Our Summer Rhapsody - 8. "Ble Mou Poulí"

Elijah stood by the door, leaning against the frame, watching his father with curiosity and apprehension as he meticulously folded clothes and placed them into his suitcase. The room was filled with quiet anticipation, which usually accompanies the beginning of a significant journey.

"Dad," Elijah began, breaking the silence. Oliver looked up from his packing, a slight smile on his lips.

"Spit it out," the blonde hunk replied. Elijah hesitated, his eyes searching his father's.

"I've been thinking..." the boy stammered, discretely glancing at Oliver. "About going with you?" he suggested.

"No," Oliver immediately opposed, walking to the dresser and pulling out a handful of undies and socks.

"Why?" Elijah contended, walking inside the room.

"Cause I said no," Oliver stated firmly as he stuffed a couple of shirts and trousers inside his travel bag.

"That's not fair...it was my idea in the first place," Elijah mumbled, letting his body fall on the bed, his arms crossed and his lips pouting like a child.

Oliver paused, turning to face Elijah.

"Why would you wanna go?" Oliver asked, his eyes scanning his son's seemingly uneasy condition.

"I don't know...I just...I can't really explain it, but I feel like I need to be there," the boy tried to explain, his anxiousness giving Oliver pause. "I mean...what if you get sad or angry?" he stammered, his blue eyes crossing his father's.

"Elijah..." Oliver uttered, overwhelmed by the boy's concern for him.

"You should have someone there with you," Elijah said, pulling up and sitting on the edge of the bed. Oliver hesitated, his heart swelling with pride and joy. He closed the suitcase and walked over to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"What about Uncle Jason and Aunt Sophia? They were so excited to have you for a couple of weeks," Oliver said, trying to dissuade the boy.

"Alex and Charlotte aren't even gonna be there...I'll be bored to death," Elijah muttered, twirling his fingers.

"I don't get it..." Oliver finally spoke, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

"I just...feel like I need to go. Like I need to be there," the boy stated. Oliver lifted his head, scanning his son briefly before sighing.

"Fine," he conceded. Elijah's face lit up with bliss and excitement.

"For real?" the boy questioned, his blue eyes glimmering. Oliver shrugged, unhurriedly nodding. "Fuck yeah!" Elijah hollered, punching one hand into the air, his body lingering there as he beamed.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Go pack. We leave at 6 am tomorrow," Oliver commanded before Elijah's body flung into his arms, the boy's legs scissoring around his waist, his luscious lips latching to Oliver's cheek. Oliver could feel his body tingling, the boy's tenderness warming his spirit.

Even though a part of him was reluctant, the thought had crossed Oliver's mind before. His son's presence there might help coil the blaring anxiety he had felt since he decided to return to Paros. Yet he couldn't help but notice, with tamed curiosity, Elijah's blatant determination to join him. As if he, too, was being summoned back, an invisible force ushering them across the ocean into a distant world where Oliver's past had been stored, waiting to be revisited.

Elijah's feet punched the floor, and he flew out the door, running back to his room. Seconds later, Oliver heard music blasting from the background, his son's voice singing over it, pure joy chaperoning his every word.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Jason and Sophia, along with Alex and Charlotte, were at the door, and it wasn't long before the house was overfilled with laughter and conversation as they gathered for dinner, a final family moment before the trip. The dining room table was laden with a lavish feast—roast chicken, fresh salads, bread, and desserts. Sophia had outdone herself.

"You couldn't boil an egg if your life depended on it. But you can order like no one's business, baby," Jason acknowledged as he leaned to kiss Sophia's neck, eyes scouring the table.

"Like mother, like daughter," Oliver teased. Sophia glanced at him, smiling.

As they sat down to eat, the conversation flowed easily as they reminisced about old times and hopes for the future. Alex and Charlotte entertained everyone with stories from school, their youthful energy bringing a lively spirit to the evening.

"To Ollie and Elijah," Jason said, raising his glass in a toast. "It's good to know some children still like to spend time with their parents," he added, glancing sarcastically at Alex and Charlotte across the table. Alex, who texted on his phone, raised his eyes.

"Da'fuck? We do stuff all the time..." the boy muttered.

"Yeah. And you wear that face the entire time," Jason countered, pointing at his son's scouled mug.

"Well, you can't beat genetics, Dad," Alex mocked, causing everyone at the table to laugh.

"You see what I have to deal with?" Jason questioned, turning to Oliver, who sat beside him. The blonde smiled, his eyes lingering on Jason, suddenly acknowledging the importance of that friendship in his life. Then, he leaned in and kissed Jason's mouth.

Elijah, Alex, and Charlotte's heads popped out of their phones, their eyes gaping with surprise.

"I love you," Oliver whispered, his words brushing Jason's face, eyes glistening with emotion.

"Mom?" Charlotte called her lips between stupefaction and giggle.

"I've seen it happen before," Sophia razzed, glancing at Jason and Oliver's closeness.

"Well, truth be told, it was your fault the first time," Oliver quipped, leaning back on his chair, his arm still wrapped around Jason's shoulders, fingers brushing his friend's neck.

"Doesn't it make you jealous, baby? Seeing another dude kiss your husband in front of you?" Jason provoked, teasing Sophia.

She paused, fingers holding her glass as her eyes wandered down. She chuckled, finally raising her chin.

"I think it's kinda hot," she stated. The table erupted into laughter.

"Eww," Charlotte uttered, her face wilting.

"Oh, please! We're not dead below the waist, Char!" Sophia said. "How do you think you came about?" she scolded.

"I would've hoped through immaculate conception..." Charlotte mumbled, extending the spirited gambol.

