GORDON IN THE MOONLIGHT by LMC RATED FRC

A Tracy Corporation employee attends their Christmas party, and afterwards sees something that takes their breath away.

Dear Diary,

Yes, it's me again. I came here to attend a dreadfully boring party, and have come away with an amazing memory. I must write it down now so that I will always remember...

It's late, I realize, as I yawn and rub a weary hand through my hair. A glance at my watch tells me it's 3 a.m. already. I sigh, looking out the sliding glass door that leads to my balcony. I decide that perhaps some fresh air will help me relax so I can get some sleep. It has been tiring, this business trip of mine. It began with an insane number of business meetings and ended with the Tracy Corporation party tonight.

As I walk out onto the balcony, I am immediately rooted to the spot. There is someone standing on the balcony two rooms over, someone who looks so breathtakingly beautiful that my heart almost seems to stop beating. I can only stand and stare at the vision before me. I know my jaw is hanging open. I know I will look like a complete idiot to anyone that may glance my way. But I'm awestruck by what I see.

He's leaning; his lower left arm is against the balcony railing while his right arm hangs at his side. He is clad only in black flannel pajama bottoms, a stark contrast to the golden glow of his tawny skin. It seems to shine beneath the bright light of a full moon. His hair looks like it's on fire, its reddish-golden tones shimmering in the light breeze I can feel wafting over me.

He looks ethereal as he glows, a thin layer of light surrounding his body like an aura. I can almost feel the heat rushing from his body and discover something within me stirring at this unbelievable sight. As I watch the man before me sigh, I wonder at the immediateness of my response. But I shouldn't wonder. Who wouldn't desire to touch a man that looks so heavenly in his innocent exquisiteness?

I notice with stark clarity the scars adorning his back, a forever reminder of something terrible he must have endured. They are dark, and taint the beauty of his skin. I can see muscles rippling beneath as he stands up and swings his arms to and fro, trying to work the kinks out. There is a sharp intake of breath as he jerks slightly. He must have had a back spasm, I realize. That would explain why he's awake at this hour. His back must be giving him a hard time, if his grimace is any indication.

He moves along the balcony toward the steps and slowly begins to descend. His room is on the first floor, as is mine, and there are stairs that lead down to the courtyard below. I am mesmerized, and don't seem to be in control of my feet as I steal softly across my own balcony to follow. I watch from the relative safety of my steps as he walks halfway across the courtyard to the gazebo in the middle. My curiosity is piqued. I finish walking down the stairs and follow him, hiding myself behind a large flowering shrub as he steps up into the gazebo's center.

I can do nothing but stare. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He's turned in my direction, and in the moonlight I can see his beautiful eyes. They're a color I've never before seen, and so translucent I almost feel like they're open windows inviting me right into his soul. He walks around the gazebo, still swinging his arms and stretching his back out. I wonder what it is that happened to him, how such a perfect man came to be so marred in life.

I wonder who he is as my mind tries telling me I've seen him before. He does look vaguely familiar, but I cannot place him in the fog of my brain. I want to know him, I suddenly realize. I want to know his name. I want to hear him speak. I want to hear that voice come from lips that look so soft. He is excruciatingly beautiful. He is glowing. He is perfect.

My heart nearly stops as someone walks by me. It is a man with short, dark hair who's wearing a tuxedo. Luckily, he doesn't seem to notice me. He approaches the gazebo and stops for a moment, as though he, too, is admiring the scene before him. Then he calls out softly.

"Gordon?"

My heart starts beating again, racing as though it may thump right out of my chest. Gordon. His name is Gordon. The word drifts across my mind, and I realize it's perfect for him. Perfect for perfection. The dark-haired man approaches Gordon and they have a conversation I cannot hear. In no time, the two are returning the way we came, walking side-by-side in companionable silence. I round the shrub even further, praying I don't get caught.

As they pass, Gordon's gait creates a breeze that blows across me. I lose my breath for a moment. His scent bears the faint fragrance of cologne he must have put on earlier in the evening. It is the perfect sensory addition to this moment and I just stare at his retreating form as he and his friend step back up onto the balcony.

They disappear into his room, and I tiptoe back across the courtyard to my own balcony. I stop at the top of the stairs, looking back at his balcony once more. I don't see him. I sigh deeply and enter my room. I collapse on the bed, the combination of the late hour and my recent encounter with a god making me more than drowsy. As I lay there, drifting slowly toward unconsciousness, I can see only one thing, one person in my mind:

Gordon in the moonlight.