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For as long as he could remember, Asa Fell had always had dreams.
Not in the way that other people seemed to have dreams; whenever he had tried to talk about them with others, they had always frowned in concern or confusion or, sometimes, a vague sense of unease that immediately made Asa want to curl up and hide.
“Maybe you should talk to someone about that,” was a response he’d heard frequently. The Someone, of course, being silently capitalised in that way British people always did when they meant you ought to see a psychiatrist but they were too uncomfortable or polite to say so.
His parents had taken him to see several child psychiatrists in the past, when he had woken up screaming or sobbing or describing in intricate, remarkable detail the visions that flitted through his sleeping brain one too many times. Details and knowledge, it seemed, that went far beyond what a “normal” child might be considered capable of. He was ultimately dismissed as having a very overactive imagination, combined with what the doctors considered to be night terrors.
From the time he was old enough to understand what the word “terror” actually meant, Asa knew that it wasn’t so simple.
Because, yes, he did experience horrors in his sleep. He saw great infernos of destruction, thousands upon thousands of dead or dying and he could only stand helplessly by and bear witness to it all. There were nights where he felt ancient and heavy and oh, so tired, the passage of time stretched into eternity, yet when he woke he would stare at himself in the mirror, in the pale light of dawn, and he looked no different. Somehow that felt right and deeply wrong all at once.
But where there were great tragedies, there were also beautiful, sublime triumphs. In his dreams, Asa saw glorious acts of creation and invention. He saw the lengths that people were willing to go for one another, the strength and kindness and hope that dwelt within the human soul.
There was pain and suffering, yes, but also hope and joy and love. So much exquisite, heart-wrenching love. Names, places, dates and faces, they all left Asa’s mind as quickly as they had appeared; he could never hold on to the knowledge, only the feelings. But through it all there was one constant presence, a person, Asa thought, though he could never catch a real glimpse of them. They always existed in the way that faces in dreams often do: subtle and ambiguous, unable to pin down, drifting further and further away the more you tried to picture them in your waking hours. The most visual aspects of them remained in the form of colours: flaming coppery-red, golden yellow and black like a starry midnight sky.
All Asa knew was that this person was familiar and with him always, even if they were just a warm, reassuring background hum in his mind. They were wonderful and vexing and sometimes it hurt to be around them, but he could never have wanted to be anywhere else. They were a soul that his recognised again and again, over and over throughout the endless timespan of his dreaming.
Once, in his late twenties, when he’d long come to the understanding that this was simply the way he was and that there was no choice but to live with the feeling of having more knowledge in his sleep than his brain could surely biologically contain, Asa awoke suddenly, gasping, eyes stinging and tears already tacky on his face.
Though he lived alone at this point, he didn’t often wake up like this anymore, perhaps a subconscious part of him even having learned to keep quiet, to not let the waking world be privy to his innermost thoughts and emotions, because that had never gone well in the past. The frequency of his Dreams (for they were Dreams, not dreams by now) fluctuated too, there was never any rhyme or reason, or a narrative pattern to follow.
He awoke with his mind spinning, his pulse pounding in his head, conflicting emotions making his chest physically ache. There was an acute sense of longing and loss, sadness and regret. But at the same time he felt as though he could burst with pure love and pride; he felt complete… but he’d known he was about to lose everything.
Asa stumbled on wobbly legs out of bed, into his bathroom where he flailed blindly for the light switch and stared at his own reflection in the mirror, trying desperately to claw his way back to reality.
It always felt so real but frustratingly vague in the moments after awaking. Asa never could hold on to details or facts, just feelings. At this point he wasn’t really any the wiser as to what his Dreams - when they came - could possibly be, just that they brought him comfort and distress in fairly equal measure.
But his reflection was far from comforting: face pale and clammy, eyes red-rimmed and watery. The longer he looked, the more he seemed almost unrecognisable to himself. Like saying a word over and over until it starts to become meaningless. He didn’t often feel quite so lost or… lonely.
But no, that wasn’t right. For as long as his counterpart was there in his Dreams, Asa felt he wasn’t truly alone. But it was like having a missing piece of himself, just slightly out of reach at all times, and Asa was tired.
