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The first time Wylan had dreamt of him, he had been 14.

That was a lot older than most people were when they first started dreaming of their Soulmate. They had always said it usually started around 8, where the first glimpses came, and then by age 10 the dreams would begin. From there on they would grow clearer and more coherent each day before finally starting to lose their lucidity and strength again from age 25.

Once you met them they would stop for good.

That was what they said.

Wylan wasn’t 8 when the glimpses started.

Wylan was 8 when his mother died, 8 when his father realized that he was irreparably broken, 8 when he sat over a book meant for children much younger than him, the letters swimming like they always did but also from the tears in his eyes, and thought: Oh. I will never learn it. The realization had broken him, and his tutor, already impatient and moody with his failure, had only groaned, angrily packed his things and marched out of the room when Wylan had started crying.

His father had been angry of course, and sent him to bed without supper that night for forcing yet another tutor to quit.

Jan Van Eck grew colder every day, and crueler at that. Disappointed comments became vicious ones, cool glares became furious.

Wylan was 8 and his mother was dead when his father hit him for the first time.

There was no one left to protect him.

The only thing that consoled him when he crawled under his covers that night were memories of his mother, gently stroking over his head and smiling down at him. “One day you’re gonna start dreaming about them, Wylan. And it’s going to be wonderful because you’re going to see all the amazing things you’ll do one day and the person you will love.”

He remembered looking up from the picture he had been drawing. “I can see the future?”

Marya had laughed at his eagerness. “Not quite, honey, no. But you’re going to see glimpses, tiny little moments you will live through one day, with the person who’s going to love you very much.”

“My Soulmate?” "Yes, sweetheart. Your Soulmate.”

“When?” he insisted excitedly. Marya hummed and answered: “When you’re 8 it’s going to start with small little pictures. Just very short flashes. But they’ll get longer and clearer the older you get.”

Wylan had shaken his head. “No, when will I meet them?” Marya had laughed. “If only there was a way to answer that question, honey. There would be a lot less sadness in the world.”

Wylan didn’t get anything that night, or the night after that. Everyday he’d hide under the blanket, make himself small and hope his father would forget about him, but pray that he’d finally get to see them. This person that his mother had promised would love him.

Every night he was disappointed. 

No glimpses.

One more reason to cry.

After he’d turned 9 he was convinced it must be the reading. Maybe if he couldn’t read books, he wouldn’t be able to read the future either? He tried extra hard in the tutoring lessons after that, but it was of no use.

No reading.

No visions.

The older he got, the more his father terrified him. By the time he was 10 he had learnt to keep his mouth shut completely, shrink into a corner, or his chair, or any shadow in the room so that his father would forget about him. He tried to keep up with his other studies as best as he could. His music, art, and math tutors all adored him. But nothing they said ever impressed his father.

Wylan wondered if that was the reason he didn’t dream about his Soulmate.

“Inadequate,” his father had once called him over dinner after yet another tale of his failed attempts at writing that day.

Wylan rolled himself to a ball under the covers and chewed on his thumb. Maybe he wasn’t just an inadequate son. Maybe he was an inadequate Soulmate too.

Maybe Wylan didn’t dream about them because they didn’t want him to dream about them. Maybe they knew he was broken.

That night he cried so hard that his head still hurt when he woke up the next morning. 

It wasn’t until Wylan was 11 that a far more terrifying thought crossed his mind.

He was hiding on a windowsill behind a curtain, still a little bit scared and hurting from the disciplinary action his father had instilled on him earlier. His head rang.

The tutoring lesson had once again been exhausting but unfruitful, and his father had punished him by making him sit down at his desk.

Wylan shivered. The big, scary desk.

“Read it,” his father had ordered. “I don’t know how,” Wylan had whispered tearfully, and a minute later his father had used the book he was supposed to be deciphering to beat him on the head. Wylan had cried and begged him to stop, and thankfully his father had. He’d turned to his desk instead and banged the book on its edge, again and again and again, until it was completely shredded and broken into two pieces. Wylan was cowering on the floor, more scared than he had ever been in his entire life.

His father had turned his attention back to him, face still red with fury. “What did I do to deserve this, Wylan? Are you doing this on purpose? If you just focused more, and weren’t always so stubborn…” His voice had gotten very quiet and sad towards the end and Wylan had tried to swallow the tears. His father hated it when he cried. “I’m sorry, father,” he’d whispered instead. He felt so guilty, so ashamed. “Out!”

Wylan had nodded and gotten up.

All in all, it was still a very nice day, Wylan decided. He was grateful that his father hadn’t continued to beat him with the book and stopped when he asked him to. And the entire upper floor was empty and deserted, so Wylan could sneak out of the office and up the stairs to his favourite spot in the house: The south-facing window right over the garden. 

Wylan loved it here! Not even his mother had known about this special spot.

He had started coming up here more frequently the older he got. He’d push the curtains aside, climb on the high windowsill, and pull the heavy fabric together again. It effectively shielded him from view so that nobody even knew he was there. It was his very own secret hiding spot and in a way he felt safer here than in his room.

On days where his father had forgotten about his existence and all was well, he used it to hide. Here he could play and draw and paint, read through his favourite music sheets, or just look out the window and watch the birds in the tree outside.

Wylan loved that he could be himself back here. He could fidget and flap his hands around the way he liked and he knew his father hated. No spiteful comments about how much he painted. No one to rip his sketches apart.

The only thing he couldn’t do here was play his flute, so he would just practice by moving his fingers over the instrument without actually holding it up to his mouth and making noise.

So yes, Wylan’s favourite spot was free that particular day, and even though his father had scared and hurt him in the office, the sun was shining and it was cozy behind the curtain. The stone of the windowsill had warmed under the sun, and Wylan happily turned his face towards the sky, eyes squinting.

He wondered if his Soulmate liked sunny days. I hope they do, Wylan thought. When I’m grown up and I’m finally allowed to go outside without my father, I want to spend the entire day just lying in the sun. The thought made him happy. He didn’t really have any friends he could play with and ever since his father had found out he was… defective… he hadn’t been allowed outside for anything other than official affairs.

Wylan missed the long days in the garden with his mother, sitting on the grass and looking at all different kinds of bugs and birds, playing with colours on their canvases until it got dark.

Wylan rested his head against the cool glass of the window and sighed. Once I meet them, I’ll leave this house, he thought. And then I’ll start a new life with someone who’ll let me paint and play music all day.

