He walks out of the woods into a clearing, it’s dull, grey and misty and the air is heavy and wet. A white mansion rises out of the mist and he walks towards it, never stumbling as his feet pass over the frozen grass.

Finally he reaches the door, it glints silver and seems to move. A lifetime of memories spread across the surface.

He pushes open the door and walks through.

He trails his fingers over the walls as he passes, the rooms are filled with white and silver, glinting off of the lights and the fires that roar in the fireplaces. Across the mantles and tables are pictures, they show memories, some move, some don’t. A young man stars in all of them. Him.

The walls glow, reflecting as he passes. A silvery blue suit covers his body, his feet are bare. His brown hair is perfectly coiffed and his eyes shine, a beautiful angel within the mansion’s walls.

He walks from room to room, more things appearing in them the more time he spends in them. He finds things from his childhood, long forgotten and things from his adulthood, well-loved and new.

A staircase winds up from the ground floor to the first floor, a circle of glass appears. He gazes up through it on days he feels lonely.

He walks through the garden, the frost begins to thaw as he walks, the grass grows new and green, the flowers bloom in whites, blues, reds and yellows. He sits in the grass, bare feet crunching the grass between his toes. The silence in the garden and mansion seep into him, peaceful.

After a while the silence ends. A voice sings across the grass, echoing through the rooms, loud and strong. It sings of love and loss and the beauty in the world. He sits, watching the pictures move, sometimes replying in song.

The ice comes again, freezing the grass and flowers, but the cold doesn’t touch him, he walks through the garden and through the mansion, his footsteps make no sound on the marble floors and break no grass beneath his feet.

Some days he walks far, back towards the woods but they always retreat when he gets near them, he has no place there now.

The voice grows stronger; he sings along, duetting with it, knowing the words before the voice starts.

The songs end and he stands at the door, watching.

He walks through the house and up the staircase, exploring the second floor, looking at the things in each room. Some are familiar, some are not, he loves them all the same.

A quiet voice sounds through the house and he walks to the top of the stairs. At the bottom stands a young man dressed in a black and silver suit, his black hair slicked and his large almond shaped eyes shine. He reaches out his hand.

He walks down and clasps their hands together, their bodies meet and their lips mould together.

They separate, silence flows between them, through the house and the garden is green again.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I have always been here.”