He had to live with them. Fine. But he didn't think it was unreasonable to want them to mean something, to be worth it. Otherwise he might just be fucking insane (Asa reserved swearing for occasions that truly merited it, even in his own mind) and would have to make his peace with going through life feeling incomplete. Feeling like he knew too much and not nearly enough at the same time. It was maddening.
Because it was all he could do, Asa went back to bed.
The day Anthony J Crowley walked into Asa’s bookshop, everything changed.
He smiled at Asa with his curious, brown eyes and soft, ginger curls and oh, Asa was smitten immediately. But not only that… Asa could only describe it as something akin to deja vu; he felt an intense rush of familiarity, a sense of oh, it’s you! Everything about this man, from the way he moved, the pleasant rumble of his voice, to the curl of his lip and the keen wit. The fact that he was gorgeous didn’t help matters, and Asa felt himself drawn in. Like it was inevitable. He’d never felt anything like it in his life.
Later, he would swear that Derek’s meddling had nothing to do with it, Asa simply wasn’t willing to let Anthony Crowley leave without making sure he could find him again. Anthony Crowley met him more than half way.
“By the way,” Anthony took a sip of wine, and Asa absolutely wasn’t enraptured by the bob of his Adam’s Apple, or felt the urge to kiss the tartness from his lips, “I wouldn't expect you to actually read my book. Bit of a slog, really.”
The self-deprecation might’ve been charming, but Asa realised he never wanted this man to sell himself short. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”
Anthony raised an amused eyebrow, “Have you?”
Asa huffed a small laugh, “Alright, no. But now I have a signed copy. I’ve never bought a book that I haven’t read, you know.” It wasn’t technically a lie, reading wasn’t the same as finishing.
And Anthony smiled. He was full of smiles and it felt like they were all for Asa. “Of course you haven’t. Massive to-read pile on the side of my desk, I’m afraid.”
“Well, you’re a very busy man. All those papers to mark, no doubt.”
Teaching others; it had been wonderful to know that they had that in common. Asa had enjoyed his time as a teacher, but there was something to be said in the quiet satisfaction of being a bookseller. He was a collector himself, after all, and it was a favour for a friend.
“Aye, the marking does take up a ridiculous amount of time… And they’re all saying the same bloody thing, anyway.”
“You don’t really believe that.” Asa couldn’t have explained why he said it, but he knew it to be true, and Anthony sighed a laugh of acquiescence.
“No… they’re good kids for the most part. They just always think they’re going to be the next Brian Cox.”
“Were you any different at that age?”
“‘Course not, I wrote a book! That knocked me down a peg or two.”
A small giggle escaped, and the way Anthony looked at Asa then, soft and intent all at once, made his stomach flutter.
“Surely it’s not that bad -”
“Two boxes, Asa. Garage.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” But they were both smiling, smiling, and nothing had ever felt so right before. “Well, I am sure it’s worth a read.”
Anthony ducked his head, bashful. Adorable. “Thank you.”
“Or…” Asa summoned up his courage once more. The two of them, here, sharing a meal or drinking into the small hours, talking about anything and everything… this was right. “I could hear it straight from the source, you know?”
Anthony snorted, and even that was charming, “What, like a personalised audiobook?”
“If you like.”
“Could take a while. Big universe.”
“I’m happy to take the time. With you.”
Anthony’s eyes did that thing again, all wide and soft and a little bit stunned. He swallowed and brushed his fingers over Asa’s where their hands rested close on the tabletop; the touch made Asa feel warm all over, connected and captivated by this man.
“I’d like that very much.”
Two days later, they kissed for the first time and Asa would never recover.
They had planned to meet for dinner that evening (arranged when Anthony called into the bookshop the morning after their first dinner, flustered and in a rush on his way to work, but wanting to call in to see Asa anyway. Asa was very fine and normal about that, thank you) but at lunchtime Anthony showed up again, hands in pockets and shuffling awkwardly over to the front desk in a way Asa wondered if he thought was casual.
Their eyes met and there it was again: that spark, that connection that had joy bubbling up from Asa’s chest and spilling onto his face.
Unfortunately, Derek spoke first.
“Back again? Don’t you have a job?”
Anthony floundered with a vague noise of protest and Asa shot Derek a scathing look.
“Derek!”
Derek smirked unapologetically; Asa almost called him a bitch.
“Hello,” Asa murmured, “Alright? I thought we weren’t meeting until later?”