The thought made him happy, but it also terrified him.

He’d always been raised to be his father’s heir, but Wylan had a hard time imagining himself in the role of a merchant. How would he read papers and contracts? Attend Council meetings? It would never work, and from the way his father talked he knew so as well. Wylan swallowed.

If he didn’t become a merchant, he would be on his own when he grew up. How would he leave?  How would he make money? He could try to become an artist or a musician, but it was hard to make a living with that. Maybe his Soulmate would be able to support him. 

He’d have to tell them, of course. That he couldn’t read. And more importantly, he’d have to find them first.

Wylan sighed. He’d have to dream of them first.

Reading wasn’t the only thing he was behind on compared to other boys his age. It had been 3 years and still not a single vision had come to him at night. He kept hoping, kept praying, but nothing. He itched to ask his father if it was normal, if there was a way to know if everything was okay, if he could trigger the visions somehow. But the thought of telling his father that there was yet another thing he couldn’t do right was impossible, and so he kept his mouth shut.

He couldn’t read and he couldn’t get his Soulvisions.

Wylan bit his nailbeds. Hard.

What if there was a correlation after all? For a time he’d thought his Soulmate just didn’t like him, didn’t want someone as stupid as him. Now he knew that there was no way to get rid of the visions, so that wasn’t a possibility. Soulmates would dream of each other, whether they liked what they saw or not.

But what if-

No.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

The cuticle on his thumb started bleeding from how hard he was chewing on it.

What if he didn’t have a Soulmate?

Just didn’t have one.

What if he didn’t get dreams because there was nothing to dream of?

Wylan felt himself start to shake.

That wasn’t possible, everyone had a Soulmate!

Everyone can read, a cruel, dark voice whispered in his head.

Everyone except you.

The realization hit him and Wylan knew he would never be okay again.

He cried for hours, silently of course, hit himself on the head until his skull hurt, tried to force himself to calm down. Nothing worked. His clothes itched where they touched his skin and the seams made him angry. He tried scratching himself where it itched, but he just got too frantic with it and ended up breaking his skin.

Then he cried so much more that he felt sick.

It was evening when he finally managed to calm down. After the hellish afternoon he’d had, the empty apathy that washed over him felt safe and welcoming.

He was tired.

Wylan looked out the window again, watched the horizon grow darker and greyer. In the distance there was the rest of the city, where first lights were getting turned on in the windows, small little specks of yellow. Wylan felt nothing. He didn’t even feel sad.

He would never get any glimpses. 

He didn’t have a Soulmate.

In the tree outside the window, the one his mother had loved to paint, a crow flatted its wings. The entire branch wobbled with the movement. Wylan’s eyes followed lethargically as it jumped from twig to twig. 

Fate proved Wylan right in one way and wrong in another.

He never did end up getting glimpses of his Soulmate. He did have a Soulmate. 

Wylan was 14, and the day had been alright. He’d had lessons - the okay ones - chemistry, history, and Ravkan, and eaten dinner with his father in silence.

Jan Van Eck had been in a good mood which for Wylan meant no mean comments and no attention at all. Everything was normal, and he’d gotten ready for bed a while later to snuggle under the covers.

Sleep had come easily.

At first, Wylan thought he’d woken up, because he was still in bed when he regained consciousness.

But something was different. The angle of the moonlight that filtered through the curtains was off. In the darkness he held up his hands, and they seemed much bigger and slimmer than he remembered, the fingers longer and more elegant than his chubby ones. These weren't those of a child.

There were arms around his waist. Wylan looked down and caught sight of smooth dark skin layed on top of the white covers. Before he could react any further the darkness enveloped him again.

“Darling, wake up.” It was a voice that pulled him out the next time.

Wylan blinked his eyes open to stare at a blurry dark figure lying next to him, hugging him tight. They said something else, but Wylan didn’t understand.

He was facing them, their noses gently touching from how close their heads were on the pillow. Strong arms were holding him close, a hand drawing circles on his back. Wylan arched his back into the movement like a cat. It was pleasant and calming.

That was when he realized what this was.

I knew it, a tiny whisper in his heart insisted. I knew you were out there. And I knew you’d come and find me.

I’ve crossed the Sea to find you, something answered. 

Wylan had no idea where it had come from, but it made him so ridiculously happy he felt tears spring to his eyes.

It was like a lucid dream.

Wylan knew very well that he was dreaming. He had full control over his body but at the same time didn’t. 

He reached up to put his hand on his Soulmate’s cheek, an action that happened automatically, as if it had already been decided for him, laid out by fate. The skin he touched was warm. His Soulmate’s face was unrecognizable, because faces and names and any sort of crucial information concerning the future always were in Soulvisions, but Wylan could tell that it was a man now, a man with dark skin and long limbs that were tangled with his under the covers.

He burnt the image into his memory, hugged it tight and swore to never let it go.

You are real, he said, more to himself than his Soulmate. Even though the face kept shifting to stay obscured, Wylan could feel that they smiled.

So are you.

It became dark again.

The next thing he saw was a wide field of orange flowers, reaching as far as the eye could see.

Wylan was sitting on a blanket in the middle of it with his legs outstretched, propped up on his elbows. There was a hand on his back again, drawing lazy patterns onto his spine with its fingernails.

When he looked to his left he could see another pair of long legs spread over the blanket, but his Soulmate was sitting too far back for Wylan to see his face. The pants he was wearing were covered in a colourful pattern. 

He turned his gaze back to the horizon. The sky was blue, and Wylan tilted his head up to warm his face in the sunshine.

It was quiet and peaceful and everything he had dreamt about his entire life. Every fleeting little wish and desperate prayer, every daydream behind his curtain. He sighed happily and let his shoulders relax.

His Soulmate was still drawing patterns onto his back. Wylan knew he was talking, but it was like hearing through cotton. It didn’t bother him at all that he couldn’t understand. He would in the future, when this would actually happen.

It took so long, I can wait a little while longer, he decided.

I can’t, something answered. Was it his own heart? The thought was hopelessly romantic, almost like something out of a fairytale. But then again, so was sitting outside on a sunny day with somebody. So was being loved like this.

I can’t. I’ll come find you, it repeated firmly and, oh. Not his heart.

Not his heart.

Where were you? something in Wylan whined. I needed you. 

