luke !

With nothing but opportunity in front of her, Nuala decided to start with a project that served both as sustenance and enjoyment. It was all too easy to convince the pumpkin-headed Mervyn to set her up with a small patch of land, seeds of her choosing, and the necessary tools. Though almost everyone warned her that the groundskeeper was brusque and hard to get along with, those warnings went unheeded. Having always made friends everywhere she went since she was a wee thing toddling after her brother and his friends and trying desperately to keep up, she simply saw such warnings as a challenge. Sure enough, after only a few conversations, she managed to break through his rough exterior and find…a personality that was still rough, but one that was willing to show her where to find the materials she was searching for and give her free rein of her new garden with only a “I’m not cleanin’ up after ya, kid.”

Many of her kind looked down on physical labor, especially so when almost everybody had some sort of nature manipulation in their arsenal. After all, there was no need to mess up a fresh manicure when one could just wave a hand and make their favorite blossoms appear. But in a world of superficiality, Nuala enjoyed such efforts. Having to hone her skills with time and practice—actually doing the work of tilling, planting, watering, and weeding by herself—made the payoff just as sweet as the scent of the flowers she cultivated. 

In Faerie, her little garden was her escape from the stifling court, a secret hideaway that only she knew about. Though she’s only been in the Dreaming for a few days, she knows that this will not be hidden out of necessity. Now, she can enjoy gardening simply as a hobby, and as another way to make herself feel like she’s actually a contributing member of the staff.

Nuala’s hunched over one of the neat little rows of dirt she’s created, carefully dispersing violet seeds that will hopefully bloom in a variety of purples, when a shadow forms above her and blocks out the sun. For a moment, she worries that the bad weather of two days ago has returned. One of the palace’s staff, The Fashion Thing, sighed heavily when asked about the phenomena and explained that the weather in the Dreaming was directly tied to the Dreamlord’s emotions; as a result, deafening thunderstorms with rain like she hadn’t seen since before Faerie closed their realm off from the mortal world reflected the heavy emotions that Lord Morpheus was experiencing after Queen Nada left for the Waking. But the weather cleared almost as swiftly as it arrived, and there had been no signs of it returning.

When she looks up, she’s met not with darkening thunderclouds gathering, but with the figure of Lucienne, the Dreaming’s librarian (and, as she was fast learning, Dream of the Endless’s right-hand woman). Under her strict adherence to formality, Lucienne was actually quite friendly and had immediately set about making Nuala feel useful in her new role. Though she smiles politely, there’s obvious stress in the ramrod straightness of her posture and the way that her fingers tap on a ledger she’s holding.

“Hello, Nuala. Are you busy at present?” Lucienne inquires.

“Not at all.” Nuala stands and wipes her hands on her trousers (another aspect of life in the Dreaming that she’s quickly coming to enjoy—getting to wear trousers!) to clean any remaining dirt. “What can I do for you?”

Lucienne hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out her next steps. “How good are you at keeping secrets?”

Nuala raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “I served in Queen Titania’s court for centuries.”

That answer is self-explanatory, and she nods with a flash of a small smile. “That you did. In that case, I require the discretion that you’ve surely honed over such time.”

“Of course.” Lucienne turns on her heel and begins to walk towards a door leading inside, Nuala hurrying along to keep pace with the fast-moving librarian. “Might I ask what the matter is?”

Lucienne remains silent as they continue their journey, long enough that Nuala begins to wonder if she went unheard. At the entrance to the library, however, she stops, looking the Fae in the eyes.

“It would appear that Lord Morpheus has…well, found his soulmate.” Dismay drips from her tone, though Nuala knows not why. 

“Oh!” She says, startled. It’s all that she can think to say as her ears begin to ring, heart pounding even faster than usual until she can practically feel it against her skin. A soulmate? Lord Morpheus has a soulmate?

“I am retrieving titles for him related to the subject, and will need your help in both carrying them and going through them,” Lucienne continues, unaware of Nuala’s emotional turmoil. 

Nuala blinks a couple of times when she notices Lucienne waiting for her response, hoping to kickstart her brain into remembering how to speak. “Yes, I—I can help.”

“Good,” she says absentmindedly, mind already on what she’ll need to look for now that she’s secured help. “Follow me.”

And so she does, trailing down countless aisles that all seemingly look the same, but that the one leading her knows better than anyone. As Lucienne peruses titles and separates them into stacks, piling one in Nuala’s arms and the other in her own, her previous words continue to toll like a bell inside Nuala’s head. 

Soulmate. Dream of the Endless has a soulmate, one whom he discovers almost immediately after Nuala becomes a resident of the Dreaming. The news is bitter medicine on her tongue, coating her insides and refusing to let her forget it.

“I was unaware that the Endless could have soulmates,” Nuala finally speaks when Lucienne’s searching seems to be nearing an end, her voice only barely betraying her.

“We were all unaware, including the Endless.” Lucienne’s tone is clipped, as though this is going to end up being a mess that she will have to clean up.

“You do not seem pleased by the news.”

Lucienne sighs, and when she turns to look at Nuala, there’s a heaviness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “It is not that I am displeased. In fact, if this is true love, then I am quite happy for them both.”

It’s quite obvious that this is not the end of what she wants to say, yet silence hangs overhead as she once more thinks about how she would like to say what she wants to say, ever the pragmatist. “But?” Nuala prompts.

“But I have been there for almost every one of Lord Morpheus’s romantic entanglements. I have watched as new love has burned brightly, and been a witness to breakups just as fiery. Every time, the relationship inevitably ends, and every time, the realm suffers terribly for it. He suffers terribly for it. The storms that you experienced the other day were quite tame in comparison to some other breakups, though I believe if I hadn’t put a stop to his…solitude, it may have reached such levels.”

“You worry for him,” she concludes.

“I do. After Calliope, after—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head before trying again. “I did not see him for almost an entire decade. We communicated entirely via letters, and only when absolutely necessary. I tried, believe me, but if it did not concern something vitally important to the realm’s wellbeing, I received no response. Nobody, save his raven at the time, knew where in the Dreaming he had holed himself off. His work was still completed, of course, and new dreams and nightmares were created. But for ten years, he was in such pain that he did not feel like he could face anybody, even me.”

Lucienne’s tone wavers just slightly as she speaks, staring fiercely at the books in her hands, so that her expression is unknowable. Those ten years, Nuala realizes, must have hurt her just as much as they were hurting Lord Morpheus.