Anthony swayed closer, smiling sheepishly. “We are. I just… it’s a bit silly,” He laughed nervously, ran a hand through his hair, and Asa badly wanted to touch him. Just to hold his hand and tell him he needn’t worry, Asa would go along with whatever he had to say. That wasn’t even an exaggeration. “I thought we could go… feed the ducks?” He winced apologetically. “Have lunch in the park?”
Oh, Asa was so fond of him!
“Do you… feed the ducks often?” He said it with a smile, gently teasing.
“Oh, stop. It’s naff, I know.”
“No, no,” Asa reached out to squeeze his arm and just that simple touch felt like everything. “It isn’t. It’s lovely.” You’re lovely. “I’d love to.”
And so they did. And naturally after about half an hour of sitting and enjoying each other’s company on a bench in St James’ park, it started to rain. Quite heavily.
“Oh, bugger, this is tweed!”
They had taken (limited) shelter under a tree and Asa was annoyed at himself for his sartorial choices and lack of umbrella. There was an early Spring chill in the air that was starting to creep in through his damp layers, but Asa was thoroughly distracted by the sight of Anthony taking off his glasses and pushing wet copper curls back from his face. The growl of frustration didn’t help matters either.
“Sorry, this was stupid, I didn’t think this through.”
Asa shook his head, “Don’t be silly, can’t control the weather. Least of all in England.” His weak chuckle died in his throat: they were standing rather close together. Asa could see water droplets clinging to Anthony’s skin, trickling over his sharp jaw. He licked his lips without thinking and Anthony drew a sharp breath.
Their eyes met and held. Asa breathed a nervous laugh,
“I’m going to smell like wet dog.”
He wrinkled his nose at the thought and wondered at what point his brain to mouth filter had disappeared, but suddenly Anthony’s hand was gently cupping his cheek and he was drawing in ever closer. Asa forgot everything that wasn’t him and found himself nodding, titling his head up in invitation. Just before his eyes fluttered closed and their lips met, he saw there were raindrops glimmering in Anthony’s eyelashes too.
The kiss was soft, tender and chaste, but he would swear that every nerve in his body came alight. It was like nothing else Asa had ever felt: intoxicating, breathtaking, inevitable. The world fell away beneath his feet, head spinning, heart pounding, and Asa clutched at the front of Anthony’s jacket. They both gasped, breaking the kiss but remaining close, so close that Asa could feel Anthony’s shaky breaths mingling with his own.
“Oh,” Asa sighed.
“Yeah.”
Gently they rested their foreheads together. The rain continued to patter softly all around them and the smell of fresh earth rose into the air. Asa felt alive and (wildly) more than a little bit in love.
Steady on, old boy.
“Alright?” Anthony whispered; he was trembling ever so slightly. His thumb was stroking featherlight over Asa’s cheek. “I’m sorry, I had to, I -”
“Please…” Asa drew back just enough to look at him, this beautiful, impossible not-stranger who made him feel like everything was right in the world, if only he could be near him. A feeling he’d only ever had in his Dreams before was stirring in the back of his mind: recognition, an irresistible pull beneath his ribs. Anthony was watching him, drinking him in, it seemed, hanging on Asa’s every breath. “Please. Do that again?”
With a wicked smile and a sharp nod, Anthony Crowley didn’t need to be told twice.
A couple years later, Anthony would say that they were like celestial bodies orbiting each other. The gravitational pull between them was the most powerful thing he’d ever known, but they balanced each other so completely that they were simply caught together in an eternal dance.
Asa, through tears of happiness, would call him a beautiful, besotted nerd.
“Your besotted nerd.”
They would exchange rings and kiss gloriously about it.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
They fell into a rhythm with each other as easy as breathing. Dinner and theatre and exhibition dates went hand in hand with walks in the park, cosy nights in sharing a bottle of wine and talking, talking and never running out of things to say.
When summer came around, Anthony took Asa to the South Downs to star gaze (at least that was the intention, until they ended up making out like teenagers instead. Lost in each other, laying on their blanket beneath a field of stars.)
Asa was happy. Happier than he’d ever been. The Dreams being the way they were, of course he’d considered the possibility that there were forces in the world beyond science and human understanding. The Dreams had given Asa a specific interest in books of prophecy, for example. He was rather proud of his collection, although he wouldn’t go so far as to think himself capable of such things. But surely everyone thought about it at some point? Ideas like fate, destiny… soulmates.