The hand on his back flattened and reached up to start kneading his shoulder. Behind him the man was still talking, but Wylan knew it wasn’t meant for his ears. At least not yet.

Where were you ? his Soulmate answered. I could never reach you. I was afraid you didn’t want me.

If Wylan had been able to, he would have turned around to look at him, taken his hand.

I was afraid you didn’t want me, he answered back instead. I was afraid you didn’t exist.

But I do. I was made to exist for you.

Wylan could feel the familiar pressure of tears behind his eyelids. And I was made for you, he breathed. No one else has ever wanted me.

Are you all alone?

Wylan swallowed hard. He could feel the darkness coming. Not anymore.

The final time he regained consciousness was in a cold room that smelled of wet stone and firewood. His head throbbed a bit and he couldn’t open his eyes. But he could hear very well, everything that was happening around him.

The rain pattering against the stone walls and windows.

The hushed voices coming from around him, more than one person, speaking as if they were afraid to wake him up.

His father never whispered when Wylan was asleep. He crashed and raged in front of his door anyway, yelled as loud as he wanted, scared Wylan awake.

These people were moving on their tiptoes, shushing each other, even stifling their laughs for him.

The fireplace he was lying in front of crackled.

His head was pillowed on someone’s thighs.

Wylan sighed happily and shifted lower under the blankets. He was so warm and happy and safe, he wished he could stay here forever. There was a hand in his hair tenderly running through it and massaging his scalp.

This was the life he had always dreamt of. 

To be loved and treasured with a family, a proper family that kept him safe instead of hurting him.

This will be real one day, he realized happily. It will be real and it will be mine.

I will be yours.

When Wylan woke up in his bed in the Van Eck mansion he started crying and didn’t stop for the entire night.

Wylan never dreamed of him again.

He knew a Soulvision this coherent and clear, and four in one night at that, was completely unheard of. Maybe he had just gotten every bit of information that other people got over years in one single night.

That must’ve been the reason he had never dreamt of him before, Wylan decided, after he’d had some time to process everything.

He spent the next few days with his head in the clouds. He knew it angered his father, the way he floated down the hallways in a world of his own, but Wylan couldn’t help it.

He was caught in a constant and inexhaustible fog of tender happiness. He refused to let it fly off in the storm that was his father’s tempers.

This was his, and no one had the right to take it from him, not Jan Van Eck, or his tutors, not even Ghezen himself. 

Wylan had tried to sketch him, bring what little details he remembered onto paper somehow, but it was impossible. He decided to draw the Jurda field they had sat on - would be sitting on - instead. After his sketch was done he snuck into the art room on a day where he had no lessons to spend the entire afternoon mixing colors and painting. It took him four tries to get the orange of the flowers right. 

The next time he had art lessons even his teacher was impressed. Wylan of course couldn’t tell her what it pictured, but the praise of fine art depicting Zemeni landscapes even seemed to calm his father down a bit.

In secret, Wylan added the tip of a blanket in the lower right corner afterwards. Just for himself.

It was prevalent and adorned common knowledge that it was of no use to look for your Soulmate. You couldn’t walk out into the world and just find them. Knowing what they roughly looked like, would look like in the future, didn’t seem to help and while there were some critics who called the concept of Soulvisions just “self-fulfilling prophecies”, most accepted that you had no choice but to wait.

Wylan couldn’t wrap his head around why them being self-fulfilling would make Visions useless.

He had never brought himself luck, only ever misfortune and disappointment. While he did believe in Soulmates, especially now, he thought: So what if it’s self-fulfilling. Let me do something right at least once in my worthless life.

And so he couldn’t help but look anyway. Every Zemeni that crossed his path became a potential straw he could cling to. It was stupid and useless to feel this way, and Wylan could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his mind, gently chuckling: “Honey, you can’t just get up and decide to find them one day. You can’t look for your Soulmate. You will stumble upon each other soon enough.”

But he’s promised to find me too, mum, he thought. How can I leave him stumbling around the world all on his own then?

So he kept on looking. He supposed two heads were better than one.

It wasn’t the errand boy that came to their estate. He was kind but too rough and too old to be the boy from his visions.

The son of one of the medics was always friendly on the rare occasions Wylan ran into him, but they could never really hold a conversation because his father had forbidden Wylan from speaking with people for too long, especially the ones he deemed “below” them in status. His skin was too light and he didn’t seem all that interested in talking to Wylan for long anyway for it to be him.

There weren’t many other occasions for Wylan to meet boys his age apart from that, and a year later he could feel himself getting frustrated.

He was 15 and sitting behind his curtain on the upper floor watching the rain fall outside. There was a crow sitting in the big oak tree, because there always was somehow, when Wylan was hiding here. He watched the black animal shake the drops off its plumage and fluff up to protect itself against the harsh weather.

Poor thing, Wylan thought. It’s caught outside in this harsh weather while I’m in here all warm and well-fed.  

In that second, as if it had heard him, the bird spread its wings and flew away.

“But you can also go anywhere you want,” Wylan mumbled. 

The house became more suffocating the older he grew. The cold fear of his father still clutched him tightly, but so did the guilt. And the anger.

Wylan clung to his Soulvisions when it got bad.

It won't be like this forever, when his tutors belittled him.

Someone will want me, when his father yelled.

Someone will love me, when his father did worse.

Wylan still spent a lot of time behind his curtain, but now he could almost picture someone sitting there with him, in this holy little sanctuary he had created for himself.

In the cold nights he was cowering in the dark, he could feel the phantom touch of long arms around him.

I will come find you, he swore. And I will come love you.

Wylan was 15, almost 16, when he went to an official banquet with his father for the last time. Before-

Well.

Before it all changed.

It was a state dinner which meant there was no excuse Jan Van Eck, as a high-ranking member of Kerch’s governing body, could bring forward to not take his son without it looking bad. And Ghezen forbid the Van Eck family looked bad.

Wylan wouldn’t have felt like he was missing out even if he hadn’t been allowed to come, but the only ray of hope was the fact that it was a banquet with a Zemeni diplomat.

Wylan had felt himself swallow when his father had told him.

Zemeni.

With a son his age.

Tonight, he thought when he left his father’s office. He could feel his mistrusting eyes on the back of his head. It didn’t bother him for once.

Tonight, he thought in the carriage.

Tonight, he thought when he walked into the grand hall and laid eyes on the tall, lanky boy standing next to the politician his father greeted. 

