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metempsychosis.
in philosophy, is the transmigration of the soul, especially its reincarnation after death.
- every minute counts
The famous tale of Achilles’ wrath was more than familiar to Eli Clark. perhaps even more familiar than the myths and stories of his own ancestors. It was a devastatingly beautiful tragedy, where his rage echoed through the earth, leaving a scorching mark in the riverbeds of Troy. He could almost see it; the funeral pyres of which Patroclus’ body turned to ash, the scavenging of his remains as Achilles grieved over the loss of his dearest lover.
But it was not something he quite understood.
How was it that Achilles felt an emotion so strong that it enabled him to kill the greatest warrior of Troy? Not only that – but to drag his body around the fallen empire, just to seek vengeance for Patroclus. Eli grimaces at the thought, if he had been Patroclus, he would not have wished for his lover to take such extreme measures.
Perhaps it was his hubris, the only part of Achilles still human, that forced him to do this. Alas, Eli could do nothing but guess. He swam in this vast library of knowledge, in centuries of human behaviour held in the casings of books. Lives of those long before his own time, those that etched a mark on this earth.
“Eli.”
An interruption of his thoughts, voice deep and sweet, honeyed, almost, luring him from his silence. Eli looks up, meeting the eyes of a man he had grown to adore (despite it all), Naib stares down at him, a glint of worry flashing in cerulean pupils, how endearing.
“Mr inference. You found me.” And he returns a small smile, lips curled, expression not nearly enough to express the raw joy blooming in his chest – a secret he shall keep until the moon pries open his heart. He stares for a few moments longer, taking advantage of the blindfold covering watercolor eyes before packing his notes away, a day of investigations abruptly cut short by a reticent man who has always seemed to struggle with his emotions. “It wasn’t hard. truth said you had gone m.i.a again, so I figured you might be here.” Inference explains, watching Eli’s movements with quiet eyes.
“Is that so? Why have you two come looking for me this time?”
He asks, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he already knew the answer. It was inevitable that they’d seek his presence every once in a while, he was prone to keeping himself to seclusion, after all. (that, and his cursed ability of foresight.)
“We were thinking of late lunch? Truth just closed a case and it’s been a while since we’ve gathered.”
That – is answered with a raised brow. He doesn’t point out the clear inconsistency in Inference’s words. they had been together for a case two days prior, after all —— not to mention the Mélodis’ family’s invitation to stay at their estate, which, in Inference’s defence, Eli did not end up attending..
They both knew that Eli avoided loud places at all costs, with his sensitive ears and slight disconnection to literally the rest of the human population (though he always brushes that off as being disinterested in human interaction), but it had been months since he’s joined them at the agency, and Truth has made it clear that he was to attend events with them at least every once in a while.
“I suppose I can spare an afternoon with you two.” He answers with a smile, though deep in his guts, he wished that Inference had come with another reason.
***
4 pm, Orpheus Detective Agency.
A soft sigh echoes through empty halls, Eli did not often enter Inference’s office without his presence, though he has reassured him time and time again that it was fine. There was a strange tranquility to 4 in the afternoon. It’s when time cascades and the sun slowly fades, leaving bruises of reds and purples bleeding in the skyline.
It was even better in Inference’s office, where the room was encased by books and gadgets and things you would never be able to tie to a world-famous detective.
“Eli? I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Inference steps into the room at 4:30, quiet and smelling like cheap cigarettes. He reaches for Eli, hand brushing against his, before calloused palm gently find their way into his one, tugging him into firm chest with intertwined fingers and skin pressed against skin.
No, they did not often do ‘hugging’, yet things like holding hands, perhaps even small kisses exchanged in the dead of night, came as natural as breathing – a second nature of sorts, after years of self-discovery with each other by their sides.
But it was strange, nonetheless.
The smell of smoke stained Inference’s shirt, checkered coat long since discarded on a random counter outside. There was the faint scent of whisky in the air, tangled in every strand of hair and every breath Naib let out. Eli frowns.