Twenty minutes later, Elijah, Charlotte, and Alex had retired upstairs. Oliver, Sophia, and Jason sat at the table enjoying a glass of Porto wine Jason had saved for a special occasion.

"Are you sure about what you're doing?" Sophia questioned, her voice lacking any judgment. Her usual, more frigid demeanor had disappeared, and her eyes embraced Oliver with love and care.

"No," Oliver replied, chuckling nervously. "I can't remember the last time I felt this scared," he admitted.

"Why do you think that is?" Jason answered, leaning forward and sipping gently on his "snaps" glass.

"I don't know. But I remember feeling like this back then," Oliver mumbled, his blue eyes squinting as he recalled.

"What do you mean?" Sophia asked.

"I think...what Niko and I felt for each other back then isn't much different from what fear feels like," he said, exhaling deeply as if each word was a fresh divulgence. His emotions were slowly being dusted, and as he opened up, they seemed to evolve, becoming more unmistakable. "It's like trying to walk over a wire stretched 200 ft in the air, constantly feeling you might fall to your death at any minute," he said, raising his eyes and glancing at his friends. "Yet, you feel more alive than you've ever felt. Like you're..." Oliver muttered before Sophia interrupted him.

"Invincible," she added, smiling.

"Yes," Oliver uttered, smiling back.

"Ollie...I've always wanted to ask you," she stammered, struggling to bring her question out.

"Sophia," Jason whispered, his head shaking in objection.

"At the harbor, before we left...Niko, he...whispered something in your ear," she recalled, her eyes glistening. "What was it?" she questioned, words trembling as if they had been stored under a pressing weight this entire time.

Oliver's tears assembled. Despite his lips unfurling slightly, no words came out. They were shackled, confined. Then, Jason's hand slid across the table, holding Oliver's.

"Probably something only he was meant to hear. Something only he could understand...right?" Jason appeased, his tone soft and tender. Oliver blinked, allowing a few tears to flee, skating graciously down his face. And at that moment, an overwhelming sense of gratitude took over him. Sophia's hand searched for Oliver's.

"Thank you. Both of you," Oliver said.

"For what?" Jason questioned.

Oliver leaned forward on his chair, smiling.

"For being my family," he acknowledged.

And there, enveloped by the most comfortable silence, the three friends sat together, their love sealed, and they raised their glasses, exchanging a look filled with mutual understanding and admiration. At that moment, Oliver finally realized that family was more than blood and name. Sophia and Jason were his soft surfaces to fall into, his safety met, his people. And as he gazed into their eyes, he knew they would always be there for him.

The following day came quickly. The sun had barely risen when Oliver and Elijah found themselves at the airport, the excitement and nerves of the impending journey buzzing between them. They were checking in their luggage when a familiar voice called out.

"Oliver!" a voice called.

Oliver turned to catch Tony walking towards them. The tall stud's face was a mix of grit and lingering esteem, his eyes meeting Oliver's with complex emotions.

"Hey," Oliver greeted, his lips trying to supervise his joyful surprise. Tony smiled back, though it was tinged with trepidation.

"I thought I'd...come say goodbye," he said, eyes glancing at Elijah. "Hey, buddy," Tony greeted. Sensing the need for privacy, Elijah leaned in, kissed Tony's cheek, and excused himself to grab a coffee. Oliver turned to Tony, and a comfortable tension suddenly landed around them.

"So..." Oliver stammered, his voice gentle yet nervous. Tony took a deep breath.

"Since the other day, I've been thinking a lot about us," Tony stated, his piercing chestnut gaze drilling into Oliver. "And I was hoping that maybe when you get back, we could talk...?" the hunk stuttered, noticing a shift in the blonde's gaze. Oliver felt a rush of conflicting sentiments, footing between gratitude, hesitation, and hope.

"I'd like that," he uttered. "But the thing is, Tony...I need to get my shit together first," Oliver admitted. "I can't hurt you again...I won't," the blonde stud stated. Tony's eyes softened, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Oliver..." Tony whispered. If and when you're ready...I'll be here," he pledged. His words felt soft and tender, giving Oliver the reassurance he needed—that a life of love and affection could await him if he ever decided he was worthy of it. They hugged, a tentative but genuine gesture of abiding affection and yearning.

A few minutes later, as Tony walked away, Elijah returned, coffee in hand.

"Everything okay?" Elijah asked, noticing the thoughtful expression on his father's face. Oliver nodded, a smile spreading over his lips.

"Yeah. Fine," he replied. "Ready?" he questioned.

"Absolutely," the boy exclaimed, grinning.

They boarded their flight, the expectation building as the plane took off. Oliver watched the city fade below them, his mind drifting to Paros and the memories waiting to be uncovered. Beside him, Elijah looked out the window, his thoughts a mix of excitement and curiosity about the journey ahead. The plane soared higher, carrying them toward where the past and present intertwine, where old wounds would hopefully heal. A journey of discovery for both father and son, a path that promised closure. Or so Oliver hoped. As they settled into their seats, Elijah took Oliver's hand, a silent promise of support and love. A pledge that together, they would face whatever awaited them, regardless of what it may be.

Two flights and fourteen hours later, the plane touched down on the sun-drenched island of Paros, its wheels skimming the tarmac like stones skipping over water. Oliver felt his heart quicken, a rush of memories flooding his mind as he stepped off the plane. The heat, the salty tang of the sea breeze, the distant hum of cicadas—achingly familiar, a sensory déjà vu that transported him back to that transformative summer with Niko.