The dinner itself was boring and stressful for Wylan, who always spent these occasions sweating and panicking about everything he said, or didn’t say, about every social cue he could misinterpret or unwritten rule he could break.

There were so many unwritten rules! And everybody seemed to know them by heart except for Wylan, who was left standing there on his own, like he was an actor on stage and the only one meant to perform without a script.

Tonight however, the only thing he could focus on was the diplomat's son sitting next to him, all smiles and polite questions and intelligent jokes. Wylan could feel his heart racing in his chest. It was a little bit intimidating hearing him talk like that. Wylan felt stupid next to him.

If this truly was his Soulmate he surely wouldn’t think of Wylan like that, but he felt hot and embarrassed nonetheless, by how easily this seemed to come to the boy, when Wylan himself had to stare at the table cloth and force down frustrated tears.

About two hours later their fathers moved to a sitting room to have some wine and talk, so Wylan was left alone in the big hall.

He squeezed his fingers together hard. He was tempted to start a conversation, but it wasn’t like he could outright ask Is that you, do you recognize me?

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

Something he wanted more, however, was to finally get out of this stuffy room.

The other banquet guests didn’t notice him as he pushed through the crowd to get to the balcony.

Everything was too loud, too close, to bright, too-

Wylan scrambled outside and took a deep breath.

The sun had set and the air was pleasantly cool on his heated skin. 

He could feel the panic ebb away. Sniffling he stepped closer to the balcony rail and touched the rough stone to ground himself.

That was when a voice called: “My father said the host doesn’t want people out here.”
Wylan whirled around.

The diplomat boy. He was closing the balcony door behind him, grinning lazily.
“Sorry”, Wylan uttered. “I didn’t know.”
The Zemeni waved him off. “That was just a joke.”

Wylan felt his cheeks burn. “Oh.” That was a joke?

“Do you not like banquets? You’ve been so quiet all evening.”
Wylan shrugged. Because I’ve spent it worried about whether you’re my Soulmate or not. “Not really, no.”

“I love them. I think it’s important to learn about politics, even if you’re young.”
Wylan just nodded. He had no idea what to answer to that. Ghezen, this was awkward.

Luckily Ghezen seemed to hear his prayers for once, because in that moment a dark shadow came down on the balcony rail. They both jumped back.

A big black crow had settled on the stone, right where Wylan’s hand had been. He felt himself smile a bit. It was so close to them. What a brave little guy, he thought. 

“They usually don’t get this close to people,” he said in fascination.

The other boy eyed the animal warily. “Well, then why this one?” He swung his hand towards it. “Shoo!” 

The crow didn’t move a muscle.

“Shoo!” the boy said, more firmly this time and his hand waved a bit closer to the bird.

“Hey, leave it!” Wylan ordered. “It’s not doing any harm.”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “They’re disgusting. Probably carry diseases and all that stuff.”
Wylan drew his eyebrows together. “That’s pigeons. And even then, you shouldn’t hit them. Crows are intelligent.” He felt a soft smile creep onto his face. “Maybe it’s here because of me. Sometimes I feel like they’re following me. Wherever I go, there always seems to be one of these guys there waiting for me.”
The other boy huffed. “Well, of course they are. They’re everywhere in this city! Can’t get rid of them.”

Wylan felt the hope in his stomach sink like a stone in a lake.

“I like them,” he tried again.

A laugh. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Why?”

“You don’t seem like a crow guy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he insisted. He could feel irritation rise up in him. 

“You’ve been all quiet and shy all evening, you’re more like a songbird. Or a little canary one would keep in a golden cage.”

Wylan’s world stopped for a second. 

It’s not him. A cool, collected realization.

He felt white, hot anger bubbling up his throat.

At this stupid, cruel boy.

At the world that seemed to hate him so much.

At himself, at fate, at his real Soulmate, that was out there somewhere, not showing himself.

The boy didn’t even seem to think about his statement too hard, but for Wylan it was the last straw.

It was so belittling, so dehumanizing, so wrong -

“You don’t know anything about me,” he hissed, and turned around.

“Hey, it was just a joke! Don’t you ever get jokes?”

Wylan glared at him before stepping back inside. “No. And your jokes aren’t funny.”

When he turned around one last time he could see the crow scream at the Zemeni boy and then fly off as if nothing had happened.

Wylan gave up on actively looking for his Soulmate after that. For good.

The fact that he had compared this horrible boy to the person who was to love and understand him so intimately one day was sickening.

He hated people calling him fragile. Ghezen knew there was enough of that in his life.

His father liked to call him that. He also liked to call him a lot of other things these days.

Useless and broken and incapable and a waste of space and embarrassing and stupid and strange… The list was endless.

He also liked to call him weak.

He didn't know, couldn't know of course, how on some days it took Wylan every bit of strength and willpower he had in him not to lose hope.

He took the punches with the words I'll come find you repeating in his head like a prayer.

His father still claimed he did all of this because he loved him. It was hard not to turn bitter over it. I don't want love to be like this, he thought defiantly. When I meet him I want our love to be gentle and tender, not this.

And so he guarded and treasured this wonderful warm feeling in his chest, the one he had lived in during these beautiful first days after his Soulvision.

Wylan liked to imagine it as a little plant that was growing from scorched soil, to be watered and bathed in sunlight, and he tried everything in his power to make sure his father wouldn't trample it. 

Then, at 16, Wylan Van Eck dove into the cold black waters of Ketterdam's canals.

Wylan Hendriks climbed out broken and terrified and furious.

He was 16 too, but it was an older kind of 16. A harsher kind.

The little plant should have withered. For a terrible, angry moment that night, lying on the disgusting bed all wet and sickly, Wylan considered squeezing the life out of it himself. He'd been naive and silly. He didn't need romance or childish dreams anymore.

The moment ebbed away and Wylan realized he needed it more than ever.

After the disaster that night at the banquet, he had thought he wouldn't recognize his Soulmate right away when meeting him anyway, like most people didn't, but the very second Jesper Fahey stepped into the tannery all he could think was

Oh. There he is.

He looked at him, standing in the grey room with colourful patterned clothes and beautiful glittering pearl revolvers on his hips and this time there was no doubt.

Yeah, that’s him.

The little plant stretched up as if it was reaching for the sun, and maybe it was, because Wylan felt warm and happy like the child he had been all those years ago in the garden, next to his mother under the big tree. 

