Quartier de La Sorbonne, Paris, France. 2018.
"I see many people die because they judge that life is not worth living. I see others paradoxically getting killed for the ideas or illusions that give them a reason for living (what is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying). I therefore conclude that the meaning of life is the most urgent of questions." – Albert Camus
Camus was lying down, looking at the white ceiling of the room, trying to sleep. He did not sleep much. His body had already gotten used to the idea that he could not sleep more than 6 hours a day, as this was enough to recover his energy. When he slept longer than that, he knew something was wrong, and most likely he was either very sick or very exhausted.
However, the person with whom he insisted on sharing a room was very fond of sleeping. And he needed a lot of sleep. The absence of adequate sleep for the said could cause several negative effects, ranging from bad mood to extreme slowness of thought and actions.
Milo.
Milo had his head lying on his chest, breathing calmly. Camus stroked his hair, thinking that maybe there was not a person who was more beautiful than Milo sleeping. He never said that to the man in question, of course, but a slight smile crossed his lips as he admired him in his deep sleep.
And by God, Milo was beautiful.
Milo had beautiful blue eyes, which at the moment were closed, but which were constantly moving beneath his lids, which told him he was probably dreaming. His nose was upturned, his lips were thick, his eyelashes were huge. His face was angelic, he looked like a boy. His long blue hair (which was darker than Camus's) was silky smooth, always properly tousled, giving him the look of an '80s rock star. In fact, his whole style looked like a rock star. His black pants were always ripped, his shirts were dark tones, his jackets were always leather, and he had several boots. Not to mention the nails painted red or black (the love for painting nails was also shared by Camus, long before he met Milo. It was one of the few points they had in common). His body was lean, muscular, and slender, in addition to being tall and imposing.
Camus would never imagine falling in love with someone who dresses like a rock star, but here he was. Life liked to play tricks.
Camus had always been very serious and peaceful. His mother was French, his father was Russian. He was born in the French countryside, in one of those French bucolic regions that always appear in movies. He remembers the huge green fields of the sunlit Alsace region, with beautiful vineyards and mountains that only the French countryside could provide.
He lived like that until he was ten years old. After that, his father separated from his mother, who stayed in France while he went to Russia to live in Siberia. The parents' separation was not very well accepted in the head of little Camus, who was not really understanding the situation and the reason for the separation. Camus thought he would hate the place because, unlike the hot green fields, full of summer in France, he would see only ice and more ice, in a hostile and unwelcoming environment like Siberia. But what happened, in fact, is that he adapted to the place, perfectly. Siberia revealed to him a side as cold, hostile, and strong as the walls of ice. The green fields of Alsace revealed to him their sweetest, pure, and friendly side.
Being Camus meant being those two people, and he really did not care.
He returned to France when he was of age to study there. He had a huge appreciation for the humanities and since high school, he devoured books on philosophy and sociology. He read Aristotle and Plato, Nietzsche and Heidegger, Foucault, and Sartre. He strove to understand Platonic dialectics, Middle Ages scholasticism, and even ventured into Marx's dialectical-historical materialism. He was known to be very smart at school, with his face buried in books, a real nerd. It was this appreciation for the humanities that made him choose philosophy, plus the fact that he and a certain philosopher he was very fond of shared the same names, as well as a taste for libertarian socialism and the working class.
So, at the age of twenty, he went to the Sorbonne Uniservité, home of Simone de Beauvoir and Jacques Lacan. He thought that his life would remain peaceful and quiet, like the old days in Alsace.
Then a rowdy, loudmouth, rowdy and fado singer came into his life, looking like the Taz of Looney Tunes (Camus could not find a better comparison, since he was very chaotic), destroyed the whole concept of life that Camus had until then, he put all his pillars and concepts below and as if that were not enough, smile at him like a happy dog after having ruined the whole house.
Oh, Milo. Oh, Milo.
Camus had to admit. Was Milo messed up with the house? Was. Milo a little clumsy? It was. Was Milo too calm, to the point of being a little relaxed? It was. But when the boy wanted to be organized, he could be better than Camus. His grades in college were very good, he was known for being one of the best students in the class and when he set out to clean the house, he managed to stay above the Camus standard of quality.
But they were incredibly the opposite of each other. And it was precisely this opposition of ideals, concepts, ways of living and behaving that enchanted Camus. It was caught off guard. He, who never paid much attention to sexuality, found himself attracted to that man. He had kissed a few girls and boys, of course, but he could not tell about his sexual orientation. And suddenly, he found himself looking at Milo's lips, at Milo's body, at Milo's eyes. He was in college and thinking about Milo. He was studying and thinking about Milo. He was in the supermarket, and he was thinking about Milo. Everything started to revolve around Milo. Given the hypotheses and the evidence, he reached the following conclusion, once again, supported by the method: Camus was in love.
They started dating, and they have been fine ever since. Milo joked, like the egocentric that he was, saying that Camus was mylosexual, that is, he only liked Milo. Camus laughed at the size of his boyfriend's ego, but he did not want to admit what was obvious: he only had eyes for Milo.