Anthony made him believe in soulmates.
The Dreams didn’t come up for a little while. And when they finally did, after five months of being them, it did not remotely go any of the ways Asa had imagined trying to have that conversation.
Asa was up late reading into the small hours, as he often did. He sat propped up with plush pillows against the headboard of the bed with his glasses perched on the end of his nose. The bedside lamp cast a soft, golden glow over Anthony curled into his hip, sound asleep and snoring just a little.
Anthony loved his sleep, luxuriated in it, even. Often lounging and stretching in bed in a way that Asa was helpless to resist and had nothing to do with sleeping. Asa had always been a night-owl; getting lost in a good book at bedtime was a habit he’d never even tried to break. It might have also had something to do with wanting to avoid the Dreams in his youth.
He turned the page and Anthony jerked.
Not awake. Asa looked down, frowning, as his partner twitched again in his sleep and took a gasping breath.
“Anthony?”
Asa marked his place and put the book down, then lightly rested a hand in Anthony’s hair. Anthony’s hand, previously lax, clutched at Asa’s thigh and his face took on a pained expression.
“Angel,” He murmured, and Asa swore he felt his heart skip a beat.
He didn’t think he’d ever heard Anthony say that word before, and really, there was no reason that it should mean anything to Asa, and yet… hearing it had elicited a buzzing in the back of his brain, a warmth in his belly. A sense that it was for him despite no evidence, no precedent.
Anthony made a sort grimace that turned into a hiss, shook his head minutely, then jolted awake. He blinked several times against the light, flexed the hand that was holding on to Asa and Asa watched his awareness gradually return as he stroked his hair.
Anthony positioned his head fully in Asa’s lap and turned to look up at him.
“Hello,” Asa whispered.
“Hi.” He was sleep-ruffled and adorable.
“Alright?”
“Ngk.”
Asa couldn’t help smiling fondly, “What was that?”
“You mean, what’d I say, or…?” He made a vague circle motion above his head.
“Whichever you want to expand on.”
“Hmm.” Anthony ran a hand over his face; he looked a little worried. “Was I talking?”
“A little…” Asa didn’t want to push him. As comfortable as they were with each other, Asa still hadn’t approached the topic of his own Dreams. Anthony made a questioning noise, though. “Something about angels?”
Anthony huffed a laugh, “Right. Well, that’s probably you.”
Asa blinked. That was strange. “Come again?”
Anthony’s eyes widened a little, as though his brain was still playing catch up, and he took a deep breath, “Ohhh, damn, ok, right. I don’t know how to -” He sat up, awake now and agitated. “I don’t really know how to explain this, but I want to. Because it’s you.” He paused and seemed to gather himself and Asa wanted nothing more than to hold him again, but he was frozen in confusion and apprehension. “I have these dreams sometimes.”
And he explained. And if it had been anyone other than Anthony Crowley, who Asa trusted completely with his life and his heart, he would’ve thought it was all a cruel joke. But Anthony was so earnest, so apologetic (“I know how it sounds, and I know that some people just have really vivid dreams. And that’s what I tell myself most of the time. Try not to let them get to me. It’s just always been this way.”) and how could Asa not believe him when he was describing everything that Asa had struggled with his entire life.
Ultimately, it made all the sense that Anthony had Dreams too. Of course he did. And Asa could see clearly every emotion he felt, every thought process, mirrored on Anthony’s face when he told him just how well he understood.
(“You’re not just telling me that to -”
“To what? Make you feel better? How would me lying about this make you feel better?”
“… point taken.”)
After a while there was silence, each lost in their thoughts for a moment. They sat side by side in bed, staring blindly ahead, hands clasped tight between them.
Eventually, Anthony said, “Well, it can’t just be us? Surely?”
“People do talk about this sort of thing. Past lives, and all that.”
They looked at each other. Anthony was incredulous and Asa dearly wanted to laugh at his vaguely pained expression.
“Pfft, I don’t know if I… I’m a scientist.”
Asa nodded with mock-seriousness and squeezed his hand. “An astrophysicist.”
“Exactly.”
“And what of theoretical physics? The Conservation of Matter?”
