“Are you okay, Sir?”

I turned my head slowly to look at the server who had approached me. He had a worried expression. I realized how strange I must look. How long had I been standing here? Half hiding behind a palm tree. Towel and bag waiting in the sand off to my left where I dropped them. The whole time staring at her. It couldn’t be her, right?

“I’m okay.” I replied, shaking off my stupor. “Thank you for asking.” I began to laugh. “Must be recovering from last night still.” A terrible excuse. He didn’t look convinced. “Okay.” He laughed nervously glancing from me to her. Obviously he noticed my staring. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He half heartedly tried to object as I grabbed one of the drinks off his tray. “Thanks buddy I’ll let you know” I said as I began to down it. He walked off shaking his head.

“Hello”

I froze as I looked up from my nearly finished, ill gotten drink. There she was.

“Hi” I replied meekly. Anxiety flooding through me. A million thoughts running through my head.

Is she like me? Does she remember me? Is she actually the same person? What do I say? Do I run away? How is she so pretty? Can I hold back these tears? Do I ask how old she is?

Definitely not the last one. Shouldn’t ask a woman her age.

She smiled. A curious look on her face.

“How old are you?” She asked.

She walks over and takes the lounger next to mine. We both smile. Our hands reach out instinctively. Fingertips brush. There's electricity. We settle in and enjoy the sun without fear. We drink what we like, not what we must. Hers looked like a wine cooler, which immediately struck me as odd. I didn't think they made them anymore.

I'm hardly one to talk, though. Mine's ginger ale - the real stuff, as strong as they'll make it. When I eat or drink something gingery, I want it to blow my brains out.

"Hey," I say. I'm a world-class lothario like that.

"Hey," she replies. She's just as gifted, clearly.

"Four and change," I tell her.

"Ah, you got me beat," she says. "Two-fifty."

That's young. She's taking to it well. Most her age - especially the women, and especially if they partake of men - are still skittish. They don't want to encroach or offend. They fear all the usual mortal consequences - save one - writ large: obsession, first and foremost. They also haven't mastered the instinct. I'll spare you the cheesy line, but there's a deep truth to it: we're instinctively uncomfortable in each other's spaces. We intuit the exponential burden on the environment - on the credulity and tolerance of the mortals. We know that deep within ourselves, we're still in the process of becoming something else. We get flashes of centuries together, unaging, largely unchanging, and it terrifies the lingering echoes inside of us. "'Til death do us part" is quite the safety valve. With mortals, we can fake our own deaths. With each other, not so much.

"I didn't know," she says. Ah well. She's still doing better than most.

"Neither did I," I joke.

"I had a good time," she says.

"Me too."

She doesn't withdraw her hand. She makes it twitch a few times on purpose. She tickles me, and the electricity hits me hard. I barely suppress a shiver.

"Yours or mine?" I ask.

"Yours," she says.

We take our time. We hurry up. It's all relative.

Both of us avoid The Talking. That's what I call it; I'm not just a lothario, but a poet and a scholar to boot. It's what mortals do when they feel a real connection. For some, it happens before the sex. For others, it happens after. We made it through the "before" just fine, and the "during" was, quite frankly, incredible. We're resilient; it's not quite Superman finding Wonder Woman and finally being able to go all out, but it's the same idea. There's also the matter of experience and education. As it turns out, no bullshit, we're both a particular type of scholar.

We don't speak. We cuddle, caress, and occasionally kiss. We drink for pleasure. We'll eat for the same soon.

She's beautiful for one so young. There are common stages, roughly; it's hard to know what the progress of mortal culture has done to them. She's old enough; she's not post-franchise or post-feminism. Hell, post-fem, she'd still be in the delusion phase. Her body would be screaming at her that all of her aches and pains were psychosomatic, and she'd be mistaking it for a terrible crisis. Without chancing upon another of our kind, she'd be in for a rough ride - maybe all the way to the morgue if she was unlucky.

As it stands, she got to watch all that stuff happen from a distance - and yet, here she is, not an ounce of defiance or resentment visible. She's soft, smooth, flush, secretly strong, and crackling with sensual energy from head to toe. She's twenty, or thereabouts, to any mortal who'd guess. That's bold. I'm twenty-five - but then, I'm a man.

I hope there's another "during." The second and third times get wild.

"Do you rotate?" she asks.

"I do," I answer. "You?"

"Wander," she says.

I believe her. That means a lot; it means she's not stubborn. She goes where the mood strikes, or where the moment leads. She doesn't have a list with places crossed off. She came back here without a worry. I like that. I like her.

"Let's say, a week," she says. Our kind answer a lot of unasked questions. It comes with the territory.