They quickly stopped at the hotel, the same one Oliver had stayed at all those years ago. They dropped their bags, showered, and immediately headed out into town, propelled by Elijah's elated energy and motivation to explore the cheerful sights.

As Oliver strolled around town, wandering through his memories, Elijah walked beside him, his eyes wide with curiosity. The island had remained a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, vibrant and alive with the spirit of Greece. They grabbed a taxi to the heart of Parikia, the island's main town. The streets were narrow and winding, lined with whitewashed buildings and vibrant bougainvillea.

The town was alive with festivities, the air loaded with alluring scents and music. It seemed they had arrived just in time for the local festival, and the streets were thronged with people celebrating. Elijah was immediately drawn to the lively ambiance, taking in the sights and sounds.

"It's beautiful," Elijah said, his voice filled with wonder.

Oliver smiled though his mind was elsewhere. The familiar cobblestones underfoot, freshly baked bread wafting from a nearby bakery, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore brought Niko to the forefront of his thoughts. But as they wandered through the streets, it soon felt inescapable that Oliver's spirit was lured towards a particular destination, an old, beloved store that had once been the center of his world. The shop had been Niko's sanctuary, a haven of creativity and passion where he had spent countless hours drawing, painting, and dreaming. Oliver's heart ached as they approached, his steps faltering when he saw the sign above the door. Strangely, the place seemed bigger now, its thick walls replaced by a large glass that stretched two houses down the street. Oliver's eyes slowly glanced up. The small window to Niko's room was still there, untouched by time.

"It's an art gallery," Elijah said, peering through the windows. "Let's check it out," he suggested.

Oliver nodded, his emotions a tangled mess as he pushed open the door. The cool interior of the museum was a stark contrast to the bustling streets outside. The walls were adorned with sketches, large canvases, and leather installations, and as Oliver took a closer look, his breath snagged in his throat. They were drawings of him, captured in delicate lines and shades, each a testament to Niko's enduring devotion and recollection. Oliver slowly moved from piece to piece, his fingers brushing against the frames as if he could reach through time and touch the moments they represented. The artistry was unmistakable, and each detail was filled with the same passion and precision that graced Niko's words in those letters.

"Dad...," Elijah said, his voice hushed with awe. "They look like..." the boy stuttered.

"Me," Oliver replied, his voice thick with emotion.

Just then, a young man entered the room, his presence striking and commanding attention. Oliver was immediately taken aback, his legs shivering. He was the spitting image of Niko, right down to the soulful emerald eyes and how he carried himself. Slightly hidden further down the store, Elijah's gaze immediately drew to the young man.

"Boró na se voithíso?" the green-eyed stud questioned, his voice carrying the same melodic lilt that Oliver remembered. So he took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Do you speak English?" Oliver faltered, overwhelmed by the stud's resemblance to Niko. The young man smiled, his warm, welcoming expression causing Oliver to feel a jolt in his chest.

"Oh yes, of course. I'm so sorry," the stud excused with a thick, heavy accent. "I'm Alexios," he said, his squinting eyes scanning Oliver's as they wandered around the walls. "Are you familiar with my father's work?" he questioned. Oliver's breath blundered, the reality of the moment sinking in.

"You're Niko's son?" he stammered. Alexios nodded, his gaze steady.

"Yes," the young stud replied. "Did you know my father?" he asked, his question ushering a sharp squall into the pit of Oliver's stomach.

"I did, yes," Oliver replied, his words faltering. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "A long time ago," he added. Elijah's eyes volleyed between his father and the charming Greek stud, sensing the depth of the association that was taking place. Alexios's eyes softened, understanding dawning.

"My Blue Bird," the young stud uttered. Oliver felt a lump form in his throat, a mix of sorrow and joy.

"What...?" he stumbled, legs quivering.

"The name of the collection," Alexios replied, pointing around the room filled with drawings and paintings of Oliver's face. The young man's captivating smile pushed through, but soon, he paused, his eyes scouring Oliver's overwhelming emotion. Then, slowly, his attention danced between Oliver's turquoise eyes and the big piece in the gallery's center. There was a prolonged silence as they scoured each other up and down before Alexios' voice finally pushed through. "You're him...aren't you?" the young man whispered, his eyes on the painting. "You're five years too late, by the way..." he added, tension building in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Oliver muttered. His words, his apology, were as much to himself as it was to Alexios.

"Well, that ain't worth much now, is it?" Alexios pushed back, pausing briefly, his eyes conflicted. But he finally turned, facing Oliver. "He'd rarely speak about you...sometimes I'd carry him to bed, and he'd mumble your name as he fell asleep..." the young man recounted. "But when he did talk about you...his eyes would change. They'd get this...glow," he revealed, words blazing with anger and sorrow. "You were real to him," he added. "But to me...you're just a fucking ghost," he uttered, turning around and walking away.

"Alexios, I don't think you..." Oliver tried to contend as he pursued him to the front of the store.

"I think you should leave," the young hunk stated, his deep voice resonating inside the gallery.

"What's going on?" Elijah questioned, rushing from behind a large leather installation where he'd been idling.

"Nothing. Everything's fine," Oliver appeased, trying to deflect Elijah's attention. He could feel his son's reckless nature pushing through.

"Fly away, bluebird. There's nothing for you here," Alexios reacted, walking behind the counter.

"Dude, what the fuck! You can't talk to him like that?" Elijah confronted, walking in Alexios direction.

"This is my store. I can do whatever the fuck I want," the Greek stud shot back, casually leaning his waist against the counter.

"Elijah, drop it..." Oliver ordered, but his words were now faint whispers. The young blonde's eyes were locked on Alexios, charging like a bull, ready to lunge.

