Son Cœur Solitaire

Philip was alone again. He wiped the windows one last time, dropping the rag into the bucket and weaving through the office space to the janitor's cart. The office was dark, but the glow of the city warmed the space near the windows, enticing him back to the view. He stood, looking down at the city below. It really was beautiful. He pushed his forehead against the freshly-cleaned windows and imagined falling through the skyline, the neon vapors caressing him, cladding his nude form in glitter before splashing into the pools of reflected sky. He sighed, pulled back, and went to grab the rag.

He finished cleaning the space,  locked the door behind him, and opened the next office. That office. He saved this one for last every night, savoring the torture that tugged on his weary heart. Philip opened the door, pushing the cart inside. His heart skipped. The view outside was completely obstructed by the adjacent building, the dark windows.held a secret. They held the key to a man's heart. Philip closed the distance to the windows with the surety of a cat. He waited, checking his watch. Almost time. He watched the second hand sweep towards the 12, could almost feel the minute hand begin to move, and he held his breath.

Light.

A deep amber light.

Followed by the shadow against the window directly across the street. The silhouette of something beautiful, wrapped in the glow from behind.

Philip breathed out ever so slowly.

There he was.

And the game began. He could see the shadow turn, adjust the light somewhat, perhaps moving a shade or turning a gel of some kind. No matter what it was, Philip never could figure it out, the light dimmed some, and changed color slightly, brightening to something a bit closer to the early morning glow of the sun against the dark sky.

Philip's heart hammered in his chest. The form across the street was visible in the shadow, he could see the elegant style of the man. He was so very beautiful. Philip traced his form with his finger, imagining the feel of the man's skin. He was in love with a total stranger. He was completely taken with a man he had never actually met, knew nothing about except what he could see through the window, and didn't even know what his voice sounded like.

But Philip loved this stranger so.

He first saw him by mistake, he'd dropped the duster he was using and knelt down to get it, his eye catching the shadow in the window a few floors below. Philip worked hard to get other floors over the next months, lower ones. It was hard to arrange, but he pressed on. Every night, he would run to the window exactly at midnight. And there he was, in his glory. The love of Philip's life.  The love he never knew.  Eventually, Philip got the right floors, and the right offices, and the right schedule. When he got transferred to days for a few weeks, Philip thought that his heart was broken forever, that the stranger would move away or change schedules. He was terrified that he would never see that form again. And when he finally got his shift back, and ran to the window that first night back, his heart flew. When that form paused, and Philip could see that smile as those strong hands slid up and began to unbutton that crisp shirt, he thought his heart was going to stop right there. When those hands paused, and didn't move again until Philip himself mimicked the motion, well... it was the most powerful love anywhere.  Philip knew that it didn't matter if he never again loved anyone else. He knew this love, and that was enough.

Years passed. The game remained the same. And Philip's love never seemed to age, even though Philip had grayed some in the past years his love had not. They played, stripping slowly in front of each other across the street, each taking a turn, each relishing the moment when skin was revealed. Eventually, they were naked to each other, and Philip could feel those eyes gazing upon him, feasting on his skin. He was careful to always be in shape, but not too muscled... just enough tone to be beautiful in the mirror. His love was the model of a man, Roman sculpture framed in passion. Like no other on this Earth. And every night they bared themselves again and again. Month after month Philip waited and hoped and pleaded with the gods for an invitation, for  a beckoning, fuck, even just a lifted eyebrow. But it never came. The shape across the street would eventually turn away, glancing one last time before shutting off the light. Philip pondered what must be happening over there. He saw the imaginary wife calling from the bedroom for her man. The secret love they shared was unknown to her, and she would take him with lust and desire. He would carry his fevered passion to the bedroom and take it out on her flesh, all those hidden needs. Philip wondered if his love saw his face on his wife, wondered if that man would one day finally want him so much that it would overcome the need to save face with his society. Philip wanted him so badly, and he knew that his love must feel the same way. It was the only explanation.

Years of this and Philip never wavered in his devotion to the game, and was never disappointed, but never was his need for contact with this god fulfilled. Philips's heart was so achingly empty during the daylight, and only when the sun set did the hole begin to fill as anticipation made the pain bearable.  He dreamed of his lover calling him with a waving hand, saw them meeting in the lobby of the building. He could smell the wondrous scent and taste the succulent lips of this man he loved for so long. He had waited so very long. And in his dream, Philip and his lover stepped into the elevator, tension building as the floors swept past. There was the outside of the door his love walked through every night, there was the window they watched each other through. And then he was wrapped up in those strong arms, kisses drowning kisses, heat and desire and love making the wait worth every minute. He saw them making sweet love to each other through the night. All through the dream Philip wept with ache, and a love he might never know for real. Their bodies swayed against the sheets, and for the first time in his life, Philip was full with life and love. The dream continued on for eternity, their days filled with tenderness and cute reminders of what was. He saw his lover greeting him at the office when Philip brought him lunch, made just the way he liked it. He saw the flowers that his lover would have delivered to the offices where he worked.

It was everything he ever wanted.

Philip woke, tears streaming down his face. Reminders of what could be. Night after night, Philip resolved to go over there and simply knock on that door and profess his love. Night after night, he simply felt happy to play the game.

...

Philip was older now, so much older than he ever thought he could feel.  His muscles softer, his skin wrinkled and toneless. To the office workers who stayed too late, he was that old fag who cleaned the place. They left him alone, mostly, which was a godsend for Philip. His heart never stopped reaching out towards the window across the street.

But this night, Christmas Eve, Philip was very tired. He made his way towards the windows as his watch wound towards midnight. He stood with his head against the glass and felt his chest tighten as the hands crept slower than ever.  He placed his hand on his chest, ready to unbutton his shirt once again. The pain bloomed and spread, his breath hitched, and Philip knew this would be his last night at the game. His watch snapped midnight, but the light didn't come on. Tears, burning with a lifetime of loneliness poured down his face. The night he dies, he wouldn't see his love's face.

"You will see me, Philip" said a thick Scottish accent from just behind the dying man. "I'm here"
He turned around,  the pain in his chest now a train crushing him down. "You... I love you"

"I know. And I love you."  The man leaned in and put his forehead against Philip's. "And I, you"

With three words, Philip knew he'd lived a fuller life of wanting than he ever could have a life of having. "I waited. What is your name? I want to know your name before I die" His chest was heavy, but through all of it, he could smell cloves on this beautiful man.  His love smiled at him as the world grew gray and close. His love leaned in and pressed his lips on Philip's own, his breath sweet and luxurious. They kissed, for longer than seemed possible. A lifetime of aching washed away with one kiss.

"My name is Angus MacRae. I will remember you and your beautiful heart, Philip"

Philip could taste the kiss on him.

Angus held him close as he passed. "I'll remember you always"  He kissed this kind, sweet man again, feeling his weight change in his arms.  Close to an ear that stopped hearing, Angus whispered...


"Mine."