I kiss her again. We lock eyes, and I let her know that that works great for me.

We drink, we eat, and there's another "during," and then another. I play the good host and show her a great spot for dinner, and another for music. We go back to mine again. There's even more "during." I wake up, and she's still there. I hate to repeat myself, so I'll skip past breakfast. We spend the afternoon and evening apart. It feels right.

I'm not sick of her. She's not sick of me. We both accept the end of our week together graciously, but there's still a hint of tension in the air.

She bites her lip. It's adorable.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm just not there yet, but..."

I smile. I'm not offended at all. Maybe in another few centuries things will be different. I doubt it, but there's always hope. I'm a man. She's a woman.

I give her a direct line. I don't ask for one in return.

She embraces me. "Thank you for understanding," she says. "You seem like a really great guy."

I kiss the top of her head and think of all the things I could say to undercut the moment.

"Thank you," I say instead. "That means a lot."

There's one more ritual before we part. It means nothing, and everything. After all, what's in a name?

Since I gave her the number, she goes first.

"Kellina," she says. She lets the accent slip out.

Scotland - or perhaps the New World - roundabouts 1750.

"Valentin," I tell her, and I give her the same flavor. Westphalia - yes, just like the treaty - 1587.

Her green eyes light up. My brown ones melt, I'm sure. For her, it's the intimacy. For me, it's the beauty.

"Have a safe flight," I say.

"Thanks," she says. "Enjoy your summer."

I will. I've got at least a year or two left of it.

I need a winter occasionally. Montreal is perfect. The girls are perfect. I know what I am.

When I get my back to my building - my building, for the next six months at least - with Jeannette in tow, I don't bother checking my lines. It's not until the "after" of several "during"s the next morning when I do. Jeannette leaves very happy; she's headed back to her apartment to do more work on her thesis, or maybe to gush to a friend about the night she just had.

I sit down at my lavish hardwood desk. I quickly cycle through the accounts. My breath catches. My heart skips a beat.

It's only been two years, three months, and five days. Kellina's called.

I'm terrified by how good it makes me feel.

Disclaimer: I suck at romance writing. It might suck and you will cringe. Also, I changed the prompt a bit. Sorry.

​

​

Being immortal gets really boring after a while. When you lived for a couple thousand years, time really starts becoming a blur, and relationships form and break apart at the blink of an eye. I stopped bothering. To many people, I'm just that hot dude on the beach. So many of them tried to ask me out, I declined. Even more tried to get me to stay with them for just a single night. I refused. Every time, I repeated the same phrase in my head. Don't get attached. Don't get what you aren't prepared to lose. Every day, I see the hurt in their faces and I feel sorry. But then I move on. To a different beach, a different country, a different continent.

I have a soft spot for beaches. It calms me. The gentle waves, the frothing sea foam- there's something about it that just feels serene, even if a couple thousand humans are stomping about trying to scream at the top of their lungs. The food is awesome, too. If there's one perk of being immortal, it's that you get pretty rich when you do stuff for a couple hundred years, and overpriced seafood does taste pretty good when you know that you can buy a thousand of these and it wouldn't make a dent on your bank account. If I notice that I only have hundreds of millions of dollars left instead of billions, I can just sell some old cups that I didn't bother to wash a millennia ago and get enough money to buy the whole damn restaurant a hundred times over. And buy property, I did. Beach houses are a great place to live if you're rich, just pretend to die every fifty years and pass it down to myself again.

One particular night, I was chilling in this beautiful place in Florida. Hurricanes are a pain in the ass, but houses can always be rebuilt, especially when you can afford to rebuild it with all the gold and jewels in the world(I didn't, of course. I'm immortal, not an idiot). I walked down to the beach, feeling the gentle waves beating against the sand. I sighed.

"You alright?" Said a deep voice. I jumped. Next to me was a man I can only describe as God's gift to the world. He looked perfect. His tan matched perfectly with his yellow tee, the moon casting a warm glow around his face. His hair was wet in the cutest way, and I resisted the urge to ruffle it. "Something on your mind?"

Don't get attached. I smiled at him. "Not really. How could there be, here at this beautiful beach?" I stared at him, my eyes saying, "leave me alone."

He laughed, a rich, deep laugh. "Come on, spill it. I know something's on your mind." He seemed to not notice me glaring at him.

Don't get attached. "Do I know you?"

"My name is Brad. Come on, I know something is bothering you," he insisted. "Maybe talking to someone about it might help."

Under other circumstances I, and every other mortal with basic common sense, would run away screaming with fear from this creepily friendly extrovert. But there was something in his eyes that cracked, just a little, what should have hardened inside me long ago.