“You’ve been drinking?” Met with silence; they both knew the answer to that question.
***
Eli learned at a young age that he was nothing like those around him. His interests always laid with those who walked the earth during the dawn of time, the gods of western worlds, who shaped and moulded humanity with their hands, the same ones who bred heroes that wept for dead lovers, for those they will never get back. He had always thought of himself as a character in some Greek tragedy – perhaps not a hero, or a god, but a mere bystander.
A witness to the grief that rained upon the three realms when a demigod lost his beloved. It was as if he could hear Orpheus’ heart shatter as he turned to look at Eurydice for the final time, as if he had watched Achilles’ body fall against the dusty battlegrounds of Troy, only to join Patroclus in the afterlife.
He could see it all in vivid detail, he could touch the armour, hear the songs of poets, live and breathe and cherish every life that he saw, yet he never thought of himself as someone who could experience a love that strong.
“Would you stay?”
Inference asks, a soft murmur that leaves a warm spot on the side of his neck. Only then does Eli return to his reality, to the man he should’ve grown up with, to the beating heart that yearned for a title far more intimate than ‘friends’. But he could never take that step forward, if not out of fear, then out of pride.
“Only tonight.” He breathed back, equally quiet, but he knew he would be back for more, time and time after.
***
“Again?” Luca Balsa —— the ‘Paranormal’ Detective sighs, vigorously massaging his temples with gloved hands as Eli clutches his head in his arms before him, nodding with what limited movement space he had.
“I can’t help it.”
He turned away, cheek against the groove of his elbow as he laid atop Luca’s workbench. It was not abnormal for him to seek the other out —— having done so since his days in the Mélodis family (don’t ask how he remembered, it would be a tale far too long to tell). Luca stares with furrowed brows, cheeks puffed in the way he always did when someone was being rather unreasonable.
“Just leave the agency for a bit. You can always stay here.”
Right. Leave the agency. Eli can’t seem to remember the last time he had been away from Inference for an extended period of time.
***
The taste of liquor is burned onto Eli’s tongue, a rough clash of passion, lips moving together as Inference pressed his back against his desk, one hand around waist, and another on his nape, keeping him in place. They part momentarily, Eli taking quick breaths as his blindfold loosens with a tug of Inference’s fingers. His eyes flutter shut, feeling large hands roam his body, fingertips brushing against jarring scars across his forearm..
Moonlight flits through open blinds, casting two bodies in a holy veil of light. A shift of their positions, as if they were stars eons apart, dancing to each other’s force fields, and Eli falls to his knees.
***
- there is nothing better than this.
The door to the detective agency opens just before dawn, still dark, still night, and Eli turns to stare from his place on the couch. In that moment, he was not Eli Clark, and the man who had just stepped into the room was not Naib Subedar. He was Patroclus at Pthia, desperately awaiting any news that entailed the livelihood of Inference —— his Achilles .
“You finally remembered you have a job?”
He tried to speak lightly, he really did, but the sharp tang of blood in the air and the heavy footsteps that Inference held did nothing to ease Eli’s nerves. Something was terribly wrong.
“I’m sorry for the wait,” Inference lets out a long breath, staggering towards Eli with exhaustion clouding his mind. “How many nights have you spent here?” His right hand was pressed tightly against a gash on his left arm, fabric torn to reveal a rather deep cut from his forearm to just above his elbow —— curved and jagged, a grotesque image, even for him.
Eli presses his lips together tightly, hands reaching for the other, pulling him to the couch. Naib did not need to speak his mind for Eli to understand.
Did you miss me? Did you worry about me?
Thumb brushes against the outline of the wound, wincing at the horrid texture of dried blood caking his arm. Naib flinches, shuffling back.
“Sit. I’ll take care of that for you.”
“I can do it on my own.”
“Naib . Sit.”