You found me, he wanted to scream, but then Jesper opened his mouth and began talking.

Wylan didn’t know what he had expected, but not this.

Not nothing.

No great declaration, no tearful reunion, not even an angry question of Where the hell have you been?

He doesn’t recognize me, Wylan thought desperately. But how? He was so sure, surer than he had ever been about anything in his life, but when he studied Jesper there was no recognition in his gaze, no wavering in his voice as he looked at Wylan and offered him his first job with the Dregs. If anything, he only seemed as annoyed with him as everyone else Wylan had ever interacted with.

Wylan tried to swallow his disappointment. The tears.

Oh well, he tried to think. It can happen.

But instead he thought: No, no, no, please, not again, not you too.

And if he took the job with the Dregs - even though he had doubts about Kaz Brekker - just to be with Jesper, it was no one’s concern but his own.

“You’ll stumble upon each other soon enough” , his mother had said. But she had left out the gravitational pull, the all-consuming need to be with him that seemed to eradicate any and all logic.

Wylan felt like a ghost, like a wolf howling at the moon every night as if it would make a difference about the fact that he would never be close enough to reach for it.

Dreaming about him had been wonderful, but it didn't even compare in the slightest to actually meeting him.

Being with him. 

Jesper was handsome and loud and infuriating.

He gambled and fought and drank enough for it to be dangerous for his liver.

He couldn't sit still and made fun of Wylan, called him names, and judged him without even knowing him. 

All the things Wylan despised.

But he was also brave and loyal and liked Wylan’s drawings.

He hummed when he walked across the street and he talked with his hands.

He could sit for hours fiddling with his guns, taking them apart, cleaning them, putting them back together, and taking them apart again.

He was wise and intelligent in a way that was entirely different to the ideas of wisdom and intelligence Wylan had grown up with.

He was charming in a genuine way, but only when he didn’t want to be.

He listened to Wylan when he talked about Marya Van Eck, and her paintings.

He held him when he found Marya Hendriks alive and abandoned.

How could there ever be anybody but Jesper in his life again, when he lowered his voice when he spoke to Wylan, and made sure to set his glasses down gently on the tables in order not to startle him?

Days turned into weeks.

Wylan loved him long before he was in love with him.

And from the way Jesper looked at him, Wylan, for the first time in his life, felt like maybe, just maybe, he was loved just as much in return.

It didn’t feel like his father’s love, or whatever the hell it was he had labeled ‘love’.

No walking on eggshells, no loud raging fury.

It wasn’t conditional.

It was a deep, velvety feeling that settled in Wylan’s stomach and warmed his skin instead of burning it; long nights spent talking, laughter and safety.

It felt a little bit like sitting behind the curtain and warming his face in the sun. 

Wylan caught himself falling back into old habits from his childhood, things that had originally been long beaten out of him, but now wanted to reemerge to the surface. 

One time when they were alone on Black Veil, Jesper asked Wylan: "What's your favorite color?"

Wylan looked up from where he'd been sketching a fox on a piece of parchment and really considered the question for a moment. It was a hard question.

"Yellow," he finally decided. Jesper pulled his feet down from where they'd been propped up on the table. "Really? So is mine!"

Wylan’s cheeks heated up, but he refused to be made fun of. "Yeah, right."

"It is!" Jesper inisited excitedly. "It used to be my Ma's favorite too! She always said it's cause it's a happy color."

The flush on Wylans face deepened. "It is a happy color. It's actually proven that it has a positive effect on people if-" Wylan caught himself just in time.

What had just happened? He hadn't rambled like this to someone else since he was 12! His father hated it when he rambled, and people outside his family had usually given him weird looks or made comments about him being a "know-it-all". He bit his lip.

This couldn't happen again, not with Jesper.

But Jesper just raised his eyebrow and looked at him expectantly. "If what?"

“If it’s used in interior design. People are happier in rooms with brighter colours,” he pressed out.

“Hah, good ol’ Ma. Always right,” Jesper grinned. “Hey, what’d be an unhappy colour then, merchling?”

He wants to hear me talk, something in Wylan whispered and the realization was like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold night.

“Dark Brown. Grey. Anything dark really,” Wylan began. “Bright yellow if used incorrectly.”

“How do you use a colour incorrectly? Like too much of it or in the wrong rooms or what?”

Wylan nodded. “If you paint your entire room, all walls, completely bright yellow it can actually act anxiety inducing. I guess it’s because it’s so present and overtakes everything else.”

Jesper whistled and threw his feet back onto the table. “Guess there goes my plan to paint my entire house yellow then.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Wylan tried not to stare at his jawline. “It’s so amazing how you know all this stuff, where do you learn that?”
Wylan swallowed. “My mother,” he answered.

Jesper opened his eyes and shot him a brilliant grin. “Look at our moms being artistic geniuses.”
“Your mother painted?” Wylan asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to pry into a sensitive topic for Jesper, or annoy him, but this was the first time he was hearing about her being interested in art. Jesper just nodded and laughed.

“It was more of a hobby, but she was Zowa too and used to make pigments and paints herself!”

Wylan felt himself getting excited. “Can you do that too?”

Jesper waved him off. “Nah, not really.”
“Oh.” Wylan tried not to sound too disappointed, but apparently he was doing a pretty bad job at hiding it because Jesper bit his lip and nervously looked around the room for a second. “Wait,” he then said and jumped up.

Wylan watched curiously as he rummaged around the tomb, seemingly looking for something. Finally he pulled out one of Nina’s scarves and held it up triumphantly. “Watch this!”, he grinned and closed both hands around the red fabric. Wylan watched in breathless admiration as the colour drained from the cloth, leaving behind a greyish, almost white looking piece. Jesper opened his eyes and laughed. “That’s something, right?”
“That’s amazing,” Wylan cried, and immediately cursed himself after. You’re being way too loud, stop embarrassing yourself. He felt his face flush and had already opened his mouth to apologize when Jesper said: “I can’t push it back in though, so don’t tell Nina please.”

Wylan’s mouth fell closed as he looked at him.

No annoyed reminder for him to be quieter.

No laughter or mockery.

Not even an eyeroll.

If anything, Jesper almost seemed a bit sheepish, twisting and turning under the praise.

Has no one ever told you how amazing you are? Wylan thought. Has no one ever admired the stuff you can do instead of belittling what you can’t do?

No, he realized then. No one has told him just like no one has ever told me. Not until he did.