"He loved your father. So much that he fucked up his whole life because he couldn't get over him!" Elijah hollered. Behind the counter, Alexios eyes surveyed, attentive. And each word the blonde uttered seemed to capture a new layer of Alexios' awareness. "I bet you don't even know what that feels like!" the blonde forced through.

"Elli, that's enough!" Oliver's sharp yet resounding voice warned from behind him.

"No! This is horse shit! He can't talk to you like that. Not after everything you went through," Elijah exclaimed, his fiery personality suddenly forcing Alexios' anger to halt, blocked by the blonde's enigmatic presence. The Greek hunk's eyes squinted, his lips inadvertently smiling. "What's with the smirk?" the blonde questioned, visibly peeved. But Alexios didn't say anything. He stood there, hands over the counter, his emerald eyes drilling into Elijah's, whose sudden burst of rage slowly began to shift, morphing into a tamed awkwardness. "What?" he provoked, his voice now low and eerily softened.

"Nothing," Alexios uttered, his husky, sexy voice permeating the small space between them. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the counter. "You're cute...when you're angry," the stud whispered, stopping Elijah in his tracks, the blonde's blue eyes shivering.

Further back, Oliver watched, forcing him to instinctively step back. Something was happening before him. Something familiar, an energy he had felt once in his life—only once. He pulled back, trying not to be noticed, and wandered inside the gallery.

"Arrogant tanned prick..." Elijah mumbled, ready to cuss Alexios out, but something stopped him. Something inside the hunk's gaze forced his guard down. Elijah stepped closer to Alexios, his eyes suddenly curious about the drawings spread across the counter. "So...you're an artist, too?" he provoked, his voice dancing between refractory and sincere. Alexios shrugged, smiling.

"I don't know...you tell me," he teased, sliding one of his drawings across the glass partition, turning it around, and facing it to Elijah, who glanced down, his eyes endeavoring to pull away from Alexios face.

"Hmm...could use some improvement," Elijah replied, sounding smug and rousing. Which only seemed to entice Alexios even more as the hunk's tongue glided sensually over his plump lips. On the other side of the counter, Elijah's cock hardened.

"Is this your first time in Paros?" Alexios questioned, immediately disarming Elijah's hostility.

"I...Yes," Elijah stuttered, frowning as he tried to keep his guard up.

"Then you should have someone with you who knows his way around," Alexios suggested, leaning forward. Elijah's eyes followed the stud's movement, his pupils wandering along the hunk's massive chest, whose dark fuzz peeked from under his baggy t-shirt.

"I have my Dad," Elijah stammered, trying his best not to give Alexios the satisfaction. But the blonde would soon learn that Alexios' determination, like his father Niko's, was unwavering.

"He doesn't know this place like I do," the stud said. "Let me take you out, beautiful," he added, smiling. Right then and there, Elijah was hooked.

"No..." he fought, even though every fiber of his being screamed yes.

"Why not? Afraid you might like it?" Alexios teased.

"I doubt it," Elijah sounded, prompting them both to chuckle. The blonde's body suddenly fell over the counter, forcing their faces to move closer. They felt each other's breath for the first time. "I'm not leaving my Dad behind," the blonde whispered, pushing his natural scent inside Alexios's nostrils.

"It's okay. He can come to. It's not like we'll be doing anything inappropriate," Alexios whispered, his musky breath weakening Elijah's senses, who struggled to keep his legs from shaking. "Unless you want to..." the stud added, the sexiest smile planted on his lips.

"Jesus Christ..." Elijah stammered, chuckling nervously as his body melted into Alexios' presence.

Further down the room, as Oliver walked away, the gallery got quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the distant murmur of the bustling streets outside. The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the large windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. Oliver wandered through the exhibits, his mind still reeling from the encounter with Alexios and the flood of memories it had triggered. Elijah and Alexios had lingered near the counter, the young artist's natural charm drawing Elijah into spirited conversation. Oliver watched them from a distance, a soft smile on his lips. There was a palpable connection between them, a budding attraction, or perhaps something more, that warmed Oliver's heart.

As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with a woman examining one of Niko's more comprehensive sketches. She was striking, with dark, expressive eyes and graceful confidence. Recognition flashed between them, forcing Oliver's eyes to gape.

"Amal?" he asked his voice a mix of surprise and nostalgia. She turned, her eyes widening in recognition.

"Amerikano?" she exclaimed. Oliver nodded, a smile spreading across his face. Amal laughed, a rich, melodic sound that instantly transported him back to their youth. They embraced, the years melting away as they held each other. Amal stepped back, her eyes scanning his face. "My God...still most beautiful boy. Okay, now you man," she teased in her sketchy English and heavy accent. Oliver chuckled, the familiar warmth of her presence easing the tension he seemed to carry.

"Old man," Oliver quipped, brushing his fingers over those foremost wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

"Ai, ai, this is why good to meet old friend. You get to be young again," Amal said, her inviting nature prompting Oliver to smile. "You meet...?" she questioned, pointing to the front of the store where Alexios chatted with Elijah. Oliver nodded. "Ai, ai, he...what the word...obstinate like his..." she whispered, suddenly stumbling on her words, an unexpected sadness. "You know, yes?" she cautiously asked, waiting as Oliver nodded slowly in confirmation. "Well, life," she uttered, lifting her hand to Oliver's chest and brushing it over her friend's heart.

They wandered through the gallery together, pausing occasionally to admire Niko's work. Under their shared gaze, the sketches seemed to come alive, each a reminder of the past they had both cherished and mourned.