And silence follows as Eli makes his way to a cabinet in the ‘kitchen’ — a coffee machine and a stack of paper cups. Injuries were not uncommon for the three of them, but usually nothing that would leave a lasting scar. He frowns again, feeling for the first aid kit behind stacks of paper that no one really needs.
“Who did this?”
He asks, back turned to Inference. A mark like that was a familiar sight, etched into the walls of a locked room at the melodis estate —— someone too familiar to Eli. He knows Naib is staring, he can feel the burn in the back of his head, scorching, as if he was questioning his words.
“Tuberose.” Inference answers, falling onto the couch.
Tuberose. a confidant of the Mélodis family, who has worked closely with his older brother since he could remember. An eerie silence falls on the room once more, Eli waiting for Naib to take off his clothes.
“Grab my shoulder if you need, but not my hand.”
He warns, though he knew Inference would be too stubborn to show any sign of weakness. Pale hands drench sterile gauze with clean water, mixed with a solution of Isopropyl alcohol (he could not find the rubbing alcohol, and Inference has, on multiple occasions, decided to use pure alcohol for his injuries, much to Truth’s dismay). Inference tenses as Eli pressed the gauze to his arm, a low hiss forced from sealed lips as his free hand reaches for Eli.
“Is it that bad?” The other murmurs, blindfold thrown onto tabletop as he steadily cleans around the wound, grimacing at the flesh staring back at him. “You have not gotten this hurt in a while.” Perhaps stitches were needed, but he was not prepared to use whatever first-aid skills they taught at the agency on Inference.
The grip on his shoulder tightens.
“Maybe we should pay a visit to the hospital.” Eli offers, as if he has ever been to a hospital. As he expected, Inference shakes his head.
“I’ll stitch it up. Wait in my office?”
He nods, pressing a soft kiss to Naib’s knuckles before turning away, soft footsteps carrying him into the oh-so-familiar office. He does not shut the door, nor does he sit on the padded armchair in the corner —— brought into the office just for him . Instead, Eli slides against a bookshelf, slumping onto the floor with his legs tucked to his chest.
Thank god he’s alive.
A heavy breath parts his lips, when had he started shivering?
Inference would never know the fear that coursed through his veins, the dreaded thought that had been in the back of his mind for however long Inference had been gone for. What would happen if he never saw him again? What would become of him?
Would he be orpheus, forced to live without his lover for eternity? Or would he be more like apollo, crouched over the body of his hyacinthus, weeping golden tears that brought the earth to life. Or maybe, he’d just be Eli Clark, the runaway of the mélodis family, forever in hiding.
Another sigh, before he forces himself to stand up. The tap outside is running, Inference is due to enter the room at any second now.
***
Heavy footsteps rang outside Inference’s apartment, followed by rapid pounding on the door. The detective furrowed his brows, throwing on a coat over his sleepwear before rushing out of his room. He was more than ready to unleash his rage at whoever had decided to disturb his rest at 3 am.
“Stop knocking,” irritation grows as he turns the door knob, unlocking it with a click. “What do you want——” words abruptly cut short as he is faced with ‘Noir’, a cut along his neck and left eye sealed shut with blood. Mouth agape, hardly thinking. How was one supposed to react when the younger brother of his worst enemy shows up at his doorsteps, one foot in the grave?
“Let me in.”
Noir grunts, forcing the door open with one hand as Inference took a step back. Alright, perhaps this is how you’re meant to handle it: by letting the other do all the work.
***
- just act normal
Days at the agency were typically quiet. they were well-known, yes, but even in a city with consistently growing crime rates, they never seemed to be involved with many cases. However, they make up for quantity with quality. The Mélodis family scandal erupts at least once a year, and somehow, Inference is always the one to be caught in the middle of it all.
“Another invitation. Is count Mélodis obsessed with us?”