And so Wylan gathered all his courage and said: “That’s awesome. That you can pull the pigments out.”

Because it was, and Jesper deserved to hear it.

Apparently that had been the right thing to say, because when Wylan went to sleep that night in the cold tomb on Black Veil, he could feel Jesper pulling a blanket over his shoulders in his last moments of consciousness.

He woke up two times that night, once to the others returning, and once because the rain had started. Wylan felt too tired to even open his eyes, but he knew he was lying in Jesper’s lap and there was a hand combing through his hair.

It felt strange, almost familiar. What did this remind him of?
He could hear the voices of the other Crows, trying to keep their laughter low in order not to wake him. Someone must have started a fire because the warm crackling began slowly lulling him back to sleep.

Jesper’s hand started messaging his scalp and-

Oh. Right.

“I dreamt of this,” Wylan mumbled happily.

It was real, and Jesper was real and he was his. 

“What was that?” Jesper’s voice was low and deep.

“Oh, nevermind you idiot”, he said and fell back asleep to leave Jesper to figure it out on his own.

The little plant grew into a tree.

It resembled the one from his garden a bit.

Wylan missed his spot behind the curtain.

It felt a bit ridiculous now that he was older and banned from ever setting foot in that cursed house again, and also a wanted criminal that had survived every single thing fate had thrown at him against all odds.

But he missed it.

He tried to make up for it by climbing the roof of the Geldrenner hotel and watching the city underneath.

No matter what would happen, it would end tomorrow.

It did feel a little bit less scary now that there was a chance he'd get his face back. If they were to lose, and he was to die, he wanted to look his father in the eyes with his own. He would stare at him until the very end, Wylan had decided, and make him pay for it the only way he still could: With defiance. With anger.

He wanted his father to look at him and see his son, the boy he had tortured and humiliated for all his life.

Look at me. Look at all the shameful things you have done to me.

His father had almost ruined him. Maybe he still would. But at least this time Wylan would die standing on his two feet, instead of slowly withering away cowering in a dark corner.

And he would die with someone by his side who loved him.

Not just Jesper, his Soulmate, but all of them. All of these doomed, wicked people that had made space in their lives and given him a family.

“Which one are you?” a voice from behind him demanded.

Wylan jumped and whirled around. Colm Fahey was standing on the roof behind him, his hands buried in his pockets.

Wylan swallowed. It was hard not to get nervous around the man that had raised the boy he was destined to love for the rest of his life.

“Wylan.”
Colm nodded and stepped closer. “Wylan.” Then he smiled warmly and gestured at something just behind him. “Seems like you’ve got company.”
Wylan turned and spotted a small crow crouching on the edge of the roof, its dark eyes glittering like polished buttons in the darkness. Wylan smiled.

“I don’t know, they seem to follow me everywhere.”

Colm took another step so he was now next to him. “That must be a sign then.”
Wylan perked up, his interest peaked. “Is it?”
“Birds are omens, boy. They are closer to both Earth and Sky than us humans.”
“Is that Kaelish wisdom or a personal assessment?” Wylan huffed.

He got a warm, fatherly smile in return. “A little bit of both.”
“I thought crows are supposed to be bad luck.”
“They’re smart little things,” Colm replied. “They remember both friend and foe. They’re faithful and resourceful. If they’ve taken a liking to you, that must mean something good.”

“I like them,” Wylan admitted, though he had no idea why. “I always have.”

Colm smiled knowingly. “So has Jesper. Seems only fitting that he likes you too now.”

Wylan’s head snapped up. “He does?”

Colm laughed, and Wylan’s cheeks burned. “More than he wants to admit.”

They were quiet for a long time after that. Wylan watched the black bird hop around and flap its wings. From time to time it tilted its little head and seemed to look at him.

“You said I’m like a crow,” he mumbled. 

Colm seemed surprised by that. “Of course you are. I didn’t believe it either when Jesper first told me, but now I can see it.”
“Jesper told you that?” A tiny spark of hope moved in his chest.

The farmer nodded. “‘As cunning as a crow and just as loyal’. That’s what he said.”

The spark lit up into a fire, strong and warming and all-consuming.

In the end, it all was a lot less complicated than Wylan had feared.
The prospect of tomorrow didn't seem so gloomy now that he had his own face back, and the plan was set in stone, laid out in front of him like clothing for the next day. Wylan was done being nervous. He was done being afraid.

Jesper walked in when he was lighting up some of the lamps. He seemed deep in thought, and his handsome face was strained with tense energy. Wylan felt fondness raise up in him. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished,” Jesper answered. “But Da’s asleep. I’m not sure we’re allowed to ring for food.” He paused. “Did you have her make you better-looking?”

Oh, you-

He refused to give him what he wanted. “Maybe you forgot how handsome I am.” Jesper raised an eyebrow and Wylan sighed. Of course he knew. Because he has been paying attention. His face warmed at the thought. And maybe also because this was the person he was meant for. Someone to know him better than the rest of the world. He decided he could forgive him for noticing. “Okay, maybe a little.”

The city under them was a warzone, but standing here, next to his Soulmate, Wylan felt a deep calm blanket him, wrap around him and keep him safe. Everything was okay between them again. And one day Jesper would realize who he was, what he was.

What he was meant to be to him. 

“I know what you were doing back there,” Jesper suddenly broke the silence. “You didn’t have to tell her you can’t read.”

But I did. Because I’m done being ashamed of it. I needed to tell her, for myself and also for you, Wylan wanted to say.

“Do you know Kaz was the first person I ever told about my condition?” he said instead.

“Of all people,” Jesper joked but it fell a little flat.

“I know. It felt like I’d choke on the words. I was so afraid he’d sneer at me. Or just laugh.” Like everyone else had, everyone he had ever known except for these five. Then again, it wasn’t like he had ever met someone like these five. He never would again. “But he didn’t do any of that. Telling Kaz, facing my father, freed something in me. And every time I tell someone new, I feel freer.”

It was true. Wylan had felt it for a while, but actually saying it out loud made it real and he could feel a lump in his throat.

Look at me. Look at all the shameful things you have done to me.

Wylan took Jesper in, standing next to him strong yet vulnerable, like Wylan had felt him in his Soulvision half a lifetime ago.

Look at what you couldn’t take from me.

“I’m not ashamed of being Grisha.”

