me to the meadows," Will says this time around. "Take me back to where we had our first date."

Nico brings the both of them east of where their house was. He feels each rust of worn-down wheels whir him to his senses, and later feels the drag of warmth across his palm. Nico di Angelo tries to hold his hand, the other on the steering wheel, and Will barely recalls that, yes, this was how their first date went.

They didn't go uptown, didn't go to where the large cities were. They stayed in the remote areas, east of Arizona, where no one would see two men holding hands; two men pining; two men in love.

Nico drops them off a couple moments later, the buzz of Will's favorite rock band dying out as the car doors open, and they see paradise. "You were a very attractive man," Nico smiles, staring right into his eyes, "I wasn't really sure what I wanted back then; who I was back then. I wondered why I was never attracted to the 'insanely beautiful' colleague I had been working with for three years—that's what they at least told me."