Yes

Oui means yes in French, but I presume that most every one knows this, weather they know the meaning of it, or just the word itself.

A young man, in a faraway country trying to woo a girl he met on an online dating site.

She's impressed.

But I don't believe that when a certain French man uttered that single word to me he had not a plan to impress. No that was the least that was on my mind. Never the less I was impacted, and some things no matter how much I try to shove out of my mind, tiny implications, secret innuendos of things the really aren't there, my brain continues to insist they exist.

I watched his green eyes scan the papers that littered his unkempt floor. The bed squeaked under my weight as I moved to stand up, hoping to aid him in his search. My eye brows knit together when he met my eyes with his listless ones, showing no sign of emotion, and words that I should have heard but near left his mouth to examine what we were searching for found themselves still entering my ears.

Although I needed no explanation, I silently begged him to whisper the words to me. Selfish as it may be, I still insisted upon it. Our relationship has never been one of many words, but that is fine. We've known since the begging that we were the ones to get each other, truly understand each other, without some silly explanation. With words brought conflict, drama, or uncertainty. These are all unneeded. Some may believe that a tense, thick, awkward air would form, but this is a fallacy. And I do believe that it may just be the exact opposite. With one sharp glance, a simple nod of the head, a flick of the wrist, we knew. Nothing else had to be said, and we always got the job done. With us, words had true value.

We are skilled. Crafting knew ideas in the midst of danger. Many of times covered in blood, claiming what we thought could be our last breaths. But of course not. I look back so nonchalantly at these, why would I have thought something so absurd at the time? We outran death, taking the short cuts and cheating our way through life. Adrenalin coursed through my veins, I would stumble on cobble stones stained red, fading to an ugly forgotten orange, cursing as we fled. Victory is always ours, as cocky as that may seem.

Things were easy for me as a child.

I grew up rich, snotty, a self right is bastard who claimed the world for himself, but followed the reign of my elders, living in the lie they created for me. I guess that's what drew me to him. He always seemed to life outside of the boundaries, setting ablaze to and tossing aside any rules. Paying no mind to the presumptions people had of him. On the contrary I had always felt the need to speak up for myself, prove the other to be wrong. I was a right prick, but every ones a wanker. I believe that the biggest thing that made me approach him was the fact that any time we would encounter each other, he would call me out on my game. He did not care who I was, or were I came from, and that was for the better. I felt as though someone had finally not cared, which brought me back down to earth. Of course that was like a slap in the face with a rough, dirt caked hand, but I needed and excepted it. I came to appreciate this about him, and as the years passed he slowly let his guard down. Mind you, he was still an obnoxious, angry child, but so was I, and we learnt to lean on each other. Not totally depended, no of course not, but one day we looked at each other and knew that we where in it together.

I always seem to underestimate him, something he never did to me. Eventually I grew stronger, of only slightly, and the height difference only some what gave him an advantage, seeing that the french boy was as tough as a brick. We would fight over the silliest things, something you can only do as a child, and only dream of as an adult. Sometimes I find my self becoming nostalgic, although it was not so long ago. We grew older, but not apart. We faced the world separately, but not alone. It was, I believe the most thrilling feeling I had ever experienced. I had been sheltered as a young child, but not supported, I always lacked that, never knowing what I was missing until I left. I still believe that it was the best decision, and no doubt the most important of my life. I don't know, and don't want to think about how life would be if I stayed balled up in my room, a spoiled little prince.

We fought each other countless times. I recall returning home with black eyes, bloodied noses, bruises covered me head to toe on my porcelain white skin, and the occasional broken bone. My mother would as ways run to me before I could slip away hidden and unnoticed. She would place here hands on my face and sob quietly letting " Who did this to you Gregory" leave her mouth in sobs. My father would stand there stoically, or on occasion tell my mother to leave and stop being irrational, followed by a nod of the head to me, showing his approval. I guess he probably thought I was becoming a man, for so long all I had wanted was his a approval, but after he did that I, payed no attention to him.

I would leave the next day.

I packed my bags and set off. No goodbyes, even though after college I would most likely not return. My mother had locked herself away, my father in his study. I stung my hand made case for my rapier across my back and exited, I felt like something was missing, something I hadn't packed? no, I was something far greater and more valuable than a petty item to be transported. My departure was depressing, only as I sat on the pane did I remember what I was missing. Never mind that, the thing, or dare I say person which I had thought to have forgotten to say me goodbyes to, sat next to me. Believe me when I say I was very startled by his presence.

We sat through the flight, an uncomfortable thickness coursing through the air until he spoke " I'm coming with you" which only made it worse.

I only did get through two years before abandoning formal education to flee from civilization to remote areas.

I wasn't exactly a mercenary, that was his job.

I was just there, although we were side by side a good ninety nine percent of the time.

I recall a time when we had been walking in the desert for quite some time, tired, thirsty, only to be ambushed by a group of unarmed men. Which resulted in us not being thirsty anymore, and them dead, each body disposed of.

I think that was the first time I really understood how terrifyingly good he was at his job.

And when I realized that I needed to train harder, I didn't want to be the third wheel in a group of two.

I never left his side, I progressed in combat, I turned into something as equally beautiful and terrifying as him.

Now we are here, In France, his old home.

I combed my fingers through my blond hair grazing my scalp as I studied his expression. " What do you suppose we do?" I spoke dropping my hands to my sides, letting them rest on my hips over the orange fabric of my shirt.

I felt he green eyes turn to me in a scowl, the glare piercing me down go the bone. " Whatever we 'ave to do" it was what we always did, he was not going to be any clearer than that, he never was.

I don't know why I expected much from him.

One can only hope.

I replied with a quirk of my lip, turning into a snarky half smile before responding, " whatever you say" . Of course there was no needs for words here, I was mostly insisting on conversation partly because the air in this building was stale and empty, abandoned for many moons,which bothered me a great deal, but mostly to annoy him.

" Tell me one thing" I let the words fall in a whisper " You know you can always ask, right?" I forced the carefully crafted words out of my mouth before I could decide to silence myself.

"Oui" his voice was rough, but calm, and I still feel the impact of the silence that followed.