"How have you been?" Oliver asked, his curiosity piqued. Amal sighed, a dreamy look in her eyes.

"I good. After Niko pass away, I stay in Paros. Keep eye on Alexios. He firecracker," she razzed, winking. "I open small café down in harbor," she proudly announced. Oliver nodded before his eyes shifted, turning somber.

"I'm sorry...for not..." Oliver stumbled, his eyes trembling slightly. "Life... it just got complicated," he tried to ascribe. But there was just too much to be said. Sensing this, Amal placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

"Ai, ai, Amerikano...everyone suffer. Life hard, yes?" Amal appeased, her unwavering smile brushing Oliver's heart gently.

They continued to stroll through the gallery, their conversation flowing naturally. Oliver opened up about the letters, the fire, and the emotional journey that had brought him back to Paros. For over an hour, Amal listened intently, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, as Oliver filled in the blanks of the last 26 years.

"I wish...I had done things differently," Oliver said, his voice barely above a whisper. Amal shook her head gently.

"Cannot change what happen, Ollie. All can do is..." she stumbled, looking for the words. "Honor past and keep walk, yes?" she counseled.

They paused before a particularly striking sketch that captured Oliver's face in a moment of unguarded happiness. Vivid and bittersweet memories of their time together in Paros washed over them.

"This one, I visit shop when Niko do this one," Amal recounted, a nostalgic smile tugging at her lips. Oliver chuckled softly.

"He finally got my eyes right..." the blonde hunk mumbled, almost to himself.

"He say same thing," Amal added, her voice soft with reverence. Oliver's eyes, who had been staring at the painting, froze. He turned and looked at Amal. "From that day...he never stop draw your face," she whispered, her emotions showing for the first time. "I think...he afraid," Amal stuttered, her words choking.

"Of what?" Oliver asked.

"Afraid he forget," she replied.

Oliver could feel how hard it had been for Amal. After all, she had been left behind to tend to a broken person like many people in his own life had. But she slowly swallowed her tears and lifted her eyes, her resilience embracing Oliver's company. And she smiled. A smile, she felt, honored her best friend. They stood silently for a moment, each lost in their memories. The gallery seemed to fade away, leaving them surrounded by the echoes of their past. As they continued their walk, they passed by Elijah and Alexios, engrossed in conversation. The two young men seemed to have hit it off, their laughter mingling with the distant sound of music from the festival outside. As Amal's eyes locked on Elijah, they flared, and her head turned to face Oliver.

"Your baby?" she questioned, her eyes twinkling. Oliver smiled and nodded proudly. "Like photo. Reflection. Den boró na to pistépso!" she exclaimed, beating her hand against her chest.

Oliver watched his son, pride swelling in his chest. He felt a profound hope as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the showroom's floor. He stood there, the weight of the past slowly lifting and the promise of a future stretching before him, brighter than it had ever felt.

Meanwhile, Elijah and Alexios wandered into a quieter corner of the gallery, away from Oliver and Amal's poignant reunion, standing before a striking series of illustrations. They were of a young Oliver, each piece capturing the vehemence of Niko's love for him. The boys were engrossed in conversation, each question and answer weaving a deeper connection.

"Your dad was fucking talented," Elijah said, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of a sketch. Alexios smiled, a hint of pride in his expression.

"He was," the stud replied. Elijah glanced at Alexios, curiosity mingling with admiration.

"Did he teach you how to draw?" the blonde asked. He could notice Alexios eyes scanning his body indiscriminately, and every time the stud's emeralds brushed his blue eyes, Elijah felt his whole body tingling.

"He tried," Alexios replied, chuckling. "I spent countless hours watching him work, but I couldn't care less about the drawings. All I wanted was to hear him talk about his life," the stud added.

"And did he?" Elijah questioned, feeling an instant connection to the stud's words.

"No," Alexios responded, leaning closer to Elijah, his body emanating this intense heat.

"My dad... he never really talked about himself either. I didn't even know about this part of his life until recently," the blonde stuttered, feeling his cock press against his shorts, confused by the strange, ineffable effect Alexios presence seemed to have on him. The tanned stud turned to face Elijah fully, his expression softening.

"You look like him. Your father," Alexios uttered, his musky, warm breath drawing closer to Elijah's nose.

"I...get that a lot," Elijah agreed, his voice weakening.

"I feel like I know you..." Alexios whispered, his hand touching the blonde's arm, fingers grazing his velvety skin. Elijah looked down at Alexios's hand, feeling a strange, electric connection at the point of contact. He glanced up, meeting Alexios's gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of shared understanding and tacit attraction.

"Well...that's impossible," Elijah said, almost whispering. By now, his heart was beating out of his chest. Alexios' gaze softened, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"Maybe it's because..." he said, his voice low and sensual as his eyes scoured the paintings around them. "I've been looking at your face my entire life," he said. Elijah felt a surge of emotion, like a strange part of himself was suddenly being flared and disclosed.

"Maybe..." he stuttered.

They stood silently for a moment, their connection growing stronger with each shared word. Elijah felt a pull towards Alexios, an invisible force drawing them together. It was more than just their fathers' bond. It was something intrinsic, that felt untried yet familiar.

"Do you think..." Elijah expressed, hesitating. "Do you think they would have been happy?" the blonde questioned, causing Alexios to stumble. The stud looked at him, a sad smile on his lips.

"If they had surrendered...yes," the stud whispered, their bodies sealed inside a crown, their words whispering a gentle poem between their souls.

"What do you mean?" Elijah asked. Alexios' emerald gaze brightened, and a soft smirk forced his lips to move.

