As an immortal, living life was considerably hard when everyone you loved died and inevitably left you alone. Even the thought of having children scared you, if only because you weren’t sure if your genes would pass on to them; if they would be as immortal as you were. It’s only for that reason do you like Abraham.

Every hundred years or so, you’d find him living some new life as this or that. In one era, he was a Knight of the Round Table, in another, a President of the United States. You always found him— like some sort of beacon was engrained in the both of you —something that made it easy for you to find him (or for him to find you).

For years though, you don’t come around and Immortal gets worried about you. He only saw you every few hundred years, so he wondered if you gave up your immortality, or if you’d somehow been killed. As such, he takes a leave of absence to look for you, using that ‘beacon’ (as you called it) to find you.

He’s confused when he finds you at a waterfall, having set the entire place up picnic-style as a surprise for him. Complete with the things he liked, music playing in the background and he doesn’t know how you set this up without him realizing it.

“Oh, you finally made it!” He’s not surprised to see you wiping out a bottle of wine— something old and from a time he’d forgotten. “I was just getting everything finished and… you know. Do you like it?” He almost wants to question you on why you did this, but some part of him knows.

You were immortal like him. You’d played this back-and-forth game with him for millennia. This was clearly a confession.