We talked. I talked about my situation, heavily censored so he wouldn't find out about my curse. He listened. He nodded, and he seemed to understand me, somehow feel my pain. I spilt out everything. My regrets, my sorrows, my past tragedies. He listened. My brain, tired from the strain of centuries of stress and suppression, could no longer stop me. I learned that Brad was visiting this beach for a week with his friends, and a week that he spent with me, listening to my tales. On the last night, I went over to his place. It was a blur, and afterwards I was ashamed that I have broken my oath. I can't get attached to him. That night, I snuck out. Before dawn came I was at the airport, booking the next flight to Hawaii.

That was fifty years ago. I spent those fifty years trying to forget about him, trying to wipe him from my memory. So why, here in Spain-

"I knew you would be here," said Brad, with his wonderfully deep voice that made my heart jump, all those years later. He smiled, brighter than the sun that shined directly behind him.

"What- how- you-" I could barely get a word out. How?

"You-you should be-"

Brad leaned in close. "You're not the only one. I have it too."

I stared at him in disbelief, speechless.

"Man, why did you just leave back then? I spent so much time and money trying to track you down. Then again, I have plenty of both." His smile widened.

Yup, it's definitely Brad, still being able to pull off stuff that would get any other person arrested.

He studied my face. "Ah, I should've known that this would be shocking for you. Sor-"

I hugged him. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it's the thought of not being alone anymore. Maybe it's because I can finally say that I love someone. Maybe it's because the man that I was yearning for all these years is still here. I hugged him with all my strength, expelling my doubts, my fears, my sadness that I hid behind my mask.

He hugged back, squeezing me in a way that reminded me of a dad hugging his child after a rough day, comforting and warm. He patted my back.

"So, do you want to get a drink together? Maybe head back to my place?" He asked hesitantly.

"You got food?" I asked, smiling.

"Yup."

"Then why is that even a question? Let's go."

edit: thanks for the comments guys, i currently have the stupidest grin on my face

Immortality sounds fun on paper. Never being able to die, there’s no reason to fear…..anything really. You can just give your problems to time and eventually the problems will go away on its own, gradually, slowly.

But the same applies for feelings too. With time they fade, they become memories, then soon, a blot in your life. Fall in love with a girl, see them grow up, fear them having to see you not age anymore, leave. Eventually, it becomes so…..empty the only thing you can ever see in them is what form of sexual pleasure and interest they give you, if only to see how people treat it differently then their peers decades prior.

But I can’t love them, as much as I had fun with them on those nights. I know my lives can’t cross with them, I know I……

No, perhaps there was one. Fifty years ago, resplendent skin, eyes that reflected the ocean, white yet youthful hair and a body as bewitching as Aphrodite herself. She was magnificent, in all forms. And for the first and only time in my life, I felt a chord had struck my heart. On that night, as we melted into pleasure, I could feel my soul and hers becoming one. But, I knew I had to let her go. I couldn’t become attached. For people like me, getting attached to something that has the same lifespan as a flea relative to you……is just a recipe for sadness.

Yet, after all those years, I still couldn’t move on. My flings, became sparser in nature, I started to grow…..responsible. I couldn’t continue offering my body to others, it felt…….wrong. Eventually, it spiralled from flings, into slow walks on the beach, wandering, searching for her.

I knew it would be fruitless, she’d probably be dead by the 40th year I continued doing this. But I persisted. Deep in my heart, I wanted to believe too.

And now, fifty years later. Trudging in the sand, I could see her, and I knew, she saw me too. Speechless, I could feel the words stuck in my throat, wishing to call out to her, and yet I could not, fearful of how she would see me if she knew what I did. But, I never needed to. With tears welling up, she ran over to me, arms stretched, hugging me tightly. Even though she looked the same, I could feel the scars she had on her body, even though they long since faded. Her feet, though the same as before, walked in the same manner a weary traveller would. And her eyes, once full of the ocean, now greeted me with sights from all over the world, the splendour that once faded, now returning to her eyes. My sight started to blur as I hugged her back, the hot tears racing down my cheeks as the rowdy beach soon became but a backdrop to our plight.

We had been searching, and we had been found.

“The name is Ødgerson, Erik Ødgerson”

Ha. I like this way of introducing, learnt that from the pickup artist JB, and it never fail me.

Yet that line is actually plan B. Most of the female of this species will fall into my arms just by looking at my 7-feet-tall masculine physique with a good number of scars.

Ah. Those good ol’ raids. Now I’m over it. Those battles are nothing but some tales to these little girls. So normally I would make up stories from time to time for those scars.

And my body count has reaches an unreal number, mostly because those new people love to include whom they slept with, I can make a family tree out of it.