Inference shakes his head, flicking the envelope onto the counter, the golden seal of the melodis family shining under the sunlight. next to him, Truth stirs her coffee (three blocks of sugar, 20 ml of milk, it’s hardly coffee, according to inference). “Perhaps he’s just in love with you.” She chirps, a smile dancing on cheeks as inference flashed a look of disdain.
“I would hope not,” he makes a gagging noise, eyes momentarily flickering to a figure adorned in white standing on the balcony, breeze carrying his scarf, his hair, everything with perfection —- as if he was a scene from a movie. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to be loved by that guy.” A shiver, and the balcony door slides open.
“He sent another?” Eli asks, taking small steps towards where the pair resided. despite the ability of foresight, he more often than not doubted his own skill —— it was too much of a strain for him to accurately see the future. behind his blindfold, he sees Inference nod, and his lips twitch in something that almost felt like fear.
***
The Greeks believed that the fate of all beings were held in the hands of three sisters; Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. With their threads, they manipulated the destinies of all gods and men, with their shears, they dictated the method of which one would die. It was similar to the Elizabethans, who believed that their fates were weaved by the gods above, forever unchanging.
Eli always considered it to be the strangest part of any mythologies. The fate of mankind should not be dictated by celestial beings that roamed the overworld, rather, it should be controlled by their own hands. Though he thinks this would grant him the greatest punishment from the gods —— for his hubris was like the rest of humankind, everlasting.
But —— standing at the door of Inference's apartment, bloodied and bruised and definitely taking his final breaths, he can’t help but think this is where things change. This is where his life truly begins.
***
Inference, unlike his usual self, refused to accept count Mélodis’ invitation to the manor. Instead, he sends his most trusted companions, Truth and Paranormal Detective, making up a lie about feeling unwell and feeling great remorse towards missing the Mélodis’ gathering. Eli had smiled at the terrible excuse, but knew better than to argue against any of Naib’s decisions. Perhaps it’s the aftermath of the army, but Naib was never one to be easily swayed by others.
“What, you’d rather me go off to some shady manor instead of spending time with you?” Inference turns to White once Luca’s complaints fade out down the corridor, and Eli feels his ears burn with shame. It was just the two of them, the sun setting behind Eli, a golden canvas painted in the sky. He shakes his head.
“I’m busy too, you know,” Eli sighs, arms brought overhead in a long stretch. it’s strange to think that after all this time, he’d be invited to a meeting with Gatto, of all people. Naib frowns, flinging his coat onto the couch before bringing arms around slim waist. “An old friend, is all.” He reassures, threading fingers through Inference’s hair. it’s gotten longer since he first came, perhaps he’ll give Inference a haircut soon.
“Don’t be too late. I’ll be here.”
“I know.”
“Do you need me to pick you up?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just an old friend.”
“Fine.”
A kiss is pressed to his temple, soft and quiet, leaving a pinch of warmth in Eli’s chest. He leaves.
It was not bad , per se. it was not familiar to him —— to be basked in adoration, to be sheltered and cared for and told that he was worth something . Everything the Mélodis family refused to give, he has received in twice the amount from the agency. Strange, yes, but not bad.
The north winds carry whispers from the world, breathed into Eli's ears as the ‘seer’. He hears tales of great wars and great triumphs, of dances and dreams, and he hears the fate of those around him. It will never last . Nights enveloped in heated affection, hand roaming bodies, pressed against the most sensitive parts of skin, voices dancing in the air. It will never—— .
No. He cannot love Inference, and Inference cannot love him.
This was nothing but pretense. It was two souls broken by years of torment, weaved together in some abhorrent way, not intricacy, but he is well too tangled in Inference’s soul to break free from fate’s grasp. It will——
Enough.
He steps into the alley, speed walking towards the bar situated down a small flight of stairs, a favourite of his and gatto’s from those days.
