Merry Christmas! I can't believe that Christmas is this weekend! Either way, I'm really glad that we started talking again as I missed you. I can't believe that it's been as long as it has been from when we first met through the roleplaying group. Hopefully, we can meet in real life in the future at a nearer point rather than a far away one. I hope that you like this oneshot that I wrote out for you! (It ended up going quite a bit sadder than I'd intended it to, and it ended up calling for lyrics to be written out for it, so I did write them out.) I hope that I managed to write out good lyrics and that you enjoy both, them and the story. I'm really happy that we got back to talking, and it reminds me of how awesome it was for us to become friends as you've always been a great friend. Have a very merry Christmas, and I hope that today goes well for you as well!

A sharp pang rang in his ear.

He could hear the sharp static of bell chimes that had long since stopped ringing here for him.

The Dane knew the pang of loss quite well and perhaps that was what fueled the thoughts that rung in his head so continuously.

He'd been in love once; it felt like a distant memory now.

Mathias had met a man that was older than him one Summer, a man that knew a multitude of things that the Dane did not know then.

Things weren't even perfect then either as pain laced through the bitterness of sweetly spoken words and clung to smoke filled clothing.

Perhaps there was a reason, his tears were shed then and sometimes still managed to leak down.

Mathias had known Abel for roughly a month when they first really fought; it wasn't over much of anything and so shouldn't matter, but it did.

He remembered heartache upon heartache as years became longer though then, it was a day by day, live constantly in the moment kind of life.

The Dane remembered a sweet verse from a song that played too often off of the little radio that Abel owned and was the only sweet and not bitter song that ever played.

"Oh, how I loved you, my tiniest of hope. How it clung to your old sweater and washed itself away with your clothes and yet remained as true as could be. I never stopped believing in the miracle that was spread forth by your hands, your fingers where they left gentle marks. They were our markers."
That voice echoed in his ears most nights, sweet and tender, spoken almost sadly from a female voice yet it never doubted the love that was there.

Mathias had fallen back then and while it wasn't a steady fall down; it was a slow, decay of his youthful spirit.

He knew well enough that not all love was that way; he had friends who held on to that beautiful, ray of sunshine better than he ever seemed able to as that song echoed in his head.

"Oh, how I loved you."

Those words became an anchor of sorts, a way to hold on to his first love, and as far as he knew now, his only love.

That ache carried on with it the journey of hope that knew no melody.

He smiled for once happy for what he'd had back then and not in eager longing for a trip back; all he wanted was the memory of a tune and a man that made him feel as if perhaps love couldn't only be found in a tune but through a memory that drew the mind's desire and attention.