Page 57 of Never Quite Gone

The kettle clicked off, making us both jump slightly. Eli busied himself with tea preparations, his surgeon's hands precise even in this domestic task. I recognized his need for movement, for practical action while processing emotional complexity.

“Why now?” he asked finally, setting a cup in front of me.

“Because this isn't about the past,” I said carefully. “Yes, I've loved you through lifetimes. Yes, there are complications and dangers we'll need to face. But right now, this moment, I'm just a man asking someone he cares about to share something beautiful.”

He sank into the chair across from me, his expression thoughtful. “The exhibition... you chose it deliberately.”

“Because it bridges worlds,” I acknowledged. “Like you do. Medicine and art. Science and soul. Past and present.”

“And you think I'm ready for that?”

“I think you're ready to consider it.” I wrapped my hands around the warm teacup, anchoring myself in this moment rather than all the others we'd shared. “Ready to imagine possibility without feeling guilty for it.”

Silence stretched between us, but it felt comfortable rather than tense. Outside, Manhattan's evening lights painted patterns on his walls - not quite like temple fires or studio candles or jazz club spotlights, but beautiful in their own way.

“Friday,” he said suddenly, his voice steady. “The exhibition opens Friday, right?”

Hope bloomed in my chest, cautious but real. “Yes. But we could go another time if?—”

“Friday's good.” His smile held hints of the one I remembered from a thousand lifetimes, but also something entirely new.

“Are you sure?” I had to ask, had to give him every chance to back away.

His hands were perfectly steady as he lifted his teacup. “No,”he admitted. “But I think... I think that's okay. To not be sure but try anyway.”

Relief and joy mixed in my chest as I nodded. We sat in companionable silence, drinking tea and watching city lights paint new patterns on familiar walls. This was what I'd learned through centuries of loving him - that sometimes the quietest moments held the most meaning.

“I should go,” I said eventually, noting the fatigue around his eyes. “You need rest.”

He walked me to the door, his movements more relaxed than when I'd arrived. At the threshold, he paused. “Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For understanding about the ring. About... everything.”

“Always,” I replied softly, meaning it across lifetimes. “Some things don't need to be either-or. Some hearts have room for both what was and what could be.”

His smile held promise as he closed the door between us. Walking home through Manhattan's evening bustle, I felt lighter than I had in years. Centuries of loving him had taught me patience, had shown me how to navigate the delicate space between memory and possibility.

Friday stretched ahead like a door about to open. Not to the past this time, but to something new. Something that honored all the lives we'd shared while creating space for the one we were living now.

For the first time since finding him again, I felt truly hopeful.

The rest of the week passed in a blur of corporate meetings and development plans. Marcus kept giving me knowing looks every time I checked my phone, while Will's empty office seemed to watch my distraction with silent understanding. I threw myself into work, reviewing architectural plans and acquisition documents with forced focus, but my mind kept drifting to Friday, to the promise of seeing Eli in a space that wasn't bound by hospital politics or ancient magic.

I spent Thursday evening in my penthouse office, pretending to review quarterly reports while actually researching the Morgan's current exhibitions. The architectural renovation pieces would interest him, I knew, but not just because of Michael's influence. Eli had always understood the importance of preserving history while building something new – in every life, every incarnation.

Sleep proved elusive that night, memories and anticipation mixing into something that felt both ancient and completely new. When dawn finally broke, I found myself standing in my closet, putting more thought into casual wear than I ever did into business suits.

Friday arrived with unexpected speed, finding me waiting in the Morgan's elegant lobby. I'd arrived early, a habit born of centuries of anticipation, but Eli surprised me by being even earlier. He wore a carefully casual outfit that spoke of time spent choosing – dark jeans and a grey sweater that made his eyes look greener than usual.

“I hope I'm not too early,” he said, fidgeting slightly with his coat.

“Perfect timing,” I assured him, drinking in the sight of him in this space. He looked more rested than he had all week, more present somehow.

The exhibition opened before us like a carefully crafted story.

“Michael would have loved this lighting design,” he said softly, studying a model of a converted church. “The way it highlights the original architecture while creating something completely new.”

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