“If such a reaction was simply from losing the relationship of a goddess he loved enough to marry, then for both our sakes and his, I hope that he and his soulmate have many lifetimes of love and happiness. I fear that the realm may not survive the rejection of a soul bond.”

So that is it, then. Nuala’s ideas of finding love, crushed. They were foolish ideas in the first place, she knows. Just because she had fancied him since the moment she saw him in 1593 didn’t mean she had some claim over him, that she deserved his love simply by virtue of having waited her turn. But she is a romantic to her very core; how could she not have believed this to be a second chance at making a meaningful first impression, at finally getting a love story that was unable to be tainted by the Court that she had called home her entire life?

Nothing could stand in the way of soulmates, of true love. She doesn’t want to stand in the way of that; why would she, when she still hopes to one day find a soulmate of her own? She will push her own feelings aside, then—just as she’s always done—for the good of the realm, and for the good of Lord Morpheus.

She, unlike the Dreaming and its lord, will surely get over a heartbreak.

•••

The tentative peace she has found from such a decision is, naturally, shattered in a matter of minutes when Lord Morpheus reveals to Lucienne and Nuala that his soulmate is a mortal.

A mortal? It would be far better if she were losing him to a powerful god or goddess, some unfathomable, unfairly beautiful deity whom she would have believed she had no chance of measuring up to. But a human? This must surely be some cruel joke that the Fates are playing on Lord Morpheus, payback for thousands of years of perceived grudges against him and his family. Why would a human be the soulmate to one of the Endless?

The revelation is a dagger to her heart, slaying her like some great beast. She numbly takes the book Lucienne has given to her, halfheartedly going through it as she continues to process the news. Even as her heart breaks, she still tries to be engaged in the tasks at hand. “Sweet Nuala, always so eager to help,” Queen Titania always used to say with a sly, cruel smile as she pawned all manner of undesirable tasks off on her.

Such eagerness to help must simply be ingrained into her very being. She mentally bats away the image of her former queen’s barely hidden amusement and tries harder to focus on the words in front of her, relaying any pertinent information as it comes across the pages.

After the trio makes it through all of the gathered books with little to show for it, Lucienne returns to the shelves in the hopes of finding books that may be more helpful to them than the ones they’ve already looked through, leaving Nuala alone with Lord Morpheus. Where mere hours ago, this would have been a position she was thrilled to be in, now, it’s simply a reminder of what she will never have, and she continues researching to avoid actually having to look at him.

“‘Soulmate bonds can be physical just as much as they are emotional,’” Nuala reads from the book in front of her, the fourth such one she’s gone through, “‘with bonded pairs being known to exhibit symptoms such as longing, an increase of thoughts about the being on the other end of the bond, and a need for proximity that rises the longer a pair goes without seeing each other. In rare cases of a creature bonding with a mortal, such symptoms may be heightened.’ Yet another case of something that may or may not happen, I’m afraid.”

Lord Morpheus sighs. “I fear that lived experiences are all that lies in these books.”

“‘Tis frustrating to be getting nowhere,” she agrees hollowly.

“What does Faerie believe of soulmates, Lady Nuala?” His insistence on continuing to give her a title she no longer has the right to use is much appreciated, and the gesture makes her smile.

“It’s one of the most sacred bonds across all the realms, of course. Every pantheon and plane of existence recognizes and reveres the soulmate bond, every being hoping that one day they’ll find their own. Humans have made deals with a great many fae in the hopes that they’ll be granted their soulmate. That’s not in our power to do, of course; only fate decides how, when, and if a soulmate is found.

“We’re frequently characterized as tricksters—tales say that we purposely obfuscate our speech to capture humans, or that we lure them back to Faerie so that we can have our way with them for what seems like the blink of an eye, as hundreds of years pass in the Waking. For some, that’s true, but they are the minority. Fae revere the soulmate bond. We crave a love that can withstand all of the betrayal, gossip, and deceit of the Court. A love that cannot be ended on the whims of those more powerful than us, who seek only to have a drama or a tragedy play out in front of them for their merriment.”

“You speak as though from experience,” Lord Morpheus notes.

She does. How many relationships has she seen destroyed because Titania was bored, because Oberon decided that he wanted another partner? How many times did she and another Fae begin exclusively seeing each other, only for Titania to suddenly rely heavily on Nuala’s presence by her side because she could not bear to see her happy? “I think it’s jealousy, if I may be frank. Not even Titania and Oberon have a soulmate bond, though you already knew this.”

“I did?” He sounds surprised.

“For Fae, at least, a bond would make a party terribly ill if they tried to seek romantic affection from another party.” 

She is, of course, referring to the affair carried on for some years between him and Titania. That relationship and its end were still the stuff of legend in Faerie; one only had to mention a simple “remember when…” to renew the gossip and amusement that once filled every square inch of their realm.

Matthew appears right as Lord Morpheus begins to be embarrassed at the reminder of that ill-fated entanglement, ending the conversation and instead shifting it to Matthew’s newfound knowledge of the situation at hand. Lucienne returns soon enough, and Nuala finds herself giving…advice on how best to court. Selfishly, she had still harbored hopes that what had been experienced was wrong, that a mortal simply caught Lord Morpheus’s fancy at the wrong time (she believes the modern term is rebound).

But as the group speaks, sharing their own knowledge on the subjects of romance and courting as their ruler listens intently, Nuala can clearly see the burgeoning love and passion that all new soulmates carry within them in the expressive depths of his eyes, in the way he tries not to smile at the reminder that happiness and true love are within reach. Still, she smiles as she speaks. Still, she interacts, giving tips and advice, because it is what she has always done. Put on a brave face, even when inside she’s breaking.

Sweet Nuala. Helpful Nuala. Always putting others before herself Nuala.

///

As weeks pass like clouds drifting in the sky, easily and without stopping, Nuala begins to feel like some semblance of herself again. She throws herself into work, helping wherever Lucienne points her, as well as getting to explore the realm she now calls home. The citizens of the Dreaming are just as varied and colorful as the ones of Faerie, but, for the most part, are much kinder. She finds herself smiling, truly smiling, and laughing more often in the brief time she has lived here than she had for the entire last century back home.

It is easy to forget about the pain of losing a chance at making real a long-held fantasy when the object of said fantasy is scarcely around. Lord Morpheus, Lucienne told her one day when she was helping to shelve a number of new titles, is probably the busiest of the Endless, save for his sister, Lady Death. She has not seen him since that day in the Library, and perhaps that is for the best. At least until the wounds over her heart that she has been harboring scab over and heal.