“Oh, your last name Fenby? Yes! That’s 4 in a row”. At this time, that family tree becomes a bingo game to me.

Nothing would amaze me anymore. I have seen them all. Except,... that I meet Eleanor Garcia twice. Duplicated names happen a lot, I get it. I also experienced doppelgänger.

But this, can’t be true. That woman even recalls a letter from 50 years ago, she told me only to read it when see her again.

Thing would be different if an old lady stand in front of me. Time doesn’t do any damage to this beauty. Her gorgeousness can take my breath away like a bungee jumping, then bring it back with a rush of adrenaline while I do a free fall. That roller coaster of emotion described perfectly the first moment I saw her.

Her eyes, dark blue, keep me staring at. Her lashes, on the other hand, lead me to the forgotten letter.

“Everything has come to an end.

The universe collapsed. There’d be no Valhalla. Nothing goes as planned. The Niflheim won’t exist neither.

Your Highness took the blame, at the same time, feel sorry for you. Therefore, he reserved all the last energy to let you live this pleasing life a little longer.

Now rest, my warrior.

This is, the end”

They say Immortality gets boring after the first couple of centuries. And yes, some things that he had enjoyed were now becoming stale. But as with everything before, when something wasn't interesting anymore, he started something new. Even if it was tedious or annoying, sooner or later, he would master a new skill and start to enjoy himself. It's what kept his life worth living, to learn new things. Selling beachfront property was more of a hobby to him now, than actual employment. If everything would have been so easy to come by as money for him, yes then life as an immortal could risk getting monotone and boring.

He cherished the interactions with the mortals around him. Even the most malicious of them looked like children to him, misguided and uneducated children that gave in to their temper tantrums way too often. Especially with his customers, he had to hide his knowing and well-meaning smile and remind himself that he was not talking to children trying their hardest to impersonate an adult. He was talking to adults. And still, he had to reign himself in, to not constantly spout unwanted fatherly advice.

When he granted himself off days from work, he enjoyed staying at his beach resort that bordered his private property where the houses he sold stood. The entire beach was his property, disguised through several companies and trusts. This was his retreat and the mortals that flocked here in large groups were his entertainment. He listened to their playful banter, their dramas, laughter, tears, and everything else. And usually, he also enjoyed their company for an evening or two. He had never gotten really attached to someone, and with the centuries going by, it had become less and less likely that he would get emotionally attached to anyone. They were children, after all, they lacked the emotional maturity that he felt he needed from someone he could bond with.

One early evening on the beach, however, things changed. He had organized a beach party that was scheduled to last the entire weekend. It was Friday evening, the sun had just set and the party was about to ramp up when he met her at the bar. She was shrouded in an atmosphere of mystery that emanated from her like a fine mist and she effortlessly drew in crowds of young horny men and women who wanted her for themselves. She mingled with the crowds and had hookups left and right but she remained with no one. Instead, she seemed to be determined to enjoy her time alone amidst hordes of strangers that treated her like a goddess. He saw her in many different groups, dancing, laughing, and enjoying herself. He could see her allure to the young ones around him, but what interested him, even more, was her aura.

When her eyes finally met his, from the other side of a sandy dance floor, the rest of the universe fell quiet. They shared a moment like this before she simply vanished. It couldn't have lasted for more than a second, but it had felt like an eternity. It had felt like magic. There had been something in the way she had looked at him. As if ... he tossed that thought aside. It couldn't be, in all his time he had never met someone like him. Someone immortal. And yet, her gaze made him question that thought. Just because he hasn't met anyone yet who was immortal like him doesn't mean that there is no one else immortal out there. There were just too many humans in this world, it was statistically impossible that he was the only one. And yet, he couldn't know and he couldn't ask her, since she left no trace.

It took him quite some time to get over this evening. In quiet lonely moments, he recalled that evening again and again. And he went over the question, again and again. He started to brainstorm ideas on how he could try to look for other immortals. But he never followed through with any of his ideas. Finally, after almost fifty years of contemplation, he accepted the fact that he would probably never know and that that evening must have been a fluke. In the end, he even cherished the heartache he had felt as something new. Although it took some self-convincing to see it that way.

He sat on the beach, a cold drink by his side, watching the waves roll in on a quiet off-season evening in the resort. Timid footsteps approached him from behind. He waited with patience that had taken him a century to cultivate until the person had settled in the sand beside him. None of them spoke and yet, there was a quiet understanding. It felt good as if it was meant to be this way.

"I shouldn't have run", she said with a somber tone in her voice.

"It just had never crossed my mind that there could be others like me. And I didn't want to get attached to someone on the off chance that they might be like me. So much time to learn and still, the first real unknown thing gets the old instincts firing like crazy."