But you are. And it’s horrible and sad and you didn’t deserve it, but in a way you were just as alone as I was. I just wish you could see how-

“Go ahead. Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.” 

Wylan stared at him. He would never get used to this, to the way Jesper seemed to read him like it was the most natural thing to do. Maybe it was.

“I’ve spent my whole life hiding the things I can’t do. I know what it’s like to be seen for your failures instead of your skills. You never got proper training, but there’s so much you can do. I’ve seen it. Not just in the Ice Court, but in every single little action you do, on every single day. Why run from the amazing things you can do?”

It wasn’t fair to ask this, but Wylan needed the answer.

“I know who I am, what I’m good at, what I can and can’t do. I’m just… I am what I am. A great shooter, a bad gambler. Why can’t that be enough?”

For me or for you?

“Don’t get philosophical on me, merchling.” 

Had he said that out loud?

Wylan quietly shook his head to himself. It was time to put an end to this. To all the small little white lies and the things they didn’t say.

He owed it to Jesper.

For keeping his promise. For finding him.

“Jes, I’ve thought about this-”

“Thought of me? Late at night? What was I wearing?” Jesper interrupted, because he could never keep any serious conversation about his own feelings. It was irritating. It was infuriating. It was charming and lovely and Wylan adored him.

“I’ve thought about your powers,” he tried again. “Has it ever occurred to you that your Grisha ability might be part of the reason you’re such a good shot?”

He knew how cruel it was to ask Jesper this, to tell him, hey, maybe that part you hate about yourself is the only reason the part you love about yourself even exists. 

“Wylan, you’re cute, but you’re a whole lot of crazy in one little glass.”

“Maybe. But I’ve seen you manipulate metal. I’ve seen you direct it. What if you don’t miss because you’re directing your bullets too?”

The silence that followed was heavy and Wylan could see Jesper thinking, turning the suggestion over in his head again and again until there was nothing left on his face but distraught defeat.
Wylan felt his hand twitch. He wanted to lay it on Jesper’s shoulder, hold him tight and tell him it was okay, but he knew it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be for a long time.

“Why do you have to say things like that?” Jesper said, his voice stiff. “Why can’t you just let things be easy?”

Because they’re not easy.

“Because they’re not easy,” he answered. And that’s alright. “You keep pretending everything is okay. You move on to the next fight or the next party. What are you afraid is going to happen if you stop?”

Jesper shrugged. Wylan could see it again, what he had meant just now. This nervous energy that surrounded him wherever he went. Jesper began fiddling, with his hands, his clothes, his revolvers.

All his life Wylan had prayed for someone to love him.

He had prayed for his mother back, then for friends, then for the father he remembered from his childhood, the father that had read to him and carried him around on his shoulders and ruffled his hair.

After that he had prayed for his Soulvisions, and then his Soulmate.

His Soulmate was here now. But how was Wylan supposed to tell a person that he had begged Gods and Saints for them?

How could he ever put into words what Jesper had done for him, long before he had even been in his life? That he had only made it through the long nights holding himself, and the days hiding behind the curtain because he trusted they would take him here, to this exact moment?

He had thought he needed his Soulmate to survive.

That wasn’t the truth, Wylan understood now.

Wylan would always be grateful for him, for the strength he had given him, but he hadn’t survived because of Jesper. He had survived on his own.

He might have reached for his Soulmate to have something worth fighting for, but he never would have made it through his childhood if there wasn’t, deep down in him, the invincible and everlasting will to do so. 

He wasn’t a songbird, or a canary. No golden cage would ever hold him again. He was a crow, wild and free, and done with clipped wings. 

And he would love Jesper just like that: out of free will, not because he was born or destined to do so. Because he wanted to.

Are you all alone? 

He had been.

But so had Jesper.

Jesper had survived on his own too, and he deserved to feel what Wylan felt, to realize that he was worthy and deserving to exist in this world with all his flaws and wonders alike.

There was no way to put what he felt into words, so Wylan did the only thing he could do. He laid his hand on Jesper’s shoulder and said: “Stop.”

“Just stop. Breathe.”

Wylan saw his chest move up and down heavily.  

“Again,” he said.

Jesper had said that he’d crossed the Sea to find him, and because that was true, this time it was Wylan who crossed the distance between them and kissed him.

“You will stumble across each other,” and Ghezen how they had stumbled. It seemed worth it now though, with their breaths mingling and Jesper’s lips on his.

All doubts, every single misunderstanding between them, melted away. Wylan knew he would never be alone again. It was the kiss of a lifetime.

I will never love like this again, Wylan realized and cupped Jesper’s face with his hands.  Jesper pulled him closer, deepened the kiss. Wylan could feel his hand moving to clutch the nape of his neck, weave into the curls there.

Remembering the lonely years of his childhood felt like looking through a blind mirror; they were still there and recognizable, but Wylan knew they would fade with time.

He wanted Jesper forever, for the rest of his life, to love him and be loved in return.

When they broke apart, Wylan met his eyes and smiled. Jesper’s gaze was tender and loving. He never would have thought someone would ever look at him like this.

Then Jesper started grinning and Wylan realized he knew.

He pushed away slightly, his hands dropping to Jesper’s chest, the racing heartbeat underneath his fingers.

“How long have you known?” Wylan demanded.

Jesper grinned. “Since the second I saw you.”

If Wylan hadn’t been so ridiculously happy he would have punched him. So instead he just sighed and nestled his face into Jesper’s neck. “You’re lucky our lives and fates are intertwined, Jesper Fahey.” He kissed his jawline and nuzzled at the warm skin there.
A chuckle. “I am.”

They stayed like that for a while before Wylan looked up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Jesper lowered his gaze. “You are so good. And I’m… me.”

Wylan pulled away slightly to gently caress Jesper’s cheek. “You’re you,” he nodded. “And I’m glad you are.”

There were tears shimmering in Jesper’s eyes when he leaned forward to let his head fall onto Wylan’s shoulder. How long had it been since he had allowed himself to cry in front of somebody? It didn’t matter, Wylan decided as he cupped the back of Jesper’s neck and pressed him into his collarbone. Because he was here now.

He had no idea how to comfort Jesper, but that was okay. He had the rest of their lives to figure that out. For today it was enough to let him cry and just be there.

He wasn’t the only one that had waited a lifetime for someone to hold him and be gentle about it.

Wylan was 16 when he finally became free.

He got everything.

He got his name back, and his money and his birthright and his mother.

