I turned around, and in front of me was an imposing figure. Tall, slender, red-haired, and bearded. “Aaron?” My voice cracked when I tried to ask the question, but he was there. Exactly how I’d dreamed of him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he said.

“You’re late,” I said. “You piece of shit.” I walked forward and onto his chest, putting my arms around him, finally feeling him next to me.

“You said something about having never met? I’m getting mixed signals here,” he said, and I felt his chest vibrate as he spoke. I felt his shoulders rise and fall as he breathed. He was here. He was mine.

“Maybe? Shut up, I don’t care,” I said, my words muffled by his body. I just wanted to be right there, in that moment, forever. I didn’t care that I was wet, I didn’t care that there were other places to be, I didn’t care that people were judging us. I just wanted him.

And he gave me the moment. He stopped talking, and squeezed me, enveloping me with his presence, just as he had done under there. In that cold, wet moment, we were one for what was simultaneously the first time, and felt like we had done it before.

“Finally,” he whispered. “You’re finally here.”

“I am,” I said, trying not to let tears escape. “I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“Do you want to go somewhere drier? Have dinner, or something?” he said.

“I did prepare to go on a date, so yes, I’d love to,” I said.

He opened his own umbrella, which was truly huge, yet barely enough to cover him. “Come here,” he said, and held me by the waist to cover me from the rain.

I walked beside him, and started asking questions. Questions about him, about his life, about everything. Whatever I’d ask, the answer was always the same. “When we sit down.” No idea why. Maybe he was just as overwhelmed as I was, because I knew I needed a drink to process what was happening.

He led me to a wonderful little restaurant, and while the waiter circled around us, leading us to a secluded table isolated from all the noise, I made myself comfortable and took my coat off to sit down. To say that he was astounded would be an understatement. Even in public, all he could do was open his mouth and stare.

“Aren’t you being a bit forward?” I said.

“I’m normally a very polite lad, I swear,” he laughed, desperately trying to conceal his amazement at how I looked.

“Nah, it’s alright. It really means a lot, actually,” I said, and smiled.

I looked straight into his eyes, and noticed that they were brown. “Red hair and brown eyes?”

“What about them?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“You don’t see that combination very often, that’s all,” I said. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with it. Still, I think it’s handsome.”

He blushed, and it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Did I say something?”

“Am I blushing?” he chuckled.

“Yes, you are, big man,” I said.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he laughed. Southern alright.

“I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” I said. “Apologise to everyone that’s judging us.”

Our dinner arrived, and we got down to eating. I did my best to look polite and not give in to my tired instincts, but I still felt embarrassed eating in front of someone I’d only known for a matter of minutes.

“So, what about you, Aaron? How did your life get you here?” I said.

And he started talking. The red hair was a result of a mutagen, obviously the same one that messed with his brain, which required him to go under so often. While he recounted the story of how he went about his life trying to fix himself, I was left surprised how much he was going out of his way to take the story slowly, involve me, and try to turn the attention to me.

“Why are we talking about me all the time?” he joked at one point.

“Why shouldn’t we?” I said. “This is as much about you as it is about me.”

“Because I came here to meet you, Jordan,” he said. “I came here to listen, I came here to look, to feel. Not to tell.”

“Tell you what?” I said. “I’m not interesting.”

“Don’t say that,” he said. “It’s not every day that I get to meet someone while under the influence.”

“Will you change your mind if I tell you my principal drive for the last fifteen months has been finding you?” I said.

“No,” he said. “There’s more to life than who we want to spend it with.”

“Easy there, stud,” I said.

“I mean, you’ve been looking for me so long, which I want to thank you for, by the way, I figured you’d want to spend at least a bit of it with me,” he said. Clever bastard.

“Eh, I can’t deny that,” I said. “Especially since you look this good.”

He blushed again. “Thank you very much.” His voice changed, suddenly becoming a lot softer, a lot more attentive to the tiny details of my movement. Was he flirting with me? “Go on, I’m listening.”

I told my story, starting with my inborn disease. Both of my parents were carriers, it turned out, and everyone was surprised I made it to ten, let alone 26. And I told him how they wanted to try the drug on me, and how I felt his presence, and how I went looking for him.

“Yes, I know. I was there for that bit,” he laughed.

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” I said. “The wait is over.”

He sighed. “It is.” He extended his hand across the table, and I held it, exploring the creases of his skin with my thumb.

“Hey, stranger,” I said.