She’s returning from the gardens carrying a basket of various herbs requested by Taramis, the palace cook, when she hears voices in a small room off the grand receiving hall. Eavesdropping would be a terrible habit to pick up, and she almost keeps walking, but Matthew’s voice stops her. The raven never says anything truly boring, after all, and it would be a shame to miss one of his classic “American-isms,” as Merv calls them.

She peeks into the open door to see Matthew, perched on the back of a mirror and nodding approvingly at Lord Morpheus, who checks his appearance over in the reflective surface. 

“You look great, boss, really! Nothing at all like an all-powerful nightmare king.” Lord Morpheus remains silent, and Matthew looks up, catching Nuala in the act. “Am I right, Nuala?”

Nuala’s cheeks heat up, fair skin surely already turning pink at the embarrassment. But under that, He must be off to see his soulmate in the Waking, then. That would be the only possible reason why he is dressed down in clothes that would not arouse too much suspicion that he is something Other.

Lord Morpheus turns to look her way. “Lady Nuala?”

It takes her a moment to spur herself into action, nodding in agreement with Matthew’s observation. “Very mortal, my lord.”

“See?” Matthew cheers. “You’re overthinking this. Remember, you did just fine the last time! And also, you’re literally meant to be together, which means that your general off-putting nature—sorry, no offense meant—”

Lord Morpheus glares at his raven, but Matthew is undeterred.

“—is probably, like, attractive to your soulmate!”

Once more, the two look at Nuala, seeking her opinion on a matter she wants no involvement in. “I would not use those same words, but the sentiment would be the same. If you are fated to love one another, then your traits and personality are nothing to be worried about.”

Lord Morpheus appraises his reflection once more, then nods ever so slightly. “I should be departing now. Hob is surely waiting for me.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Matthew caws excitedly. The phrase sounds like it’s one that is common among mortals (American mortals, at least), but it is unfamiliar to both her and Lord Morpheus, and Matthew sighs when he realizes this. “Movie reference.”

“Of course,” he says, already reaching for his sand.

“We really need to get a movie section in the Library,” Matthew bemoans as their lord disappears.

“Matthew, do you know anything about Lord Morpheus’s soulmate?” Nuala asks, unable to stop herself from making what is sure to be a terrible mistake.

“A little bit.” He says a name that must belong to you, apparently unaware of the fact that one does not freely offer up names to Fae. “One of Hob Gadling’s—the boss’s bestie—students. They met at the pub that Hob owns. Seems nice, but I didn’t get close enough to actually hear what the lovebirds were discussing.”

“Ah.” 

She immediately regrets her decision to know more. With just a couple of sentences, she is back in the library, the jealousy she worked so hard to tamp down enveloping her once more. There’s a burning in her chest that seems only to grow, and she props the basket on her hip so that she can rub at the skin with one hand. 

“Taramis is surely growing cross with me, the longer I keep her herbs away from her,” she lies. In fact, the chef had told her to take her time, that there was no rush, but right now, Nuala will use any excuse possible to try and put distance between herself and these feelings.

Matthew, thankfully, believes her. “Oh yeah, don’t wanna piss her off! I’ll see ya around.”

She doesn’t return his goodbye, instead marching towards the kitchen and quickly dropping the herbs off in the large pantry, sneaking in through a side door to remain unseen. She cannot stand to see anyone right now, lest they ask how she is and find that she cannot hide the ugly jealousy that has quickly taken over her entire being.

Though now that she thinks on it…

•••

There is only one being in all of the worlds who could commiserate with what Nuala is going through right now, and he is currently staring at her through the mirror—a Fae’s preferred method of interrealm communication. For however vain and airheaded Cluracan can be at times, he’s always, above all, been a good listener. Though she would like to be still upset with him about his knowledge that she would not be returning to Faerie with him, she knows better than almost anybody that it is impossible to say no to the rulers of their realm. When they ask something of you, you do not question it; you simply ask how they would like it done.

“Dear Nuala,” Cluracan greets, only a little surprised by her call. “Something troubles you.”

He knows her too well, just as she does him. “You cannot tell anyone what I am about to tell you,” she says seriously, hearing Lucienne’s request for discretion in the back of her mind. “This is to remain a secret.”

“Yes, yes, this stays between us,” he acquiesces.

“Lord Morpheus found his soulmate,” she reveals.

Cluracan’s eyes light up, jaw dropping ever so lightly in surprise. “You don’t say! Do we know the lucky—”

“His soulmate’s a mortal!” she interrupts, unable to stop the words now that they have started to pour out. “They just…stumbled across each other one day, and that was it. He’s in the Waking right now, having another meeting.”

Cluracan frowns at her unexpectedly harsh manner of speaking. “You’re not happy about it.”

“I have tried to be—those here who know only wish the best for him, and since I’m counted among those, I should as well. Yet, I cannot,” she admits. “I have loved him for hundreds of years, since the moment I first laid eyes on him, and I thought…I thought…”

“But you knew you were not his soulmate, sister.” He is not being rude by saying this; he is merely stating facts. Were they soulmates, there would have been a sign at that original showing of the play that Lord Morpheus had commissioned for Queen Titania.

“No, I’m not,” she agrees. “But nobody believed the Endless could have soulmates. In trying to make the best of my exile, I suppose I believed that prolonged proximity to him and the opportunity for him to get to know the real me could be my chance at a love that, for once, would not be tainted by our court.”

“Oh, Nuala…”

“And now—” she breaks off, scoffing. “A mere child, somebody who knows nothing about the world save for a narrow, mortal view, gets everything that I have ever wanted.”

She’s ashamed that she even feels this way. You cannot help how you were born, and you did not choose to be anybody’s soulmate, let alone Dream of the Endless’s. But right now, her hurt needs a target, and you, the faceless figure in her mind that you are, cannot fight back.

“I am sorry that you are experiencing such hurt,” her brother sympathizes. “Do you want to come home? Enough time has passed that I believe Titania would allow you back were I to petition her.”

For a moment, the thought of fleeing her problems and returning to what she’s always known sounds appealing. Then, she remembers exactly what has made her come to appreciate her new home so quickly in the first place. “No. Besides this matter, I’m actually quite enjoying it here.”

“I’m happy to hear that!” His smile grows softer. “It will get better, you know.”

“I hope so.”

Cluracan shakes his head. “I speak from experience. Do you remember Elowen?”

It takes her a second to put a face to a name, but the memory of a fun, fiery wood nymph she last saw a good two hundred years ago comes to her, and she nods.