He would not die at Jan Van Eck’s hand. He hadn’t in his childhood, and he wouldn’t now either. There would never be a reason to be scared again. He wouldn’t trample any plants or lock birds in cages. 

Jesper was standing by his side, a hand gently ghosting over the small of his back. 

His father stared at him the entire time, a mad fury in his eyes, but Wylan just steadily met his gaze.

Look at me. Look at all the shameful things you have done to me. And then, just before his father was taken away: Look at how I survived you.

Jesper held his hand out when it was over. Wylan took it without a second thought. Their fingers intertwined and Jesper led him out of the Church. It was time to go home.

The house wasn’t suffocating anymore. 

Wylan watched the rain from his favourite spot behind the curtain.

The sky was grey and a thick fog had blanketed the city beneath. The entire world seemed muted. Wylan felt the cold creep in where he had leaned his forehead against the glass. His breath misted up the window and obscured his view, but he enjoyed watching the water fall from the clouds anyway.

His limbs were heavy with a deeply-settled contentment.

Just then the curtain was pulled apart.

“There you are!”

Wylan turned around lazily. Jesper was holding the heavy fabric apart, a bright smile on his face. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Wylan yawned and stretched his arms. “What is it?”
“The honorable Captain Ghafa finally got around to sending me my favourite book back! Just arrived!” Jesper took a step towards him and let go of the curtain. It fell together behind him. “Move over.”

Wylan smiled and moved forward so Jesper could sit down behind him. His long limbs barely fit into the window alcove, but he wiggled in anyway and leaned against the wall. Wylan slid back so he was framed by his legs and could press his back into Jesper’s chest. Long arms encircled him and Wylan watched as Jesper opened the book and flicked to the third page, where the text began.

The voice that read to him over his shoulder was warm and soft.

In the evening, after they had put the book aside, they just sat together in silence. It was still raining, but the fog had lifted. The last light of the dusk illuminated the sky.

“Hey, look,” Jesper said all of a sudden. Wylan followed his finger and spotted a crow in the tree in front of the window. “Looks like Kaz, don’t you think?”

Wylan laughed and snuggled deeper into Jesper’s arms. “If Kaz were a crow, he’d still find a way to frown, beak and all.”

Jesper hummed and pondered over it for a while. “Looks a bit like you then.”

Wylan grabbed one of the hands that was hanging over his shoulder, moved it up and kissed it.

Wylan Van Eck had just turned 20 when he was woken up one morning by his boyfriend gently shaking his shoulders.

He was comfortable and warm and really didn’t feel like getting pulled out of his slumber, so he grumbled and pressed his eyes together.

“Darling, wake up.”

Wylan sighed and followed.

Jesper was already wide awake, gently smiling at him. His arms were tightly looped around Wylan’s body so that one of his hands could draw lazy patterns on his back.

“Morning.”
“Good morning,” Jesper beamed and Wylan could immediately tell that something was up.

“What?” he asked. Jesper’s hands hit the spot right on his upper spine that Wylan loved, and he moved closer to arch his back into the pleasant sensation.

“Seem familiar?” 

Wylan blinked. “What do you mean?” He smiled lazily and then moved his hand up to touch Jesper’s cheek. “Seems like any other morning to me.”
His boyfriend gaped at him for a bit before starting to laugh quietly.
“What? What is going on with you?”
Their faces were so close that Jesper only had to move his chin forward to kiss him. “Nothing, darling. No appointments or meetings today, right?”
Wylan shook his head. “No. Just us.”
“Good. I’m going to make breakfast.”

The day was warm and sunny, and Wylan spent it in the garden on a blanket. Jesper was next to him tinkering with a rifle, a passion project of his, and occasionally lifted his hand to draw some pigments out of a flower Wylan held up to his face to turn it into paint.

The air smelled of fresh grass. When Wylan tilted his head up towards the sun, he could see the oak tree’s branches hanging down from the weight of heavy green leaves. 

Wylan Van Eck was 25, sitting in a Jurda field in Novyi Zem and scrawling some drawings of bugs into his sketchbook when he felt a hand come up to his shoulder blades. “Do you like it here?” Jesper asked and started to move his hand to rub Wylan’s shoulders.

Wylan put his sketchbook aside and leaned back on his elbows so Jesper could reach him better. He was sitting behind him, his long legs stretched all over the blanket Marya had knitted for them. “Of course I do, love,” he answered and turned his head slightly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jesper staring at him. “You know I do.”

Jesper’s hand moved down and started drawing tender patterns on Wylan’s back with his fingernails. “I love you,” he said. “I’m just always so happy when you agree to come here with me. I used to come here all the time when I was a child, but I was always alone.”

Wylan smiled contently and turned his face up to bathe in the sunlight. “I know. But you’re not alone anymore.”

“Say it back, Wy,” Jesper whined jokingly and Wylan burst out laughing.

“Move your hand a bit to the right and I will… No further… Too far.” He giggled when Jesper muttered unhappily to himself but followed his instructions nonetheless.

“That’s the spot,” he laughed and pressed into the feeling trickling down his spine. “I love you too.”

Jesper caressed his favourite spot on his spine a bit more, but then moved up to his shoulders again. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” He opened his hand and rubbed it flat over Wylan’s shoulder before starting to knead the muscles there. “Do you… Do you think you’d wanna get married?”

Wylan’s brain stopped and he turned around to look at his boyfriend. Jesper sat up and removed his hand. “I just wondered.” A nervous gulp. “It’s been almost a decade. We don’t have to, I just think,” he stumbled over his own words but quickly caught himself. “I would like to. I would like it a lot, Wy.”

Wylan stared at his boyfriend nervously playing with his hands. Then a warm, happy feeling crashed over him like a wave and he threw himself at Jesper to wrap his arms around his neck.

Somewhere in his chest something tickled a little bit like a déjà-vu. Wylan couldn’t place it and shook it off. Instead he focused on the way Jesper peppered his face with kisses.

Wylan Fahey was 28 when he woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t figure out what had disturbed him.

He looked around their bedroom, at the way the moonlight filtered through the curtains that were moving in the summer breeze.

Wylan could feel Jesper stir behind him and pressed deeper into his embrace. His husband sleepily pulled him closer with the hand that was wrapped around his waist.

Wylan was already half asleep again when he found Jesper’s fingers where they were lying on top of the covers and interlaced them with his.