Caravan of Love: The Busker, by Lbilover

The open guitar case was swimming with coins and bills when Elijah finally stopped playing. He slid off the wall he'd been sitting on while he gave his impromptu concert, carefully leaned his guitar against it, and amid a smattering of applause from his small but appreciative audience, bent to gather up the flowers scattered at his feet.


"Thank you," he said, straightening and sketching a bow, then added, "Merci, danke, dank u."


As the crowd dispersed, Sean closed the book he'd been reading, Rilke's poetry, got up from his folding chair, and went over to Elijah, who was sniffing appreciatively at the flowers.


"Wow," Sean said, looking in the guitar case. "You made a killing today." He crouched down and picked up a handful of Euros, then let them trickle through his fingers back into the guitar case, smiling a little at the sound they made. "So what are we going to do with our riches this time?"


"Hmm. Good question. We gave it all away yesterday, so how about we use some of it for ourselves?"


"Okay. You go first."


"Belgian chocolates!"


"You are sadly predictable, but I love that about you."


"Very funny. Your turn."


"The Magritte Museum."


"Oh, brilliant choice. We can put whatever is left over in the donation box."


"Sounds like a plan." Sean took a small cloth sack from his pocket and transferred the money to it without counting. The amount didn't matter; however much there was, it was enough for their purposes. He stowed the sack in his backpack and slung it over his shoulder while Elijah carefully laid his guitar in the empty case, arranged the flowers around it and snapped the lid shut.


"Ready?" Sean asked.


For answer, Elijah slid his arms around Sean's waist and rested his head against his chest. "I'm so happy," he said. "Can't we just live like this forever?"


"I wish we could, Elijah," Sean said softly. "But we'll have to go back eventually." He chose the word deliberately: back, not home.


Elijah held him tighter. "Maybe, but not for a while yet. The caravan's paid up for another month."


"It'll be getting too cold for camping by then," Sean pointed out, and he sounded regretful.


"We could head south - go to Spain or maybe Portugal. Someplace warm."


Sean smiled and pressed a kiss on top of his head. "We could. We definitely could. But right now," he said, giving Elijah a light swat on the ass, "we have predictable chocolate to buy and a museum to visit."


And later, in the back of the small blue caravan that was now their real home, heaven to create.


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