She laughed.

"Well", he began, while a bright smile crept on his face, "What's fifty years anyway?"

They looked at each other for the first time since that first evening and shared the first of many deep laughs together.

I clink my red-and-white striped straw against the side of my half-empty margarita. My brain might just be fuzzy, but I remember it all so well. It's the kind of flashback you'd play over in the bath or in your head when you can't sleep at night.

It was a sweet summer day, and I was that ridiculous light pink pantsuit with the bulky belt. He had bright green eyes, a deep olive tan and a sleeveless blue shirt. I was laughing and fell out of the hammock and twisted my ankle. Then in the hospital waiting room...The eyes that stared at me now with a piercing quality like the sterile end of a needle.

From across the bar, he made his way over to me, just as young as he'd been 50 years ago. And I, the same. It didn't make sense.

"Hello, Tuck," I called out, barely recognizing my own soft voice. He smirked at the inside joke but gave me a wary look. I knew what he'd meant. I'd spent my entire life-lives?-creating fake identities and wandering around having lonely island beach flings.

"You look familiar," he said, needle-eyes shining. He's dressed professionally in a black suit, as if someone like us could actually be on a business trip. I felt my nails dig into my straw with uncertainty. Was this really a good thing? Did he actually not remember me? Had he woken up one morning and never lived past it just as I had? Had he lived hiding in his basements until he watched his own parents die-and then stole their money for a grand cruise to never come back from?

"Maybe we met a long time ago," I finally awkwardly blurt out. He looks at me. Oh, yeah. He definitely knows. "So you too, huh?" I joke, trying to ease the tension. That's the second worst joke I've made today, falling right behind Tuck Everlasting. It must be the margarita.

"Do you want to go on a walk and talk about this?"

"Okay." I slap a fiver on my table and walk out, slamming my broken flip-flop with every step. Flop. Flop. Flop. The ocean, a frothy navy blue like the Hope Diamond expands out from the sea-side bar, a picturesque image of beach towels and kids in plastic donuts and sand-covered noses running around. It should be perfect.

Once we were further along the beach, people thinned out more and more. The sandbar became smaller and a wooded area was thick with humidity and tall trees. I felt prepared to ask more questions. "!972?"

He nodded. "What's your name again?"

"Um, at the time...Cynthia Roberts. But now it's Margo Hopkins."

"I mean, your real name."

The sun is burning my skin. I wish I wore a long-sleeved shirt. "Oh, uh..." The name is so unfamiliar to me now, literally a past life. We've stopped walking now and are standing, shiny brown oxfords and broken flip-flops, in the damp edge of the sand. But it was one that once belonged to me, the name that I signed in cursive on my high school diploma and that my teachers called me and my grandma as she curled my hair into big hot rollers. "Bonnie."

Bonnie.

"Bonnie," he says. My throat hurts. My skin burns. Oh, no, not now. I can't cry right now.

"What's your-what's your name?"

He shakes his head. "I don't even remember."

"But you remember me. The broken ankle?"

"It's all deja-vu, Bonnie. But you're not the only one terminally, um, affected. I've been travelling...looking for others. I guess you could say I'm a hiring manager. We're all looking for ways to make a better life. I've got a friend here. He'll get you a new ID and take us back. We're based in London."

"So you're giving me a...business proposal?" No, no. Keep blinking. Can't cry. Bonnie.

"Not a proposal. Not a choice. We're timeless, Bonnie. But we're always out of time. I'll see you at four AM, on the dot, outside of the Dunkin'."

"Hey, you never know the people that hang outside of Dunkin'!" I laugh loudly, but it's more anguished than finding anything remotely funny. The Nameless Man just shakes his head as he walks away.

I try to focus on anything else on the long walk back to my humble beach abode-a vintage RV I’ve spent the past sixty years in, give or take. It’s not bad: in the back I have a mattress and a few blankets, my ever-changing wardrobe tucked in a purple suitcase besides it and a table, small fridge and bright blue couch. On the fridge I’ve hung unidentifiable portions of passed lives I’ve lived: post cards from small tropical towns, concert wristbands little gifts from last lovers never lasting more than a summer and a highlighted quote ripped out a page of Tuck Everlasting: “We just are, we just be, like rocks beside the road.” Taped around it are tiny bits of the only life that ever really mattered to me though, a life that once completely belonged to me: Bonnie. Five-year-old me smiled in a black-and-white camera back at the photo. I told people who stayed over it was a picture of my great aunt-one that quite resembled me in her youth. Another birthday card was taped next to it from my best friend, Mary: Happy 20th Birthday, Darling. Time To Look Into Nursing Homes! It was all so bittersweet now, the last birthday I’d ever had. I stared back at the fridge with sweaty palms. 4 AM couldn’t come sooner.