"To make that kind of love work..." the stud groaned, his voice changing, becoming more profound and vital. "You have to be willing to sacrifice everything for it," he said.

"Even your family?" Elijah contested.

There was a brief pause, their gazes melting into each other.

"Everything," Alexios stated resolutely.

Elijah's spirit froze, a powerful energy burst exploding inside his chest, expanding gradually like a resounding heartbeat.

The chemistry between them grew with each exchange, an undeniable attraction that neither could ignore. As the sun set, Elijah and Alexios stood closer, the space between them charged with unspoken potential. In the heart of the gallery, surrounded by the echoes of their fathers' love story, these two young men's own tale began to emerge, built on the foundations of whatever otherworldly force had brought Niko and Oliver together years before.

Later that afternoon, the cordial sun bathed Paros in a golden dye as Oliver, Amal, Alexios, and Elijah walked together toward the bustling tent raised over the central square. The air was viscous with the enticing aromas of grilled meats, fresh seafood, and baklava's sweet, honeyed scent. The sounds of local music filled the air, adding to the festive atmosphere. They found a table outside, shaded by a large olive tree. As they settled in, a waiter approached with a tray of ouzo and small plates of meze—grilled octopus, olives, tzatziki, and fresh bread.

"Fuck, I'm hungry," Elijah said, his eyes wide with appetite. Amal smiled warmly at him.

"Greek food, best food. Eat, little Ollie," she teased, propelling Oliver to smile.

They chatted and laughed as they ate, the conversation flowing easily. Oliver and Amal reminisced about the old days, sharing stories of their wild nights with Niko. Alexios and Elijah listened intently, absorbing every detail. As the meal ended, the sounds of music grew louder. A group of musicians had gathered in the square, playing traditional Greek tunes. The buoyant rhythms and melodies loaded the air, drawing people to their feet. Alexios turned to Elijah, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Want to learn how to dance, pretty boy?" the stud invited. Elijah hesitated momentarily, then nodded, a grin spread across his face.

"Sure, why not?" the blonde accepted, his soulful and unrestrained spirit shining.

Alexios stood and offered his hand, pulling Elijah to his feet. They made their way to the center of the square, where others had already begun to jig. The musicians played enthusiastically, setting the perfect tempo for the traditional steps. Amal and Oliver watched from their table, a sense of déjà vu washing over Oliver as he saw Alexios guiding Elijah through.

"Ai, ai, Ollie..." Amal said, her voice cracking with sentiment. Her hand slid over the table and held Oliver's. "Like Niko and you...again," she whispered, her words failing.

Alexios and Elijah moved gracefully, their steps becoming more assured with each passing moment. The crowd clapped and cheered, encouraging them as they hoofed their feet. Elijah's laughter rang out, his joy evident as he embraced the experience. Oliver felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The memories of Niko, the love they had shared, and the life they had dreamed of all came rushing back. He remembered a night much like this, filled with music, laughter, and the simple pleasure of being young. And utterly alive.

And there, at that moment, after 26 years, Oliver finally felt Niko's presence. He closed his eyes, tongue glazing over his lips, tasting his lost love's breath in his mouth. He lingered, relishing the beautiful moment offered to him as Amal held his hand through it. It was one of the most beautiful moments of Oliver's life.

As the dance ended, Alexios and Elijah returned to the table, breathless and flushed. Elijah's eyes sparkled with exhilaration, his smile wide and genuine.

"That was sick!" Elijah said, his voice filled with awe. Alexios grinned, brushing him on the back.

"Could use some improvement..." Alexios quipped, winking and sliding his tongue out in the sexiest way. Elijah laughed, punching the stud's arm playfully, his gaze lingering on Alexios a moment longer than necessary.

They all sat back down, their fellowship deepening with each juncture. The festival continued around them, the joyous atmosphere infectious. Oliver looked at his son, the love in his heart almost overwhelming. He looked around the table, overwhelmed with gratitude. Amal, a steadfast friend who had stood by Niko's side. Alexios, the legacy of his lost love. And finally, Elijah, his son, his future, the bridge between what had been and what could be. In that moment, surrounded by the vibrant spirit of Paros, Oliver felt whole as his past and present finally converged, creating a beautiful tapestry of his life.

After the fair, the town's lively streets began quieting as the festivities wound down for the night. After a rush of deep contentment and nostalgia, Oliver decided to retire for the night. He hugged Elijah and shook Alexios hand, wishing them a good night. The warmth of the day and the joy of reconnecting with old memories had taken a toll on him.

The two boys, on the other hand, still fueled with energy, were not ready to call it a night. Alexios looked at Elijah with a playful smile.

"So...do you...?" the stud asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Elijah smiled, feeling an exhilarating sense of freedom.

"Lead the way," the blonde interrupted a mischievous grin on his countenance.

They wandered through the narrow, winding streets before reaching a bar in an alley by the beach. The old sign above the door read "The Dancing Amerikano," a place steeped in history and memories. Unbeknownst to Alexios and Elijah, it was the same bar where Niko and Oliver had spent countless nights. A few months after Oliver's departure, they changed the name, an homage to his dance moves' lasting impression on the local crowd. The bar was dimly lit, filled with a mix of locals and tourists, the air thick with ouzo and tobacco. The walls were adorned with faded photographs and mementos of days gone by and people who had wandered there, seeking a place where they could be themselves. Elijah could feel the weight of history in the air, the echoes of the past whispering around him. As they entered, Alexios led Elijah to a table near a giant jukebox, a vintage machine that seemed to have a life of its own. Elijah's curiosity got the better of him, and he wandered over to it, immediately scrolling through the eclectic selection of songs.

