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W ith nothing left for Timi to do except to leave, the weight of his true emotions settled fully on him.

And despite their negativity, it felt like coming home.

Like the highest pleasures of the world worth nothing compared to the lowest of lows with Alex.

And it didn't help matters that everywhere he turned to, Alex was on every surface.

His achromic closet, pervaded by flashing colours.

His drawer of metal-strapped designer watches, housing a leather smart watch.

His bed sheet and pillows still carrying the faint lemony scent no matter what position his nose faced.

Alex had stopped showing up, but it didn't matter. He'd lodged himself snugly into the one place that would require a surgical amnesia inducement to remove him.

Timi's heart .

And no matter how hard he tried to hold on to what he'd felt at the hospital, that his whole time with Alex had been a lie, his brain- the traitor-had finally chosen to align with the rest of his body.

Alex may have kept the truth from him, but there was not a single falsehood in his treatment towards him.

Even if their meeting wasn't coincidental as he'd been made to believe, he couldn't pinch out an iota of malicious intent.

In fact, all Alex had done was show him his fifteen-year-old clueless self had chosen the right person to love.

And it didn't help matters that every organ in his body labelled him an astronomical idiot for not recognising Alex. Except the part of his brain that had connected memories to Alex and pumped a fluid familiarity into their interactions.

Which was why he knelt now before a mini shelf, opening a dusty glass door and pulling out stacks of journals, brittle with age.

He sank to the floor, his back resting against wood, as he began to flip through the yellowed pages.

None of them had the words he'd written under the moonlight about a certain boy, but they were the sacred thoughts of a teenager who had believed he had the world within his grasp.

They contained plans and dreams and hopes.

And many of them were on the list Alex had compiled.

Even after so many years had passed, he still remembered.

Eyes starting to prick, he picked up the biggest journal, and a brown envelope fell from between the pages. This journal contained most of his poems, finished and unfinished, and his stories. All skeletal sketches of masterpieces he'd been so sure they would become.

He tore open the envelope with slightly trembling hands, pulled out a single piece of paper and began to read.

Dear Eyi/Timi,

If you're reading this, then you've either finally listened to me, or I'm dead and you're cleaning house. The first being my preferred choice. But if it's the latter, I know I must have looked good in my medical scrubs. I hope you chose a green one. To blend well with the earth and all.

Okay, enough about my death that is unlikely to happen anytime soon .

Eyi, have you found the complete you? I won’t deny you've made this old man so proud with everything you've achieved, (I need to build a special shelf for all those awards), but having witnessed all shapes of you, I can't help but feel I have failed you in some way.

I see the sadness behind your laughter, and your fear behind the brave front. I see how you try every day to prove yourself worthy. I see how you're working hard on being this person you think you must be. And I can't help but wonder where I got it wrong.

I can't say this enough, but you're enough, Timi. You don't have to be more. The boy of yesterday, the youth of today, and the man of tomorrow, are enough and worthy. None should be buried for the other to live. This journal I'm keeping this letter in is proof enough. (I snooped, not sorry)

Eyi, all I want from you is to live your life in a way that soothes your soul. Make choices and decisions that feed your spirit. Cancel the noise that tells you otherwise. And I will always be here cheering you along ANY path you choose to take. Any path, Eyi. Because I trust you completely.

I love you, son. And I know you wonder why I keep telling you. But you need to understand that it's okay to feel it, to receive it and to say it. Hopefully, I'll get to hear it from you someday. As with anyone you choose as your life partner.

There’s a lot I want to say...or write, but you’re the writer and I’m the reader who has read your every unwritten word.

I read you always, please read me too. See how you make me so happy, Eyi.

See the day we met as the most powerful encounter in my brief life.

See when you officially became mine as the day I finally understood what it meant to live for someone.

I love you, my only son (see how easy it is? Call me dad just once and I’ll drink your awful raw chicken smoothie. Bet you aren’t the only blackmailer in the family)

I love you, my beloved son. And all I ask is that you believe you’re deserving of it and live free.

I must go now, but I'll be back. I'll always be back.

Your loving father,

Uncle Jude .

The paper clutched tight in his hands, rocking on his ass and heels, with tears making a mess of his face, Timi couldn't stop muttering, 'I love you'. To his father, himself, his friends and the one he'd wronged.