I woke up to my alarm drenched in sweat. I had barely slept and now had a slight headache. After chugging down three cups of cold black coffee which burned my throat with bitterness, I grabbed a dark windbreaker and wandered outside.

The beach was weirdly quiet except for the sounds of the waves as they crashed endlessly against the now cool sand and the smell of salt and sunscreen lingered in the air. The sand looked grey and lifeless in the pale moonlight. I saw the figure of The Nameless Man before he saw me. He was standing next to another tall lanky figure, both in full tuxedos with bright red ties. The parking lot was dark and empty except for a few bushes and a beat down green Ford which sits next to them parked crookedly next to the empty drive-through.

“Hi,” The Nameless Man said to me, and I snorted at the informality of his greeting. As I got closer, I got a strange promotion as he watched me. He leaned in giving me a kiss on the lips, hard. I felt his dull lips brush mine in a way that was once invigorating but now felt like a dream or perhaps a nightmare I was reliving. His skin was cold and lifeless as it brushed mine-like we were just two stone statues in the pose of lovers. I drew back, inhaling sharply. It wasn’t the '70s anymore. He didn’t have a miniature guitar or wide-framed sunglasses and we didn’t laugh in the way that could light up a room. We weren't hopeful. “

I’m sorry. I can’t do this, “ I told him. The other man watched us awkwardly.

“You did once,” he argued, but he sounded unsurprised of my response and not too sure of himself at any rate. The eyes pierced through me once again like a knife. “

You don’t get it. Let’s just go to England and hope something changes. I know your name, Ernest. I always knew.” His name echoed through the parking lot. Bullets fired. “We just are,” I whispered softer. “We just be.”

First time at this, hopefully it's half decent. Here goes nothing.

"Marry me." The words hit me like a bucket of ice water after what had been the arguably one of the most magical nights. That's saying something considering I've been around for almost half a century. I've gained enough experience at this point to have high standards.

"I think maybe the tequila might still be talking or maybe I misheard..."

"No, you heard correctly and I'm completely sober. Marry me." He calmly tells me without breaking eye contact. He was completely serious.

This man must truly be out of his mind. I have had my fair share of crazy, hard not to at my age, but this is certainly the first time I received a marriage proposal within 15 hours of meeting someone. A slurry of thoughts and emotions began to cycle through my mind. Horrified, flattered, slightly creeped out, and frankly a little annoyed that he didn't at least get down on one knee. I may be old, but a little romance would be nice. He may not have had a ring prepared, but if you're going to ask at least put a little effort into the gesture. For a moment I start to dream about what it would be like to vow to spend my life with someone. I immediately squash the idea and bury it deep down in the depths of my heart; "till death do us part" hits differently when only one of you can actually die.

I gingerly get out of bed and begin putting my clothes back on, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. While certainly not my first one night stand, they never seem to get less awkward for me. "Listen, James was it? This has been a hell of a night, but I'm just not looking to settle down at this point in my life. I'm sure you'll meet someone

I can feel the bed shift as he props himself up into a sitting position, leaning against the wooden head board. I can feel his gaze on my back as I begin to put my sandals on. I can practically hear the gears turning as he ponders what I've just said.

"You're not ready to settle down now... does that mean you would be later?" He inquires thoughtfully.

I pause just before opening the door. "Sure, just ask me again in fifty years," I state jokingly over my shoulder, and take a moment to appreciate the view of James O'Connor for the last time. Or, so I thought.

It's just not possible I think to myself as I hide behind a tacky tropical Tiki bar. I steal a quick glance at a man reading a thick novel while lounging in a cabana by the pool. Auburn wavy hair, emerald green eyes, silver framed glasses, and a small white scar poking through the five o-clock shadow on his chin. There was no question in my mind that I was looking at James O'Connor after five decades have passed. He looks just as good as the last time I saw him, I lament while nibbling on my thumb nail. You would think being immortal would be I wouldn't have to worry about metabolism and working out, but you would be wrong. I decide it would be better to ponder this conundrum in a more tactful location like my hotel room and begin to head back to my room.

"Leaving so soon?" I jump a little at the unexpected question. I was so lost in thought I hadn't notice he had left the cabana and snuck up on me.

"James! What a surprise! Me, leave? Oh no, I was just... going back to my room for a minute, I forgot my, uh, phone."

Amused, James smiled slightly while watching me squirm in embarrassment. He was clearly enjoying watching me struggle. He lean down towards me and asked, "You mean the phone that is currently in your left hand?"