"I can't believe it still works," Elijah commented, glancing back at Alexios, who seemed spellbound by the blonde's presence. His emerald eyes were captivated by Elijah's undeniable beauty and charm. The blonde kept scouring the records, twinkling with electricity as he lost himself inside the jukebox's history.

"I can't believe they have this here..." he muttered.

"What?" Alexios asked, leaning over to peek, intrigued.

"My grandmother's favorite song," Elijah replied, his smile unearthing a family relic. He slid his hand inside his pocket, pulled out a coin, inserted it, and selected a song. The jukebox immediately whirred to life, and the opening chords of an old 80's Italian disco song filled the space. The melody was enchanting, a soulful tune that captured the essence of the island's magic.

(Music playing on the dancefloor)
"La parola non ha
Né sapore, né idea
Ma due occhi invadenti
Petali d'orchidea

Se non hai
Anima, ah

Ti sento
La musica si muove appena
Ma è un mondo che mi scoppia dentro

Ti sento
Un brivido lungo la schiena
Un colpo che fa pieno centro

Mi ami o no?
Mi ami o no?
Mi ami"

Elijah stepped onto the dance floor without hesitation, letting the music take over. He moved with a natural grace, his body swaying to the rhythm. The other patrons in the bar began to take notice, their conversations fading as they watched him dance. Something mesmerizing about Elijah's beauty and charisma captivated everyone in his vicinity. Alexios watched, bewitched by the blonde's motions. Each step, each turn, drew him in deeper. He could feel his heart pounding with indisputable attraction. as he watched Elijah dance, free and full of life.

(Music playing on the dancefloor)
"Che mi resta di te
Della mia poesia
Mentre l'ombra del sonno
Lenta scivola via

Se non hai
Anima, ah

Ti sento
Bellissima statua sommersa
Seduti, sdraiati, impacciati

Ti sento
Atlantide, isola persa
Amanti soltanto accennati

Mi ami o no?
Mi ami o no?
Mi ami o no?

Ti sento
Deserto, lontano miraggio
La sabbia che vuole accecarmi

Ti sento
Nell'aria un amore selvaggio
Vorrei, vorrei incontrarti"

Elijah's eyes met Alexios' across the room, and he smiled, beckoning him to join. Without a second thought, the stud made his way to the dance floor, the pull between them too powerful to resist. They danced together, the world around them vanishing into the background. The music, the bar, and the people disappeared, leaving just the two of them connected by an invisible thread of fate. Elijah's luminous spirit flared, infectious and joyous, as they moved in perfect harmony. And as the song finally ended, the bar erupted in applause. The spell was broken, and people went back to their conversations, but the spell wavered between Elijah and Alexios. They stood close, their faces inches apart, breathless and exhilarated. Alexios pulled Elijah in, his hands skating down the boy's back, pausing near his lower back. He leaned closer, feeling the blonde's scent take hold of his senses.

"I want you," the stud groaned into Elijah's ear, prompting the blonde to smile.

"Then get me the fuck out of here," Elijah whispered, his words making the hairs on Alexios neck prickle up with excitement.

They exited the bar, rushing as the night air brushed against their flushed skin. Alexios led Elijah through the quiet streets, their footsteps echoing in the silence. He brought the blonde back to the gallery, opening the old shop door and revealing a narrow staircase leading to a room above it.

"This is where my father used to live," Alexios explained as they climbed the stairs. "It's where they used to meet," he stuttered, appearing nervous. He unlocked the door, revealing a small, cozy room filled with sketches and paintings. The air was thick with history, the walls whispering countless stories of love and longing. Elijah looked around, his eyes wide with wonder.

"I suppose they wouldn't mind...," he said softly, feeling the significance of the past around him.

Elijah turned to Alexios, their eyes locked by mutual understanding. Their unforeseen bond was undeniable. They moved closer, the space between them charged with electricity. Their lips met tenderly, a connection that felt meant to be. They moved together towards the bed, pulling off their clothes as they went, their hearts beating in unison. The moonlight slowly filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow over their naked bodies.

That night, in that small room above the shop, 26 years to the day Niko and Oliver made love for the last time, Elijah and Alexios loved each other for the first time. Surrounded by the legacy of their father's love and the unspeakable force that lingered there, their souls connected. For several hours, right until the first rays of the aurora began to descend, Elijah's moans and wails of pleasure echoed through those streets, finally merging the past with the future.

Back at the hotel, the light began to seep into the room, casting a soft glow over the rumpled bed where Oliver lay, his mind still wrapped in the haze of sleep. He stirred as he heard the door creak open and close quietly. Tiptoeing into the room, Elijah moved, trying to be as silent as possible.

"Morning," Oliver's groggy voice uttered, still carrying its usual warmth. Elijah froze for a moment, then smiled sheepishly.

"Hey. I was hoping not to wake you," the boy whispered, dropping his shoes on the floor.

"How was your night?" Oliver asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Elijah's face lit up, excitement and confusion playing across his features. He paused, a bloom creeping up his cheeks.

"I think I like him..." Elijah confessed, the words fleeing his mouth unannounced. Oliver smiled, a knowing look in his eyes.

"You like him...?" Oliver stirred, knowingly teasing the truth out of his son's heart. He knew exactly what the boy was feeling. Elijah nodded, his eyes shining. Oliver rose and stretched his body, strolling to the bathroom before his son's voice called from behind him.

"Dad?" he whispered vibrantly.

"Yeah, bud?" Oliver replied, turning back.