“We had only been seeing each other for a couple of years, but I had already started thinking of courting her. I felt that we had a future together, and she told me she felt the same. Then one night, when we were at a harvest festival, another fae walked up to her. He addressed her by name, and much to her and my surprise, she did the same. Soulmates, who intrinsically knew each other’s names before they were properly introduced.”

This new knowledge surprises her; she simply thought that the sparks fizzled out, that her brother had found another pretty thing to chase after, and forgot all about Elowen. “I did not know that was how that relationship ended.”

“I don’t believe anybody beyond the three involved parties does. Except you, now.”

It’s an unexpected vulnerability from Cluracan, and in this moment, it’s much appreciated. She opens her mouth to tell him so, to say that she is sorry for how it ended, for the pain that he must have been in without her knowing. Before she can get a word out, though, he holds up a hand.

“You need not apologize. It was a long time ago now, and I did not tell you this for you to feel sorry for me. I told you this because I want you to know that I truly do understand how you are feeling, and that I know for certain that one day, you will not hurt as you do now.”

“In that case, I will take your words to heart.”

“As you should with everything I say,” he declares airily. Suddenly, the sentimental moment is over, and he is back to the annoying, lofty brother she has always known and loved. “Now, tell me all that you enjoy of life in the Dreaming! Your friends, your enemies, what life is like as a member of the staff and not as part of a court. I’m quite curious.”

Nuala happily obliges and finds that the more she talks, and the more she remembers all that there is to look forward to in her new life, the waves of jealousy begin to abate slowly.

•••

With nothing but opportunity in front of her, Nuala decided to start with a project that served both as sustenance and enjoyment. It was all too easy to convince the pumpkin-headed Mervyn to set her up with a small patch of land, seeds of her choosing, and the necessary tools. Though almost everyone warned her that the groundskeeper was brusque and hard to get along with, those warnings went unheeded. Having always made friends everywhere she went since she was a wee thing toddling after her brother and his friends and trying desperately to keep up, she simply saw such warnings as a challenge. Sure enough, after only a few conversations, she managed to break through his rough exterior and find…a personality that was still rough, but one that was willing to show her where to find the materials she was searching for and give her free rein of her new garden with only a “I’m not cleanin’ up after ya, kid.”

Many of her kind looked down on physical labor, especially so when almost everybody had some sort of nature manipulation in their arsenal. After all, there was no need to mess up a fresh manicure when one could just wave a hand and make their favorite blossoms appear. But in a world of superficiality, Nuala enjoyed such efforts. Having to hone her skills with time and practice—actually doing the work of tilling, planting, watering, and weeding by herself—made the payoff just as sweet as the scent of the flowers she cultivated. 

In Faerie, her little garden was her escape from the stifling court, a secret hideaway that only she knew about. Though she’s only been in the Dreaming for a few days, she knows that this will not be hidden out of necessity. Now, she can enjoy gardening simply as a hobby, and as another way to make herself feel like she’s actually a contributing member of the staff.

Nuala’s hunched over one of the neat little rows of dirt she’s created, carefully dispersing violet seeds that will hopefully bloom in a variety of purples, when a shadow forms above her and blocks out the sun. For a moment, she worries that the bad weather of two days ago has returned. One of the palace’s staff, The Fashion Thing, sighed heavily when asked about the phenomena and explained that the weather in the Dreaming was directly tied to the Dreamlord’s emotions; as a result, deafening thunderstorms with rain like she hadn’t seen since before Faerie closed their realm off from the mortal world reflected the heavy emotions that Lord Morpheus was experiencing after Queen Nada left for the Waking. But the weather cleared almost as swiftly as it arrived, and there had been no signs of it returning.

When she looks up, she’s met not with darkening thunderclouds gathering, but with the figure of Lucienne, the Dreaming’s librarian (and, as she was fast learning, Dream of the Endless’s right-hand woman). Under her strict adherence to formality, Lucienne was actually quite friendly and had immediately set about making Nuala feel useful in her new role. Though she smiles politely, there’s obvious stress in the ramrod straightness of her posture and the way that her fingers tap on a ledger she’s holding.

“Hello, Nuala. Are you busy at present?” Lucienne inquires.

“Not at all.” Nuala stands and wipes her hands on her trousers (another aspect of life in the Dreaming that she’s quickly coming to enjoy—getting to wear trousers!) to clean any remaining dirt. “What can I do for you?”

Lucienne hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out her next steps. “How good are you at keeping secrets?”

Nuala raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “I served in Queen Titania’s court for centuries.”

That answer is self-explanatory, and she nods with a flash of a small smile. “That you did. In that case, I require the discretion that you’ve surely honed over such time.”

“Of course.” Lucienne turns on her heel and begins to walk towards a door leading inside, Nuala hurrying along to keep pace with the fast-moving librarian. “Might I ask what the matter is?”

Lucienne remains silent as they continue their journey, long enough that Nuala begins to wonder if she went unheard. At the entrance to the library, however, she stops, looking the Fae in the eyes.

“It would appear that Lord Morpheus has…well, found his soulmate.” Dismay drips from her tone, though Nuala knows not why. 

“Oh!” She says, startled. It’s all that she can think to say as her ears begin to ring, heart pounding even faster than usual until she can practically feel it against her skin. A soulmate? Lord Morpheus has a soulmate?

“I am retrieving titles for him related to the subject, and will need your help in both carrying them and going through them,” Lucienne continues, unaware of Nuala’s emotional turmoil. 

Nuala blinks a couple of times when she notices Lucienne waiting for her response, hoping to kickstart her brain into remembering how to speak. “Yes, I—I can help.”

“Good,” she says absentmindedly, mind already on what she’ll need to look for now that she’s secured help. “Follow me.”

And so she does, trailing down countless aisles that all seemingly look the same, but that the one leading her knows better than anyone. As Lucienne peruses titles and separates them into stacks, piling one in Nuala’s arms and the other in her own, her previous words continue to toll like a bell inside Nuala’s head. 

Soulmate. Dream of the Endless has a soulmate, one whom he discovers almost immediately after Nuala becomes a resident of the Dreaming. The news is bitter medicine on her tongue, coating her insides and refusing to let her forget it.

“I was unaware that the Endless could have soulmates,” Nuala finally speaks when Lucienne’s searching seems to be nearing an end, her voice only barely betraying her.

“We were all unaware, including the Endless.” Lucienne’s tone is clipped, as though this is going to end up being a mess that she will have to clean up.

“You do not seem pleased by the news.”

Lucienne sighs, and when she turns to look at Nuala, there’s a heaviness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “It is not that I am displeased. In fact, if this is true love, then I am quite happy for them both.”