I looked down at my iPhone 13 in its full glory, shattered screen and all. He got me on that one. I stared quietly at my feet hoping a hole would open up and swallow me, you'd think at by now I wouldn't be so darn awkward. He gently pinches my chin and tilts my head up until I'm gazing directly in his eyes.

"Why don't we go for a walk? I think we have a lot to talk about. After all, it has been fifty years since we last saw each other, and I do believe you said to ask you again."

The ocean truly is an amazing thing. Every morning and every evening I find myself getting lost in its endless waters. It seems to be the only thing in my life that hasn't changed.

"Are you listening to me Agent Murphy? It is very imperative that you-"

"Pay attention, I know Clark. And stop calling me Agent, I've been retired for ten years. Can you just finish your little assignment already? I do have a resort to run."

"Well lucky for you I am just about done. We just need to go over a brief course on classified materials."

"I have been with this little club since it was still the OSS. Don't you dare try to talk to me about how to keep a secret. If that is all you have, we're done here."

I could tell he was angry as he stormed off, part of me felt bad, the other part didn't care. I was just glad it was over with. I took an elevator down to the lobby. It's pretty empty for the most part, November always seems to be our slow month. Often times I put on a friendly face and greet the guests. But today someone has caught my eye. A face I haven't seen in a very long time, one I shouldn't be seeing now. I figure I may as well act as I always do.

"Good morning sir. Welcome to the Six Palms Resort! I am Sean Murphy and I'm the owner. Would you like some assistance with your bags?"

The look he gave me was filled with all kinds of emotions, joy, sadness, maybe even some regret.

"You're still alive, I thought if anything you would be old. Yet here you are."

"Well sir, why don't we get you to your room? If you have any questions I'd more more than happy to answer them for you there."

Leading him from the lobby, I could feel my heart flutter. It seems he really is who I thought. I don't know what this means, but for the first time in a long time I feel excited about something. We both went into his room and placed his luggage on the bed. I turned to him and before I could say anything, I was wrapped in his arms. I was awash with emotions but in that moment I could only say one thing.

"Sasha, I missed you."

We spent the entire day in that room. The last time I felt this way was 1972, the last time I saw him. That next morning I woke up beside him. He was already awake, looking at me.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Sasha, yesterday was amazing. But I think we should talk."

His slight grin dropped and he proceeded to do exactly as I said, talk.

"You are the only person who even understood what I have gone through. That summer in 1972 was the only time I felt I could talk to someone. That is why I never said anything to the KGB, I didn't even report on the Cuban nationals like I was supposed to. I spent so long wandering the world. I took a chance, hoping you really were like me. And now I see that you are, I am tired of roaming. I just want to stay here, with you."

Listening to him talk made me almost break down completely. I had felt the same for so long. This will be complicated, especially when I try to explain this to Clark. But I am willing to take this journey with Sasha. We've been searching our whole lives for something like this. When we met it was impossible, we're were on different sides of a ideological war and regardless, society wouldn't have accepted us back then. But now, everything has worked out for us. I can finally start my life, and I'm so excited.

!!!FRUITY!!!

​

I was standing on the beach, sand in between my toes.

My long, silky black and silver hair flowing in the wind. I felt a little tap on my shoulder and I turned around. "Long time no see, cutie." She said. I studied her cautiously. A look of confusion must've went across my face because she asked me, "Is everything alright?" Questioning how this was possible, I quickly pulled myself together and proceeded the conversation with her.

I thought about how she still looked the same after 50 years. I didn't say it to her as I didn't want to be disrespectful, though I couldn't get my mind off of the question. "Are doing anything tonight?"

"No." I replied.

"Well, do you want to do anything while we're alone?" She asked.

I felt her hand touch my hand. Something about her made me feel weird inside, but a good kind of weird. Like the kind of feeling you get when someone nonchalantly asks to sleep with you. I could feel my face getting red. My legs tightened and I looked down at my lap. She leaned into my ear and whispered, "Do I have your consent?..." There was a moment of silence. I got up, taking her by the hand, and walked to my room. I unlocked the door and brought her inside. It was the same room, though in the past few years the owner renovated the place. I put my back to the door and slowly closed it, locking it. I backed her into a wall and put my hands on her waist.

"You have my consent." I whispered. "Do I have yours?" I questioned her.

"Yes darling. You have my full consent!" She responded excitedly.

I pressed my lips against hers and we started to make out. I kissed her in some other places and we ended up on the bed. I woke up in the morning to see her laying next to me. I laid back down and pressed my chest against her back. She warmed up my body and I instantly felt chills go down my spin.

When we both woke up, she explained to me how she wanted to stay here with me. I told her that I would love for her to stay here and we talked some more. Two years go by and we started to date. On our 3 year anniversary I proposed to her. We've now been together for over 8 years and we have 3 beautiful children.