"I'm scared..." the boy admitted apprehensively. Oliver's heart pulsated alongside his son's, immediately sharing its frequency. Then he smiled and walked back, grabbing his son's chin and forcing the boy's eyes to meet his.

"Good," Oliver said. He could witness the surprise in Elijah's eyes. "It's supposed to be scary," the blonde hunk conveyed.

"But...what if I get hurt?" Elijah questioned. Oliver gently touched his son's cheek, their deep blue eyes converging affectionately.

There it was, the moment Oliver had waited. Elijah was no longer a boy but a man, entering a treacherous world from which Oliver couldn't save him. No matter how much he tried.

"That's life, Elli...but at least you'll know you tried," Oliver said, throwing his son a comforting wink before walking back to the bathroom. He left the young man to dwell in his reflections, a soft smile pulling his delicate and tender lips.

They showered quickly, the cool water helping to clear their minds and invigorate their bodies. As they took the elevator to the hotel's dining area, Elijah's thoughts were a whirl of emotions—happiness, fear, expectation. Outside, the morning air was fresh and filled with the scent of the sea. As they stepped into the sunshine, they saw Alexios waiting at the foot of the stairs leading to the hotel's entrance, his muscular body on a scooter, sporting a bright smile. He dismounted and gradually approached them, his gaze locking on Oliver.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Morning, Alexios," Oliver replied, a tamed smile on his lips. He could sense the young stud's trepidation.

"I was wondering if...I could take Elijah on a boat trip today. There's an island I'd love to show him," Alexios politely stammered.

Oliver's heart missed a beat, memories surging back. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Tony's name on the screen.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. "Hey," he greeted, beaming.

"Hey! How's everything?" Tony asked, his voice cheerful, even though Oliver could sense his apprehension from under it. He glanced at Elijah and Alexios further down the stairs, chatting animatedly.

"Everything's good..." he answered, his eyes dipping into his son's smile. "Great, actually," he added, beaming. "I think it's time for me to leave," Oliver said, his words feeling right and sincere. Tony paused.

"What about Elijah?" he asked gently.

Oliver watched his son chuckle at something Alexios was saying, a genuine, carefree giggle he hadn't heard in a long time. He smiled, a sense of peace washing over him.

"I think...he might stay around for a little longer," Oliver replied. Tony chuckled softly.

"I was thinking dinner...at that sushi place you love...next week?" Tony proposed, his voice slightly excited.

"Sounds wonderful," Oliver assured before hanging up and returning to where Elijah and Alexios were waiting.

Just then, Alexios walked up the hotel's steps towards Oliver.

"Mr. Preston, I..." the young man stuttered.

"Don't call me that," Oliver claimed. "Oliver will do just fine," he steered gently. Alexios smiled, his body melting into a more eased posture. Oliver could see him holding a small envelope in his hand.

"Back when my dad died, I was going through his stuff and..." he paused, stretching his hand out. "I found this," he added. "I think he'd want you to have it," the stud conveyed.

Oliver glanced down and stretched his hand, wrist trembling slightly as he picked up the small paper envelope. He stood there while Alexios walked back down the stairs to meet Elijah, who waved to his father. Oliver smiled, returning his son's gesture.

"Ready?" Alexios questioned.

"Yeah, let's go," the blonde replied, his soul beaming.

Oliver's legs buckled, and he fell on the steps. He sat there, watching the young couple hop onto the scooter and drive off towards the arbor. A sense of fulfillment and expectancy suddenly filled his chest. He had come back seeking closure, and he was leaving with the knowledge that his son was on the path to his own journey of love and self-discovery.

He stood there for a moment longer, the sea breeze ruffling his hair, before a smile slowly grew on his lips, and he ripped the paper envelope open. He tilted it, and an old, slightly worn-out photograph slid out. It was one of the pictures Niko had taken of him all those years ago.

A sharp exhale broke from Oliver's mouth. A lament mixed with laughter.

Rafaella was right, Oliver thought. Life was correcting itself. Just not in the way he had thought or expected. But as he watched Elijah and Alexios driving off into the distance, his soul beamed, and he smiled, realizing just how undiluted his and Niko's story had remained.

Because there it was in front of him. Still surviving. Still thriving.

A connection so strong that it had managed to imprint itself into both their bloodlines and now carried on living through their children, growing and prospering. Their love had become everlasting.

It had, against all odds, endured.

All these years, Oliver convinced himself Niko was a man enslaved to nothing but his freedom. A creature too wild to be tamed. But he now realized that, like him, that young man he had left behind had gone on living, forever shackled to the love they once shared.

He sat there, holding that old, worn-out picture of him, his young, smooth body lying naked in the stud's bed. Tears skated down his cheeks as he finally recalled the last words Niko whispered into his ear on that dock all those years ago and that he had tucked away like a precious, priceless treasure. Waiting for the right time to be exhumed.

"I think I always knew...from the very first moment I saw you...that you'd sooner or later fly away from me. That's what birds do. It's their nature." Niko whispered, his warm words filling Oliver's heart. "But I also know I will never forget...how precious it felt...to hold you. Even if just for a moment," he added, eyes glistening.

"I'll come back," Oliver whispered, his own tears now skating, unruly.

"Even if you don't...I don't regret anything," Niko replied, forcing Oliver's pain to diminish.

"Goodbye, Niko," the blonde stammered.

"Goodbye, Oliver," Niko said, smiling, his nose taking one last sniff of his lover's skin.

Oliver flipped the picture around, smiling as tears of joy skimmed down his face. And with them, all the beautiful memories of their love story. On the back of the picture, scribbled in Niko's handwriting, he could read:

"Ble Mou Poulí"

 

THE END