It’s quite obvious that this is not the end of what she wants to say, yet silence hangs overhead as she once more thinks about how she would like to say what she wants to say, ever the pragmatist. “But?” Nuala prompts.

“But I have been there for almost every one of Lord Morpheus’s romantic entanglements. I have watched as new love has burned brightly, and been a witness to breakups just as fiery. Every time, the relationship inevitably ends, and every time, the realm suffers terribly for it. He suffers terribly for it. The storms that you experienced the other day were quite tame in comparison to some other breakups, though I believe if I hadn’t put a stop to his…solitude, it may have reached such levels.”

“You worry for him,” she concludes.

“I do. After Calliope, after—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head before trying again. “I did not see him for almost an entire decade. We communicated entirely via letters, and only when absolutely necessary. I tried, believe me, but if it did not concern something vitally important to the realm’s wellbeing, I received no response. Nobody, save his raven at the time, knew where in the Dreaming he had holed himself off. His work was still completed, of course, and new dreams and nightmares were created. But for ten years, he was in such pain that he did not feel like he could face anybody, even me.”

Lucienne’s tone wavers just slightly as she speaks, staring fiercely at the books in her hands, so that her expression is unknowable. Those ten years, Nuala realizes, must have hurt her just as much as they were hurting Lord Morpheus.

“If such a reaction was simply from losing the relationship of a goddess he loved enough to marry, then for both our sakes and his, I hope that he and his soulmate have many lifetimes of love and happiness. I fear that the realm may not survive the rejection of a soul bond.”

So that is it, then. Nuala’s ideas of finding love, crushed. They were foolish ideas in the first place, she knows. Just because she had fancied him since the moment she saw him in 1593 didn’t mean she had some claim over him, that she deserved his love simply by virtue of having waited her turn. But she is a romantic to her very core; how could she not have believed this to be a second chance at making a meaningful first impression, at finally getting a love story that was unable to be tainted by the Court that she had called home her entire life?

Nothing could stand in the way of soulmates, of true love. She doesn’t want to stand in the way of that; why would she, when she still hopes to one day find a soulmate of her own? She will push her own feelings aside, then—just as she’s always done—for the good of the realm, and for the good of Lord Morpheus.

She, unlike the Dreaming and its lord, will surely get over a heartbreak.

•••

The tentative peace she has found from such a decision is, naturally, shattered in a matter of minutes when Lord Morpheus reveals to Lucienne and Nuala that his soulmate is a mortal.

A mortal? It would be far better if she were losing him to a powerful god or goddess, some unfathomable, unfairly beautiful deity whom she would have believed she had no chance of measuring up to. But a human? This must surely be some cruel joke that the Fates are playing on Lord Morpheus, payback for thousands of years of perceived grudges against him and his family. Why would a human be the soulmate to one of the Endless?

The revelation is a dagger to her heart, slaying her like some great beast. She numbly takes the book Lucienne has given to her, halfheartedly going through it as she continues to process the news. Even as her heart breaks, she still tries to be engaged in the tasks at hand. “Sweet Nuala, always so eager to help,” Queen Titania always used to say with a sly, cruel smile as she pawned all manner of undesirable tasks off on her.

Such eagerness to help must simply be ingrained into her very being. She mentally bats away the image of her former queen’s barely hidden amusement and tries harder to focus on the words in front of her, relaying any pertinent information as it comes across the pages.

After the trio makes it through all of the gathered books with little to show for it, Lucienne returns to the shelves in the hopes of finding books that may be more helpful to them than the ones they’ve already looked through, leaving Nuala alone with Lord Morpheus. Where mere hours ago, this would have been a position she was thrilled to be in, now, it’s simply a reminder of what she will never have, and she continues researching to avoid actually having to look at him.

“‘Soulmate bonds can be physical just as much as they are emotional,’” Nuala reads from the book in front of her, the fourth such one she’s gone through, “‘with bonded pairs being known to exhibit symptoms such as longing, an increase of thoughts about the being on the other end of the bond, and a need for proximity that rises the longer a pair goes without seeing each other. In rare cases of a creature bonding with a mortal, such symptoms may be heightened.’ Yet another case of something that may or may not happen, I’m afraid.”

Lord Morpheus sighs. “I fear that lived experiences are all that lies in these books.”

“‘Tis frustrating to be getting nowhere,” she agrees hollowly.

“What does Faerie believe of soulmates, Lady Nuala?” His insistence on continuing to give her a title she no longer has the right to use is much appreciated, and the gesture makes her smile.

“It’s one of the most sacred bonds across all the realms, of course. Every pantheon and plane of existence recognizes and reveres the soulmate bond, every being hoping that one day they’ll find their own. Humans have made deals with a great many fae in the hopes that they’ll be granted their soulmate. That’s not in our power to do, of course; only fate decides how, when, and if a soulmate is found.

“We’re frequently characterized as tricksters—tales say that we purposely obfuscate our speech to capture humans, or that we lure them back to Faerie so that we can have our way with them for what seems like the blink of an eye, as hundreds of years pass in the Waking. For some, that’s true, but they are the minority. Fae revere the soulmate bond. We crave a love that can withstand all of the betrayal, gossip, and deceit of the Court. A love that cannot be ended on the whims of those more powerful than us, who seek only to have a drama or a tragedy play out in front of them for their merriment.”

“You speak as though from experience,” Lord Morpheus notes.

She does. How many relationships has she seen destroyed because Titania was bored, because Oberon decided that he wanted another partner? How many times did she and another Fae begin exclusively seeing each other, only for Titania to suddenly rely heavily on Nuala’s presence by her side because she could not bear to see her happy? “I think it’s jealousy, if I may be frank. Not even Titania and Oberon have a soulmate bond, though you already knew this.”

“I did?” He sounds surprised.

“For Fae, at least, a bond would make a party terribly ill if they tried to seek romantic affection from another party.” 

She is, of course, referring to the affair carried on for some years between him and Titania. That relationship and its end were still the stuff of legend in Faerie; one only had to mention a simple “remember when…” to renew the gossip and amusement that once filled every square inch of their realm.

Matthew appears right as Lord Morpheus begins to be embarrassed at the reminder of that ill-fated entanglement, ending the conversation and instead shifting it to Matthew’s newfound knowledge of the situation at hand. Lucienne returns soon enough, and Nuala finds herself giving…advice on how best to court. Selfishly, she had still harbored hopes that what had been experienced was wrong, that a mortal simply caught Lord Morpheus’s fancy at the wrong time (she believes the modern term is rebound).