***
The second heir of the melodis family was known to have a horrible tolerance for alcohol. His presence was rare at gatherings, but the few times Noir had shown his face, he had been red cheeked and flushed, unable to walk in a straight line, and always, always on the balcony. Gatto, being the polar opposite, was responsible for taking care of Noir in these dire times —— the reputation of the Mélodis family shouldn’t be tarnished by Noir’s inability to stomach liquor.
A tug on his coat, harsh, almost bringing him to the ground, “Stop that,” Aesop ‘Gatto’ Carl hisses, one arm around Eli’s waist and another used to steady his shoulders. “How has your tolerance gotten even worse?” Gatto shakes his head, even though he struggled to recall the last time he had seen Eli. The man in his arms muttered under his breath, words too unclear for him to understand, but Gatto doesn’t ask him to speak again.
——
Three harsh knocks against the oak door of the detective agency, it was a little past midnight, and the drunkards of the city were definitely the cause of all noise pollution in the area. Inference was used to it.
“Door’s unlocked.” He yells from the couch, too lazy to get up. Would there be a point? Paranormal Detective and Lady Truth were staying the night at the manor, and the agency was closed to any outsiders past 10 pm, Who else could it be, if not Eli?
The door clicks open and Naib looks up to see two silhouettes in the doorframe.
“Gatto? Rare guest.” He nods in acknowledgement before glancing at the obviously drunk Eli in his arms. Inference frowns at that and Gatto almost immediately pushes the other into his arms with a shift of his weight. “Thanks.” Naib whispers as Aesop leaves with a puzzled nod, shutting the door behind him.
***
Dim lights, balcony door open, moonlight flickering against the blinds, Eli’s arms around Naib’s neck, swaying with the breeze. Lips pressed against throat, cheeks flushed with drunkenness. “Here,” he points at the side of Inference’s neck, the carotid artery, “I’ve killed people by using a knife here.” Eli whispers, a sad smile plastered on otherwise gentle features.
Inference hums, hands holding eli still by his waist, feeling the warmth radiating off his skin through thin fabric. “I’m scared, Naib,” he sighs, pulling away from his hold. “What if one day, I kill you too?” Slurring words, it was clear that Eli wasn’t thinking properly, yet the question still came as a surprise to Inference —— was this why he tended to avoid both him and Truth? Out of fear?
His heart aches.
“I’ve killed more than you can count, Eli. It was never your fault.” The military, the wars, the control of the Mélodis family, the poisoned idea that the Mélodis family has no need for useless people . They were never in control of their own fates. Eli turns back to him, crystalline eyes reflecting the glow of the moon above and for a split second, Naib thinks this is how things should always be.
He doesn’t speak again, only reaching for Naib’s hand. “Here,” he falls onto the couch, robe split open to reveal glowing skin beneath. “Take me, for tonight.”
Any other time, Eli would feel far too much shame to even think of those words. But tonight was different. He feels as if he was Dionysus at a Bacchanal, fireworks blossoming in the pits of his stomach as Naib works his mouth from his neck, to his chest, to his waist and hips and thighs. Eli’s body was hot to the touch, feverish in a way that entranced Inference.
Hands work to strip Eli down to nothing, the other unraveling beenath his touch. Like a wolf staring down his prey —— Eli was to be devoured.
- comfort and chaos.
The rain battered against his windows in a rhythmic manner, much like a musician’s metronome. Eli sits alone in the armchair, staring at the droplets racing against glass, dazed. Inference is officially announced to be in critical situation three weeks after his departure, now stuck in an operating room halfway across the country.
There’s a mug of tea on Inference’s desk that Eli had left there this morning, cold with withered tea leaves. His body aches, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stand up. Quite a fitting scenery, he thinks, to be told that the one he loves may never return on a day like this. He shuffles, grimacing at the loud noise of the leather armrest rubbing against the cushions. Eli makes a mental note to ask Inference for a quieter sofa, a loveseat, if he was willing to spend that much,
Right. Naib can’t leave yet. There’s still too much to do around the agency. The coffee machine broke two days ago, his plants need to be watered, the lights in the doorway stopped working three hours ago, and —— and the roof might leak from the rain. He shakes his head clear, Inference will come home, he will come home and fall into Eli’s arms and complain about his day like he always does.