And he was thinking about said whose again, who moved in his sleep and took his head off Camus' chest, turning on his side to continue sleeping. Camus took the opportunity and got up, because it was early in the morning, and they needed to have breakfast to go to college.
Camus cannot say at what point he decided to become a teacher. The desire to teach was always there, soft as a summer breeze, but it was never his biggest goal in life. Milo said he had a talent for the art of teaching, that he explained the concepts well, that he had the patience and serenity to deal with students. At first, he thought it was Milo's mind, but other people told him that too: college buddies, professors, close friends. He decided to give teaching a chance and is now considering a career as a university professor. It would be a long way to go, but one he was willing to take.
And with Milo on his side, he would do anything.
As he was not in the third year, he still could not apply for an ERASMUS scholarship (1). So, in order to impress his future reviewers, he started looking for a scholarship early on: if he already had a good résumé, he would be accepted for a master's degree with the scholarship, perhaps. So, he applied for a scholarship offered by the Graad Foundation to be able to do a six-month exchange program to England. Milo also applied, in his field. They were waiting for the result to come out (which was even late).
He felt someone hugging him from behind and kissing the back of his neck. He turned away.
"How does a person wake up at 6 am so smelly? Is it French stuff?" said Milo.
He had his eyes half closed and he looked like he was sleepy. His breath smelled like toothpaste and his soft hair brushed Camus' face, while Milo ran the tip of his nose across his face. Milo's hair was always fragrant and soft, and Camus ran his fingers through the blue strands while Milo hugged him. Finally, Milo looked at him and smiled, and at that time, Camus could not have been more filled with desire for that man, that man who dared to be the most beautiful in the world when he woke up at 6 a.m.
Camus did not hesitate and gave Milo a kiss, but not the kisses they gave at breakfast. He kissed him voluptuously and sensually as his hands explored Milo's neck and chest, moving down to his abdomen and pubic hair.
"Now?" Milo asked, confused. Camus was not a man with full of sexual desires, but nothing stopped him when he wanted to have sex.
"Now is not the time to talk, monamour," Camus said as he sniffed and kissed Milo's neck. When was he so full of desire like that? He could not tell. But when it came to Milo, he could not seem to be the rational, cool, unruffled man everyone said he was. Milo was perfect, a masterpiece to be seen and admired, that needed to be loved all the time, every day. Camus would make an effort to leave rationality aside.
He continued to kiss Milo's neck, but this time, on his Adam's apple. She lifted the kisses to their lips, which met, and Camus kissed him again, while his hands went into Milo's pants, thirsty for his cock. They better get the lube soon, because he was going to fuck Milo on top of that tiny kitchen table, and he would want to see Milo gasp as he went inside him, he wanted to see Milo's pleasure, he wanted...
Brim… Brim… Brim...
Camus' cell phone vibrated on the kitchen table.
But who is the connard who thinks of calling at a time like this?
- Ignore it- Camus said - no one would call at this time.
- I don't know Camye – Milo said sweetly – it could be someone important.
Camus grunted. This person would pay for interrupting Camus' sex.
- Allô?
- Good morning - a slurred and masculine voice, but very beautiful, replied - I talk to Camus?
Yes, connard. It's his phone.
- Oui, himself - Camus said, while breathing not to lose patience.
- Ah, I'm Hyoga, collaborator of the Graad Foundation – said the man – I called you to let you know that we analyzed your curriculum and that you were approved in your scholarship!
What?
- What, seriously? - Camus said, astonished. He was so happy that he almost forgot to complain that this conversation could easily be resolved by email. Almost.
- Yea! We believe that you can bring enormous benefits as a Graad Foundation grantee – said the Hyoga person – I called you because I wanted to say that we will get in touch soon to talk about the details of your scholarship, okay? It's not an interview or anything like that: it's an informal conversation.
- Oh, oui. Everything is fine.
- Perfect! Soon, we'll talk via email.
- Okay, merci!
- We thank you! Once again, welcome to the Graad Foundation team! Have a nice day!
- For you too!
Camus hung up the phone and stared in disbelief at his screen. He managed.
- And then? - asked Milo, anxious - What was it?
- From the Graad Foundation - Camus said - they accepted me. They'll give me a scholarship.
Milo's face filled with joy, and he ran to Camus and hugged him, showering him with kisses.
- I knew! I knew you would make it I told you! – He held Camus' face and smiled the widest smile in the world, and for a split second, Camus thought about how he was the luckiest man in the world to have Milo by his side – Oh Camye, I'm so happy for you!
- But what about you, Mi? – Camus asked – we still don't know if you were approved or not.
- Oh, don't worry about me - said Milo - Go do your exchange, calm and in peace. I'll wait for you, right here, missing you so much.
Camus smiled, one of his rare smiles to the world, but every day to Milo. He placed his hands on his hips and looked deep into Milo's eyes. Those blue eyes, always so full of joy and love, love only for Camus.
- Merci, Mi. Merci.
(1) The Philosophy course at Sorbonne University lasts 3 years. In the final year, the student can apply for an ERASMUS scholarship, which is a European scholarship program (a consumer dream of academics around the world). Any student or researcher in the world can apply, but it is very competitive.