But as the group speaks, sharing their own knowledge on the subjects of romance and courting as their ruler listens intently, Nuala can clearly see the burgeoning love and passion that all new soulmates carry within them in the expressive depths of his eyes, in the way he tries not to smile at the reminder that happiness and true love are within reach. Still, she smiles as she speaks. Still, she interacts, giving tips and advice, because it is what she has always done. Put on a brave face, even when inside she’s breaking.

Sweet Nuala. Helpful Nuala. Always putting others before herself Nuala.

///

As weeks pass like clouds drifting in the sky, easily and without stopping, Nuala begins to feel like some semblance of herself again. She throws herself into work, helping wherever Lucienne points her, as well as getting to explore the realm she now calls home. The citizens of the Dreaming are just as varied and colorful as the ones of Faerie, but, for the most part, are much kinder. She finds herself smiling, truly smiling, and laughing more often in the brief time she has lived here than she had for the entire last century back home.

It is easy to forget about the pain of losing a chance at making real a long-held fantasy when the object of said fantasy is scarcely around. Lord Morpheus, Lucienne told her one day when she was helping to shelve a number of new titles, is probably the busiest of the Endless, save for his sister, Lady Death. She has not seen him since that day in the Library, and perhaps that is for the best. At least until the wounds over her heart that she has been harboring scab over and heal.

She’s returning from the gardens carrying a basket of various herbs requested by Taramis, the palace cook, when she hears voices in a small room off the grand receiving hall. Eavesdropping would be a terrible habit to pick up, and she almost keeps walking, but Matthew’s voice stops her. The raven never says anything truly boring, after all, and it would be a shame to miss one of his classic “American-isms,” as Merv calls them.

She peeks into the open door to see Matthew, perched on the back of a mirror and nodding approvingly at Lord Morpheus, who checks his appearance over in the reflective surface. 

“You look great, boss, really! Nothing at all like an all-powerful nightmare king.” Lord Morpheus remains silent, and Matthew looks up, catching Nuala in the act. “Am I right, Nuala?”

Nuala’s cheeks heat up, fair skin surely already turning pink at the embarrassment. But under that, He must be off to see his soulmate in the Waking, then. That would be the only possible reason why he is dressed down in clothes that would not arouse too much suspicion that he is something Other.

Lord Morpheus turns to look her way. “Lady Nuala?”

It takes her a moment to spur herself into action, nodding in agreement with Matthew’s observation. “Very mortal, my lord.”

“See?” Matthew cheers. “You’re overthinking this. Remember, you did just fine the last time! And also, you’re literally meant to be together, which means that your general off-putting nature—sorry, no offense meant—”

Lord Morpheus glares at his raven, but Matthew is undeterred.

“—is probably, like, attractive to your soulmate!”

Once more, the two look at Nuala, seeking her opinion on a matter she wants no involvement in. “I would not use those same words, but the sentiment would be the same. If you are fated to love one another, then your traits and personality are nothing to be worried about.”

Lord Morpheus appraises his reflection once more, then nods ever so slightly. “I should be departing now. Hob is surely waiting for me.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Matthew caws excitedly. The phrase sounds like it’s one that is common among mortals (American mortals, at least), but it is unfamiliar to both her and Lord Morpheus, and Matthew sighs when he realizes this. “Movie reference.”

“Of course,” he says, already reaching for his sand.

“We really need to get a movie section in the Library,” Matthew bemoans as their lord disappears.

“Matthew, do you know anything about Lord Morpheus’s soulmate?” Nuala asks, unable to stop herself from making what is sure to be a terrible mistake.

“A little bit.” He says a name that must belong to you, apparently unaware of the fact that one does not freely offer up names to Fae. “One of Hob Gadling’s—the boss’s bestie—students. They met at the pub that Hob owns. Seems nice, but I didn’t get close enough to actually hear what the lovebirds were discussing.”

“Ah.” 

She immediately regrets her decision to know more. With just a couple of sentences, she is back in the library, the jealousy she worked so hard to tamp down enveloping her once more. There’s a burning in her chest that seems only to grow, and she props the basket on her hip so that she can rub at the skin with one hand. 

“Taramis is surely growing cross with me, the longer I keep her herbs away from her,” she lies. In fact, the chef had told her to take her time, that there was no rush, but right now, Nuala will use any excuse possible to try and put distance between herself and these feelings.

Matthew, thankfully, believes her. “Oh yeah, don’t wanna piss her off! I’ll see ya around.”

She doesn’t return his goodbye, instead marching towards the kitchen and quickly dropping the herbs off in the large pantry, sneaking in through a side door to remain unseen. She cannot stand to see anyone right now, lest they ask how she is and find that she cannot hide the ugly jealousy that has quickly taken over her entire being.

Though now that she thinks on it…

•••

There is only one being in all of the worlds who could commiserate with what Nuala is going through right now, and he is currently staring at her through the mirror—a Fae’s preferred method of interrealm communication. For however vain and airheaded Cluracan can be at times, he’s always, above all, been a good listener. Though she would like to be still upset with him about his knowledge that she would not be returning to Faerie with him, she knows better than almost anybody that it is impossible to say no to the rulers of their realm. When they ask something of you, you do not question it; you simply ask how they would like it done.

“Dear Nuala,” Cluracan greets, only a little surprised by her call. “Something troubles you.”

He knows her too well, just as she does him. “You cannot tell anyone what I am about to tell you,” she says seriously, hearing Lucienne’s request for discretion in the back of her mind. “This is to remain a secret.”

“Yes, yes, this stays between us,” he acquiesces.

“Lord Morpheus found his soulmate,” she reveals.

Cluracan’s eyes light up, jaw dropping ever so lightly in surprise. “You don’t say! Do we know the lucky—”

“His soulmate’s a mortal!” she interrupts, unable to stop the words now that they have started to pour out. “They just…stumbled across each other one day, and that was it. He’s in the Waking right now, having another meeting.”

Cluracan frowns at her unexpectedly harsh manner of speaking. “You’re not happy about it.”

“I have tried to be—those here who know only wish the best for him, and since I’m counted among those, I should as well. Yet, I cannot,” she admits. “I have loved him for hundreds of years, since the moment I first laid eyes on him, and I thought…I thought…”

“But you knew you were not his soulmate, sister.” He is not being rude by saying this; he is merely stating facts. Were they soulmates, there would have been a sign at that original showing of the play that Lord Morpheus had commissioned for Queen Titania.