Yes, he’d done his homework, his partner was a bloody astrophysicist.
Anthony groaned and threw an arm over Asa’s chest; Asa drew him in close immediately, relishing in the weight of him, pressing his face into Anthony’s hair.
“Asa, neither of us want to talk about theoretical physics at two in the morning.”
Asa huffed a laugh, “Right.” A pause. “Angel?”
“Hmm?”
“You said angel. Before.”
Anthony snuggled in further.
“S’a feeling I get. When I’m dreaming. It’s always warm and bright and - just the most beautiful thing. But it’s only ever existed in my sleep. Until I met you.”
Asa’s heart felt too big for his chest. He choked out an “Oh.” This he understood too, the familiarity he’d felt almost immediately upon first sight, not unlike deja vu but deeper. The comfort that had settled between them so very easily.
“Suppose “angel” was just something my brain threw out.”
“Hmm.” For me.
A beat.
“Does this… change anything?”
He still sounded nervous, unsure. Asa couldn’t be having that.
“About how I feel? No.” In for a penny… “I was rather gone for you immediately, you know.”
Anthony craned his neck to look up at him, big, brown eyes almost molten gold in the lamplight; his playful smile outshone everything.
“Oh, I know.”
“As if you weren’t just as -!”
Anthony tugged him into a scorching kiss that brooked no argument and had Asa groaning into his mouth as he climbed into his lap. His gaze was all heavy-lidded heat and breathtaking adoration as he cradled Asa’s face.
“I love you, Asa Fell. Dreams or no dreams.”
The words curled up behind Asa’s ribs and settled there, at home.
“And I love you, Anthony Crowley.” So much that Asa couldn’t contain it; his vision blurred with tears looking up at this man. His person. “I found you.”
They fell into each other again and it was a while before either of them would sleep or dream again that night.
For all that Asa thought the Dreams had affected his life in the past, it seemed Anthony had it worse. He argued that it wasn’t worse, because he, like Asa, experienced joy as much as sorrow, but Asa worried. Maybe it was just seeing the impact of the Dreams from an outside perspective. He would startle awake to the love of his life crying out in his sleep and be unable to do anything but hold him and hope that talking about it might ease the burden when he awoke.
But when Asa stirred that night, Anthony wasn’t there.
He drifted awake, sleepy and disoriented in the darkness, his hand outstretched and resting on the empty space in bed next to him. The sheets still held some warmth, trapped underneath the winter blankets cocooned around him. Not them.
The hiss of the shower running gradually registered in his waking mind, as well as the slight light filtering beneath the ensuite bathroom door.
“Love?” His voice was sleep-rough and confused, not wanting to shatter the quiet of the night. If Anthony was in the shower he wouldn’t be able to hear him.
Asa slid from their shared bed, a small knot of worry building in his gut. Upon opening the door he was engulfed by a cloud of steam, the bathroom so fogged it was almost impossible to see anything. The water was louder in here, a steady stream filling up the whole room.
“Anthony?” His voice sounded muffled amidst the dense fog. “Are you in there? Are you alright?”
A grumble came from behind the shower curtain, “M’sorry.”
Relief flooded Asa just to know that he was there and conscious.
“No need to be sorry, darling, I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. It’s the middle of the night.”
“I just… I needed…”
Asa knelt on protesting knees next to the bathtub, close to Anthony’s voice, “What is it?”
“Cold.”
Something seized in Asa’s chest at that, the need to hold, to fix whatever was wrong.
“Oh, my love…” A thought occurred to him, “Did you have a Dream?”
“Don’t fuss, angel.”
“Anthony.”
Sometimes, Asa found, he needed to be firm so as to not let his husband get lost in the remnants of a Dream. Everything in him was aching to reach out, and so he drew back the shower curtain, just a little, and anxiously hoped that it wouldn’t be an intrusion. Anthony gazed back at him, wet hair plastered to his skull, hugging knees that were drawn up to his chest where he sat beneath the almost scalding hot stream. He looked so desperately sad that Asa felt his own throat grow tight.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Anthony’s whisper was tremulous, “I just couldn’t get warm.”
Asa ached so badly to hold him that he almost climbed into the tub with him, fully clothed. Common sense only just won out: better to get him bundled up and back into bed where they could both be comfortable. He reached out to stroke the side of Anthony’s face, wet and flushed from the heat.