He couldn't tell how long he stayed there, until his phone chimed. Nose wet and itchy, he sniffed loudly as he picked it up. A strange number had sent a video file.

He clicked on it and two men appeared. It was dark, but light from a distant backlighting spilled through to make out the faces and the activity they were involved in.

Timi watched, horribly fascinated, as he sucked on Alex's lips, eyes locked tight, soft moans adding a nice soundtrack. As he watched, he could feel everything he'd felt in that moment.

He'd just finished a late-night shoot at Takwa Bay and Alex had been too impatient to wait for him at home, so he'd come over.

They'd stood behind a secluded makeshift building and watched the sea.

Lulled by its tranquillity, the semi-darkness and the illusion of privacy, they'd found themselves soon lost in each other's mouths.

They'd apparently not been alone. And their audience-of-one wanted something very specific.

He wasn't sure before, but the message brought final clarity.

Yes. He knew what he had to do.

Mrs. Fash shook her head when he appeared at the café. “Took you long enough.”

Timi stared at her. “You knew. ”

She wiped her hands on a napkin and led him out of the kitchen. “We didn't know at first. But Alex, poor child, was so stricken with guilt, he confided in us. We told him he had to tell you immediately of course, but he asked us if we remembered the…saga.

“Saga?”

She nodded. “Years ago, my husband got a call from Alex's mother to accompany her to Alex's new school.

We got there and found him restrained like an animal.

Nobody knew what happened, but he'd pounced on a boy and beaten him so badly. He had to be dragged off him by several boys. The parents sued, the school suspended Alex. He resumed but sent an SOS the next day. He claimed since his heart was no longer in the school, he could never go back there.” She glanced at Timi. “His heart was you.”

Timi sank into a chair. Kainye had gone after Bobby. Had fought for him. As he always had.

Mrs. Fash sat with him. “Alex was never the same after that.” She reached for Timi's hand.

“I can't say I fully understand how this works, but I know my boy's heart.

I've seen his soul. And I'm frankly too exposed to view the world as black or white.

Kainye's heart has always been yours. And I plead with you to accept it and treat it with care.

I'm sorry such a terrible thing happened to you, and I hope you won't hold it against him or against yourself.

You're deserving of every good thing. You both are.

And we're here to support you in every way.”

Timi thought his tear-duct had dried up. Apparently, he knew nothing at all.

He gripped back Mrs. Fash's hands. “He's always had my heart too. Always.”

On his way to Alex's house, Lara called. After apologising for bringing him to witness what had chased him away in the first place, she asked hesitantly.

“Is it true, what that man…did to you?”

“Yes,” he said, after a long silence.

“Eyi…Timi.” Her voice was small. “I didn't know.”

“And the women?” Timi asked. “You didn't know about them too? ”

“When we first found out, Tola and I, we…uh, confronted Ma. And she told us this story. Do you remember when Ma travelled for Uncle Bolu's burial, and she came back sick?”

He even remembered how she smelled. Like she hadn't washed for days.

He was about eleven and had just returned from boarding school.

When he asked about Uncle Bolu no one had ever seen, she went crazy.

Hitting him with flailing hands, wailing and warning him never to mention that name again.

She'd fallen sick soon after. Drying up until she became so gaunt.

Pa had told him the sickness was mental.

“He was burnt by the villagers,” Lara said.

Timi frowned. “Wasn't he a priest, or pastor or something?”

“Yes. But they discovered him with a…boy.

There were several, over the years. To Ma, this was the only experience she had concerning people like…

you. She really believed it was an ancestral evil spirit sent out to destroy her family's lineage.

And Tola and I didn't know better, so we believed her even though we knew how she was going about it was wrong.” She took a deep breath.

“When we found out about the tape recorder, we destroyed it.

But this isn't an excuse. We should have protected you.

Eyi, I…I'm so sorry. And you don't have to see her ever again.”

Timi swallowed hard. “It's okay.”

She spoke hesitantly once more. “That tall guy that came too, is that…him?”

Something swelled within him. “Yes.”

“Ah. He's so fine.”

It swelled further. “Yeah.”

“Maybe…maybe one day, I could meet him?”

The swelling softened and spread. “Maybe.”