“No, I’m not,” she agrees. “But nobody believed the Endless could have soulmates. In trying to make the best of my exile, I suppose I believed that prolonged proximity to him and the opportunity for him to get to know the real me could be my chance at a love that, for once, would not be tainted by our court.”

“Oh, Nuala…”

“And now—” she breaks off, scoffing. “A mere child, somebody who knows nothing about the world save for a narrow, mortal view, gets everything that I have ever wanted.”

She’s ashamed that she even feels this way. You cannot help how you were born, and you did not choose to be anybody’s soulmate, let alone Dream of the Endless’s. But right now, her hurt needs a target, and you, the faceless figure in her mind that you are, cannot fight back.

“I am sorry that you are experiencing such hurt,” her brother sympathizes. “Do you want to come home? Enough time has passed that I believe Titania would allow you back were I to petition her.”

For a moment, the thought of fleeing her problems and returning to what she’s always known sounds appealing. Then, she remembers exactly what has made her come to appreciate her new home so quickly in the first place. “No. Besides this matter, I’m actually quite enjoying it here.”

“I’m happy to hear that!” His smile grows softer. “It will get better, you know.”

“I hope so.”

Cluracan shakes his head. “I speak from experience. Do you remember Elowen?”

It takes her a second to put a face to a name, but the memory of a fun, fiery wood nymph she last saw a good two hundred years ago comes to her, and she nods.

“We had only been seeing each other for a couple of years, but I had already started thinking of courting her. I felt that we had a future together, and she told me she felt the same. Then one night, when we were at a harvest festival, another fae walked up to her. He addressed her by name, and much to her and my surprise, she did the same. Soulmates, who intrinsically knew each other’s names before they were properly introduced.”

This new knowledge surprises her; she simply thought that the sparks fizzled out, that her brother had found another pretty thing to chase after, and forgot all about Elowen. “I did not know that was how that relationship ended.”

“I don’t believe anybody beyond the three involved parties does. Except you, now.”

It’s an unexpected vulnerability from Cluracan, and in this moment, it’s much appreciated. She opens her mouth to tell him so, to say that she is sorry for how it ended, for the pain that he must have been in without her knowing. Before she can get a word out, though, he holds up a hand.

“You need not apologize. It was a long time ago now, and I did not tell you this for you to feel sorry for me. I told you this because I want you to know that I truly do understand how you are feeling, and that I know for certain that one day, you will not hurt as you do now.”

“In that case, I will take your words to heart.”

“As you should with everything I say,” he declares airily. Suddenly, the sentimental moment is over, and he is back to the annoying, lofty brother she has always known and loved. “Now, tell me all that you enjoy of life in the Dreaming! Your friends, your enemies, what life is like as a member of the staff and not as part of a court. I’m quite curious.”

Nuala happily obliges and finds that the more she talks, and the more she remembers all that there is to look forward to in her new life, the waves of jealousy begin to abate slowly.

•••

When Tommy closed his eyes his mind was full of fantasies that could never be realised. Tommy had always been bold, he met you at a fucking fairie bar for god sake, but taking this any further felt wholly irresponsible. What could you do? Both get married to women and secretly fuck on the side? Was that a relationship? As he lay there in the dark on the cold hardwood floor with a bottle of whiskey next to him, Tommy had to consider what he was waiting for.

All this rage and sadness had been building up in him for a while and all he wanted was to fester in the rot it had created. Tommy wanted to fucking hate you, call you a 'bohemian' and move on with his life without you. But your light brought him out of the rot, it made him feel safe and loved and important beyond where he ever thought it could. As he considered all his options Tommy had to think of losing the strange fucked up connection you had. It made his body feel cold, as if he was on the slab and about to be cut into, what was the point of all of the life he had left to live if he was drowning? His own self doubt was pulling him deeper and deeper under the water, it would snake around his ankle to root him in place. So complacent in his own self sabotage that he allowed himself to think he could love you.

There was a sudden banging at the front door to the offices and Tommy sighed, at this point he would take an armed gunman over this fucking mess. Almost too nonchalantly he picked up his handgun and checked it was loaded before heading towards the door.

“Tommy! I need to talk to you. Your car's still here so I know you're in there!” You yelled as you rapped on the door. The unexpected downpour soaking you and your bag through as you shivered on the doorstep to his office. Silently you cursed yourself for forgetting a hat.

“Why are you here?” Tommy asked through the door and in an annoying sense you had to ask yourself the same question. But no, you needed to talk about this.

“I need to talk to you, I'm private. It's fucking pissing it down please let me in.” Your voice was regrettably pathetic but you did feel like a wet rat and had nowhere to stay.

As the door opened your throat grew dry even as the rain peppered your face with droplets, your hair soaked through and hanging over your forehead haphazardly. He looked beautiful as always but perhaps not at peace. There was a darkness to his eyes as he opened the door and then walked back into the building not seeming to spare you a look. You took a deep breath and pushed your hair back before following him inside.

The click of the lock seemed to bring Tommy out of whatever trance he was in, he turned around and ran a hand down his face before thrusting it into his pocket. The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you placed down your bag and shifted awkwardly between your shoes.

“Why did you come?” His voice was strained and it felt as if he might let out a sob at any moment.

“I was staying at a friend's.” Was all you said because your throat wouldn't let you get out any more words before you coughed.

“Fuck me, came back all this way with that groundbreaking news?” Tommy glanced at you with a sad smile.

“I know, Tommy.” It felt so simple in those three words, you still hadn't decided how you felt about it all but you needed to see that recognition in his eyes. But all he did was slowly walk into his office leaving the door ajar for you.

“What have you magically figured out then?” Tommy asked with his back to you, pouring two whiskey’s as you closed his office door behind you and leant against it.

“Do you know a woman named Mae Carlton?” You anxiously fiddled with your coat buttons.

“She trained my horse.” Tommy replied and you couldn't help but notice how he answered all too quickly as if he had been anticipating the question.

“And that's all, eh?” You picked up one of the whiskeys before sitting in one of the leather armchairs facing Tommy's desk.

“What were you expecting me to say?” He turned towards you but could only hold your gaze for so long before he too turned to sit in the armchair parallel to yours. Your heart sank and your eyes felt somewhat watery but at the very least you got an answer, even with it's vague nature it was easy enough to read Thomas when he wasn't trying to hide his emotions.

“You must have known that we knew one another.” Looking towards him he sighed.

“Not at the start, the way I met you was so uncalculated, same with Mae. But, in time I realised quite quickly.” There seemed to be a thread of shame that ran through Tommy's words as he admitted them.