“Come back to bed, my love. Will you let me help you?”
Anthony closed his eyes briefly, leaning into Asa’s touch, and nodded, shoulders slumping. Asa let him stay under the water for as long as possible, fetching their biggest, fluffiest towel in the hopes that it would keep him warm between the shower and their bed.
By the time Asa was climbing in behind him though, wrapping him up skin to skin and ensconcing them in a pile of blankets, Anthony was shaking again. He grasped at Asa’s forearms as though he could possibly pull him closer and Asa could only bury his face in the crook of his neck and breathe. Anthony’s hair was still damp against his cheek.
“Sorry, this is ridiculous,” Anthony muttered, teeth chattering a little.
“Oh, shush.” Asa pressed a kiss just below his ear, “It can’t be helped.”
Anthony made a disgruntled noise, “Shouldn’t be like this.”
Asa didn’t disagree; he hated seeing Anthony go through this far more than any lasting impressions the Dreams had left him with in the past. All these years, though, and neither of them could fully bring themselves to call the Dreams a curse.
For a moment they lay together in the quiet dark. The only light was that of the moon, sharp and bright against a clear, frosty night sky.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Asa had to ask; he was burning with the need to know what had affected Anthony so, to do his best to chase the visions away, but he would accept it if Anthony decided he would rather not relive any of it.
He felt Anthony sigh, “I was falling.” Asa waited, assuming that there would be further explanation. “I know - I know everyone has dreams where they’re falling, but this… It was like I was a comet. Falling so fast I was tearing apart.” He shuddered and Asa squeezed him as tight has he dared: I will hold you together. “And I was burning but it was… it was like a burning cold. Like I was so far away from warmth and light and you and all of it was gone forever and I was alone. I’ve never felt so alone -”
The last came out as a choked off sob and silent tears had already gathered and run from the corners of Asa’s eyes too. He rocked them together and dropped kisses into Anthony’s hair, all the while whispering fervently that he wasn’t alone, he never would be again, that he loved him, that they found each other, that they would always find each other…
Anthony huffed a wet laugh, “I’ll hold you to that.” Beneath the covers he found Asa’s hand and ran a thumb over his wedding band. Asa nodded into Anthony’s neck, holding on to him and wondering how he could have ever lived without this.
It didn’t bear thinking about. But as quickly as the thought came, he knew it wasn’t possible. They were meant to find each other. He had said as much already, and Asa knew it with an absolute certainty that he felt in his bones.
“You and me, angel,” Anthony murmured, on the same page as him, as always.
“You and me,” Asa echoed. Then, “Do you want to sleep?”
“Not really.”
“I could read, perhaps? If you like?”
“Might be nice,” Anthony said, but then growled in protest when Asa rolled away for a moment to turn a lamp on and flail around for a book from the pile next to his side of the bed.
“I’m back, don’t pout.”
He made a show of continuing to grumble but curled up easily under Asa’s arm, draping long limbs over him and closing his eyes. Asa made sure to tuck the blankets around him securely; even though the shaking had finally stopped, he wasn’t taking any chances.
Asa settled down and opened the book.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged -”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake -”
“- that a single man in possession of a good fortune -”
“Really, angel?”
“- must be in want of a wife.”
“Fine.”
When they decided that retirement was calling their names, they moved out of London to the South Downs, building a new life in the quiet peace they found when they first came together beneath the stars.
They found a cottage with a garden and they were happy.
Asa couldn’t explain how, after all this time, it still felt like stardust in his veins when Anthony kissed him. Why it sometimes felt like he’d been gazing at this man - his love - listening to him talk forever and still it could never be long enough. They would never truly understand what the Dreams were or why they had them, but maybe it didn’t need an explanation. They had made their peace with them and had been able to embrace them together. Maybe the miracle of their love was explanation enough; both the ordinary and extraordinary nature of it.
Anthony was enough for Asa; he always had been.
If you want to imagine the future, imagine two men sitting in their garden, hands entwined, looking up towards the stars. Imagine sunny days spent tending plants and taking leisurely strolls along the coast; cosy nights in front of the fire, reading together. There will be time for academic pursuits and puttering lazily around the house in equal measure. Imagine peace, gentle acceptance and love. Always love.