Union

On the Day of the Great Victory, Black reunited with White.

Black lay still, unable to move. He was tired. He was weak.

Black had done his time and was ready to die, but seeing White’s face, he felt neither relief nor peace.

White crouched by the bed, holding Black’s cold hand and staring at his gaunt face.

White had remained pure as a dove soaring in the boundless sky, while Black… had done many things and seen too much.

Black wanted to tell White he was sorry. Sorry for how he had abandoned him. Sorry for the years he spent away, subjugating the world, thirsting for fame.

Black struggled to speak. Of the many things he had planned to say, only one word came out, “Sorry…”

Sorry I left you.
Sorry I hurt you.
Sorry I made you wait.
Sorry I made you suffer.

Tears rolled down the sides of his face and he could say no more.

White remembered when Black left. Black made vows to conquer the world, while White watched from afar as Black trained, fought, won and lost. White’s gentle love was, perhaps, too humble to sate Black’s ambition.

Throughout the war, Black had only known power and force. When he faced his adversaries, all he cared about was winning. As he gained strength, he learned to take whatever he wanted from those who surrendered under his might.

White was not strong. He could not be used as a soldier in war.

Yet, from White, Black had also taken many things. His care, his patience, his kindness, his tenderness, his forgiveness, his encouragement.

Things which Black had never once asked for, but which White had given freely.

Black had finally won the Great War, but victory and defeat no longer meant anything to him.

All he longed for was the sweetness he had once known but had long forgotten in his pursuit of glory.

Throughout the war, White had stood by silently, watching Black conquer his enemies one by one. He had watched as Black failed, watched as Black succeeded. All this while, waiting.

Now Black was finally back. Bruised and bloody.

White gazed at Black softly, his eyes innocent as ever. If White had suffered, his face showed no trace of grief nor pain. It was just like the very first day they met.

White whispered,

“Shhh…You silly one… Don’t you know…

I have always loved you.”

I loved you when you left, I loved you when you hated yourself, I loved you when you were weak, I loved you when you failed, I loved you when the world turned its back on you, I loved you when you had nothing.

I loved you even as you hurt me, I loved you even as you hurt yourself.

I have loved you from beginning til end, for every moment I’ve known you.

Black could not believe it. How could someone as pure as White love someone as weak and ugly and useless and tainted as he?

All his victories… for White… to prove he was worthy… pointless.

Violent sobbing. Heaving, panting, trembling, breaking down. Each tear like a pearl, a lost piece of Black’s heart, finally returning to its proper place. The shackles melted away slowly…

And finally Black understood.

He had won the Great War not because of his brute strength.

The faith to begin, the courage to carry on, the determination to succeed… had all sprung from White’s love.

A love that had shone throughout the endless night, a beacon guiding him home.

White held Black in his arms as Black closed his eyes and rested. Long-awaited peace. Both fell silent as understanding flowed between them like a river. Words were no longer needed.