“And you chose to continue fucking the two of us without any communication? If you realised quite quickly why in God's name didn't you stop?” Taking a long sip of your whiskey you craved the cold rain patterning your face with forgiving droplets. The constant tapping down the window felt like a metronome counting down the moments until this all ended. The silence truly was awful, there was a strange ringing sound in your ears as the silence stretched on and you refused to break it.

“I couldn't stop. Not if I wanted to stay sane anyways. If I stopped seeing you I would lose my mind in despair and, if I stopped seeing Mae I would lose any hope of feeling like a real man.” Tommy held the scotch glass on his leg and looked up at the ceiling again. Your chest ached with the heavy weight of shame placed upon it years ago by your own identity. It had never felt like it could or would ever go away

“Why don't you care?” You paused looking expectantly at Tommy even though you knew there was nothing he could say. “Why am I still here?”

“You know, in the back of my mind I've killed you. I've got to the point where this is all too much and I can't bring myself to look at you without feeling shame.” Tommy turned his head to face you as he gripped his whiskey glass much too tight and his eyes welled up.

“I might be your shame but I know that I'm also the only real joy you've felt. We all know, every man that lives our existence knows there's hardly any chances we get.” You pulled out your cigarette case and lit one before breathing out smoke in his direction.

“You want to talk about fucking joy? What about the neverending shame I feel when we're apart? How, I know we’re on borrowed time at best and that one of these days it's going to have to end? You have no right to bring up the struggle of men like us when we have no right to be this way!” Tommy exclaimed, standing up and walking to the window.

“You're so terrified of what you are that you'll push away any thought of happiness no matter how momentary! You seriously expect me to believe that your own self importance is what stands in the way of you accepting that someone cares for you? Truly cares for you on a level that no woman ever could.” You stayed sitting, concerned that approaching him would be akin to cornering a scared dog who would lash out.

“Self importance? Its self preservation! How am I a man if I'm more concerned with my own fucking feelings than what's right?” He turned around, finished his whisky and returned to the leather armchair to pour another.

“We're past what's right. Maybe I'm a fool for chasing someone, pretending that they love me because it's all that will keep me sane but I know it's not in my head. When you look in the mirror do you ever acknowledge what you are? That you love a man and you'll never love a woman no matter how hard you try, no matter how many you fuck.” Some of what you said felt marginally vindictive but you couldn't cope with the lies. He wanted to act as if nothing had happened, that you were business partners and nothing more. That he hadn't cried in your arms after such a vulnerable moment, that he hadn't bared his soul to you.

“You act like you know me inside and out, that through all this crazy shit we've got to know each other's history or anything of substance. But we've just been fucking, plain and simple.” His eyes were full of tears with none of them falling, he sniffed and lit up a cigarette. Leaving you sitting there with a sinking feeling, you knew he was lying that was obvious enough but did he really want to push you away so badly?

“I can't fix your hurt, I can't sort everything out but Jesus, I can't get you out of my mind. I tried, Tommy. I've been trying this whole time to understand why you push me away so viciously. But I don't understand the point? You fuck Mae to feel like a man, say that you'll go insane if you're not with me but call it all just a fuck? No matter how much you mince your words and try to hurt me I know it's all a facade. In reality you're a person who's terrified of being too much for me, or for any man.” You sat up on your chair, blowing smoke in his direction. Your eyes steeled in his direction as you prepared for the onslaught of insults.

“I beg you to tell me the fucking point. If I hate you, if I love you. It's all the same outcome because this can't go on forever. No matter how deluded you are, we cannot be with each other.” Tommy looked as if he would stare right into your soul and through you. You took a deep breath and braced yourself to leave

“I wish I could be yours but fuck, you're not even comfortable enough in yourself to accept that living a lie will make you happier than fucking a woman in a loveless marriage. Men like us are used to shame, our existence is shameful but I know you won't be able to leave it behind. Maybe it won't be me,” standing up you walked over to Tommy and took his jaw in your hand. “But I know that the rays of divinity you feel when another man holds your cock is too much to resist.” Dropping his jaw, you picked up your suitcase. Turning to walk out of that room and away from Tommy forever but, he caught your hand.

“Take it off,” he whispered as he started hurriedly pulling at your blazer. You looked at him for a second as he began undressing you, considering your options.

“What do you want, Tommy?” You took hold of his jaw again and slid your hand down to his neck before placing your suitcase down on the floor.

“You, please.” He closed his eyes and you let go of his neck as he sank to his knees.

Tommy scrabbled at your trousers buttons, suddenly clumsy and anxious with a level of submission you didn't expect. As he looked up at you, you were convinced you could die right there with this man below you. The pseudo control you had over this situation was tempting, Tommy stopped you from leaving, he initiated this interaction. But he let you believe you were in control, Thomas Shelby was many things but giving up control was not in his repertoire.

“You're so beautiful.” He whispered as he came up for air, panting slightly. But all you did was smirk before pushing him back onto you, holding his head there for a moment before letting go. The string of spit that started at his mouth and ended at your cock made the image all the more enticing.

It wasn't long before you came, Tommy swallowed and wiped his mouth much like you had not too long ago. The two of you stared at one another for a moment, hands slowly linking down at your sides as you considered leaving one another. It didn't feel possible in your mind, he was a fucking mess, you were a liability, but what was this if not love? The pain of considering leaving Tommy was enough to bring tears to your eyes, even after being so ridiculously vulnerable with one another.

“I can wait for you.” You said quietly as your foreheads pressed together.

“You shouldn't have too.” Tommy whispered as he gripped your hands tighter, his body beginning to shake.

“But I will. Thomas, I- there is no point in my life where I will not want you. You would haunt me, the love I could never have but I wanted with every fiber of my being. I can't say goodbye. I won't say goodbye I can't…” a stray tear blurred your vision and Tommy kissed your hand still clasped in his.

“I don't know what to do with any of this, with the shame or the worry or any of this shit.” His usual precise thought process wasn't reflected in the jumbled mess of that sentence but his stress certainly was. Could he love you as you love him?

“We can be with one another at this moment for a while. Just tell me you love me and that everything will be okay.” Your voice was so small you were scared he wouldn't hear the emotion in your voice. But Tommy lifted up your jaw so incredibly softly, staring at you with equally teary eyes.

“I love you.” He breathed and you pulled him so close and tight to you that you feared you might fuse together. Turn into one soul and never have to worry about being separated from one another again.

“I love you.” You whispered close to his ear before closing your eyes and praying for a better tommorow.

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