He has to.
***
Inference’s coat lays untouched on coffee table, scrunched and wrinkled. It smelt faintly of rosemary and mint, a perfume that Eli had picked out for him a day before he left for an undercover investigation. He takes the coat with shaky hands, hoping to catch a glimpse of Inference on himself.
He stares at the mirror, biting back a smile at how comical he looked in the checkered coat while ignoring the deep pain in his heart.
Come home, Inference. Come home before I forget your touch.
***
“Do you love me?” Inference murmurs, focused on braiding the two strands of extra long hair Eli adorns. The younger hums, playfulling stalling time as Inference’s ears turn pink.
“I adore you.”
He could not say ‘love’. Love was too strong a word for him —— so he adores Inference, he cared for him more than anything else in the world, but he could not love. Words unspoken, yet they seem to achieve a mutual understanding.
Because I adore you ,
I want you to always walk a flowery path, to be surrounded by people you love and people who love you.
“Like the moon and the stars.”
The moon doesn’t need the stars to shine, much like how Inference could still stand on top of the world, with or without White by his side. There are words too difficult to tell, words that Eli Clark buries deep in the crevice of his body, affection that he never learnt to express.
I’ll never let you go.
You’ll always be a part of me.
You’re all that I ever need.
What cannot be expressed with words thus translates into touch. It becomes a score played on bodies, music born from Naib’s hands against Eli’s stomach, lips against bruised skin on neck. Every kiss becomes a cursive line, every touch, a redefining phrase.
***
Inference left with the spring rain. Leaving behind nought but a journal and a wardrobe of dusty clothes. His coat smelt of coffee and sun, but not of him . The agency remained to be unchanged —— Truth learnt how to fix the coffee machine and Eli managed to save the roof from leaking after weeks of storms. They learnt to live without Inference, as strange as it may be.
They stopped selling the laundry powder that Inference liked using but Truth gave Eli an alternative, something a little different, but still reminds him of the man he loved. His journal sits untouched on his bedside table, apartment now under Eli’s name, though he spends a vast majority of time at the agency, basking in sunlight on the balcony as if everything was fine and nothing has changed.
Perhaps one day Eli will find the courage to read through Naib’s journal —— the only thing that captured the essence of his life. Perhaps one day soon, perhaps never. He has bigger things to worry about, after all.
- darling, you’re the best.
(Naib’s diary.)
I’m not sure when it had all started.
At some point in time, I started to treat Eli differently.
His name echoes through my head and his voice is a constant in my life. If circumstances were different, I’d even say he’d be quite the match for me.
Eli knows better than I do. The whole world knows that much. In another life, perhaps we’d be happy together —— normal, even. But in this universe, the sun is warm and I am grateful for his presence every day.
***
In another life , Eli Clark is late to his first ancient history lecture. The heat of summer is harsh against his skin, and beads of sweat rolls along his cheeks as he stumbled into the theatre. He sets his bag down in an empty seat next to a young man with shoulder length brown hair, tied into a loose ponytail crooked to the right. The other looks up from his notes, giving Eli a small nod before turning his focus back onto the topic at hand: Myths and Tales of the ancient Greeks .
Blue eyes linger for a moment longer, meeting with the emerald greens of the other. He inhales sharply, feeling a twang of pain blooming in his chest at the sight.
“Do I know you?” The boy asks, brows furrowed as he maintained eye contact. Eli shakes his head —— at least not this time, not yet. “Naib Subedar, nice to meet you.” Naib grins, whispering under his breath as he blindly noted down the professor’s words. Naib Subedar .
“Eli Clark. I hope we can become friends.”
“Certainly. And, I’m sorry for the wait, Eli.”