I've been so happy in my entire life.

(Sorry changed the prompt a bit)

There's this....game that they play. Centered around a resort that gets enough rich bastards flowing through it that they've learned to turn a blind eye to quite nearly everything going on inside it. They found the place when they were still New, still getting used to the boredom that follows immortals around, hanging over them like a new form of death. They were loyal to each other, of course they were, but when you are promised eternity together, your eye begins to wander. The first time he brought a mortal into their bed she hadn't been angry, more contemplative. They'd left the resort that same night and took a good ten year break together in the countryside of France. Eventually though, they returned and with a new game in mind to spice up their ever lasting lives.

They'd spot out a mortal together, send in one of them to garner their attention before swooping in together. They'd play with the mortal for a while and then they'd let them go. Eventually, this too began to bore them. As is the case for immortals. So they found a new game. They took to arriving at the resort separately, individually taking a mortal and enjoying them for a while before returning to each other again. At first only a week, then a week grew into a month which turned into months and eventually a year. They'd always return to each other's arm though, ready to share all that they had done and learned. One year stretched into three and before he could blink they had been apart for near fifty years.

He'd already finished with his last fling, a paltry thing that didn't entertain him nearly as long as he thought it would. He had come down to the beaches of the resort to search for his next when he saw her. His love, his other half. The being he swore to spend eternity with and she looked just as beautiful as the day he'd first met her, all those thousands of years ago. A cunning grin grew on his face as he approached her. After all, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Pt1

She looks bored. I should talk to her. It wouldn’t be WEIRD to talk to her right?

I mean, its been 50 years right? She’s probably forgotten about me….I mean, maybe?

Despite all my experience- All 300 years, the next steps elude me.

I pick at the food on my table as I wonder what to do, or say. I feel like such an idiot now, c’mon, its not that hard….ah.

When I look back up, she has a guy on her arm. I can’t hear the conversation, but I see the look she gives him. They’re going up to her room.

A steady wave of relief washes over me, but also an undeniable wave of disappointment.

That is, until our eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. Literally. Sounds around me stop, people fade, and its just me and her.

She looks surprised, her emerald eyes shimmering with recognition.

… ….. ……..”ir?

SIR?”

Ah, the waiter, he has my drink. A fruity cocktail, the same shade of blue as her bikini. Shimmering with the edible glitter, I look down at, and up from it, then back at her.

Or, where she was. She’s further along to the exit now, pulled by the door by her fling. She stops for a moment before closing the door…but doesn’t look back at me.

Well….there you have it.

I sigh, looking back down at the drink. I don’t have a taste for it now. I wave back the waiter and ask for a stiffer drink. Wonder what some liquid courage would’ve gotten me here.

Pt2 below!

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P.S - This is my first post! I’m really nervous, but so excited! I hope you enjoy!

The morning was hot, the sun was shining; glistening the sweat beads that pooled on Mika’s perfectly tamed copper brows. It was warmer than most days in May, but after over a century of visiting her favorite resort she was prepared; her small white sundress hugged every inch of her curves in a way that I once did; all those years ago. Despite my shock, I should’ve known. I should’ve known then that Mika was like me.

Taking a deep breath, I walked my way over to the other lounge chair that sat under her large blue and white stripped umbrella; I had to do this now, or I’d lose the courage I’d mustered. I sat in the chair, not lounging or laying, but I sat with my feet in the warm sand and faced her. She quickly saw me, and whipped her head to look at who could be so forward; and her jaw dropped. “Pascual?” She asked gently, her voice was as velvet as ever; and her eyes were still that Pistachio green. The exact same shade.

“Long time no see,” I said softly, unable to look at anything besides her.

“You haven’t aged a day,” I whispered, suddenly beginning to feel like I was living in a dream, a daydream of years past. One where, years ago, we had just met. Where we had had our first kiss.

“Likewise,” she said, calculating me. She sat up now, turning to face me and sitting in the exact same manner as I. “How have you been?” It was a small question, in it, meaning that was several layers deep.

I sighed, determining a proper response. “I’ve seen better days, I’m afraid.” I shook my head, what about you?” She shrugged, “I’ve been around. It’s been a few years since I’ve been back on this sand, it was calling to me from the Mountains. I answered,” she smiled, her slightly uneven and white teeth shining in the sun.

“It’s difficult to resist the sound,” I nodded once, at this point, I looked at my toes. I couldn’t keep eye contact with her. “Does it ever get easier?” I asked gently. “Does it get easier? Or do you just get used to it?”

“In regard to which?” She asked me gently.

“You get used to it.” Was all she said.

That was all I needed.