2. The Run

The sky was an empty gray and the air was warm in Cherokee Park. Andrew loped along with Fionna, who wore her wolfskin. Wearing tightly laced running shoes and compression leggings under his Columbia jacket, Andrew ran with the ease of experience and well-developed stamina. Fionna's tongue lolled out between her savagely sharp fangs, her ears swiveling eagerly.

Behind them, Micah huffed and puffed as he tried to keep up, his face bright red with cold and exertion. The closest he had to running gear was a windbreaker and striped joggers with Nikes that were rubbing painfully into his heels, unfamiliar beneath the soles of his feet.

"You're not even out of breath!" exclaimed Micah. "We've been running for like, an hour!"

Andrew glanced at the screen of his watch. "We're at six minutes."

Micah cried out and stopped with his hands on his knees, dropping his head. "This is the worst! Why do you like this?" Fionna bounded up to him and leaned her weight against the back of his legs. Micah moaned tremendously but allowed her to nudge him forward.

Andrew laughed. "I love running. Running computers, running from trauma." He slowed down. "It's about all I did in college." He touched the small of Micah's back, which was warm and damp. "Now, you told me you'd complain, but I wasn't allowed to let you stop."

"Past me is an idiot!" Micah yelled to the heavens. He dragged his feet and they continued around the back curve of Cherokee Park with little to their western side but the skyline, and the bluffs sloping toward the river. "Why couldn't we do more strength training? I'm getting muscular!"

"Oh, trust me. I've noticed."

"Flattery will do nothing for these blisters."

Fionna shot into the underbrush to chase a squirrel, her tail a flag straight over her back. Andrew sharply yelled in Irish, "Stad!" and Fionna froze, whining. "Not here." Andrew's feet tramped in sync with Micah's on the salted pavement. A man walking with a stroller gave Fionna a particularly long look, prompting Micah to give him a charming smile that had the man flustered and blushing as he scuttled away. Fionna turned to watch the stroller, her tail thumping and her canine tooth poking out goofily through her lip. Andrew glared at the eager gleam in Fionna's eye and cautioned, "Aon cailín." Her golden gaze slid to him with a disgruntled glare, and Andrew nodded in satisfaction and started off again. Not quite before Micah managed to pinch his rear and elicit a yelp of surprise that had Micah giggling. They both picked up their pace, Fionna settling begrudgingly between them on silent paws.

The best part about running with Andrew was the look on his face. Rarely did he look so at ease. Rarely did his cheeks have that pleasant redness, rarely were his shoulders so straight, or the lines of his face so smooth. Micah used that expression to bolster himself and briefly he was able to forget that he should have let Andrew go running alone like he usually did.

Micah tried to distract himself with wedding plans so he'd focus less on the burning of his throat or the pressure building in his temples. It worked for a few moments, but as his heart kept pounding, it turned from exertion to anxiety that prickled along his shoulders and concentrated in his athame scar. He glanced again at Andrew, debating on what he could say, or should say, or how stupid he would look if he bailed on their run.

Andrew's dark gaze shifted off the path and found Micah's face. "You all right?"

"Um—"

Fionna suddenly crashed forward between their legs, tripping them both. A wet, snarling growl broke from her jowls and all her hackles rose along her spine like tawny thorns. She stopped with her narrow snout pointing toward the cluster of bare trees and dead, drooping underbrush.

Blood pounded in Micah's ears, deafening. Andrew gripped Micah's wrist in his right hand and unsheathed his seax from its holster between his shoulder blades, crossing it over them so the black blade glinted in the gray light. Warily, they stepped off the path into the thin, dirty layer of snow and the shadows of the forest.

"The oak." Micah's whisper caught around his heart in his throat.

Fixed to the bark of an oak tree, a naked action figure had been painted black and tied up with twine. It had a sprig of stiff-looking hair sprayed bright kelly-green. A wilted lily hung from it, orange petals drifting down to the muddied snow among the roots. Bound with the lily was a small bleached bone.

"The hell is that?" Andrew muttered, stepping into the underbrush to inspect the object closer. He held his sword out first, probing, like the whiskers on a cat.

"Don't—don't touch it." Micah lifted both hands, stomach clenched. "It feels…disgusting."

"It feels like a threat." Andrew tapped the point of his sword against the bone, which clacked drily against the bark of the oak with a cursed sort of rhythm.

"Against me," Micah murmured.

Andrew straightened, brow furrowing. His profile was sharp and serious as he surveyed the area around the oak tree, looking for footprints or other indicators of how the doll had been arranged. Interrupting their tense silence came the grating caw of a crow. Andrew looked up into the branches of the oak and met its beady black as it shuffled its sleek feathers.

Fionna threw off her wolfskin. She jumped for the lowest branch in the tree and scrambled up toward the crow with a war cry. Branches and dead leaves rained down below her. The crow rasped angrily and flapped off into the sky. Fionna straddled a branch and peered down at them, her heavy brows furrowed over golden eyes.

Her coarse voice tumbled down from the heights like a rockslide. "Bad for Micah."

As Andrew fixed Micah with his harrowed gaze, Micah grimaced, scraping his hair off his brow and grinding his cheek between his molars. "Shit."

Fionna suddenly tipped off the branch and fell in a tangle of limbs and snapped branches. She yelped in alarm, Andrew and Micah both lunging to catch her. The girl landed in their outstretched arms but squirmed free of them, thumping onto the dirt and rolling off her back as she pulled on her wolfskin. The men stepped back slightly as Fionna shook herself vigorously, her hackles still spiky on her back as she tottered on her feet. Whining, she swiped her paw furiously over her snout and shook her head.

"Fionna?" Andrew said loudly. He exchanged a glance with Micah and said, "We need to get away from here."

Micah nodded. "C'mon, Fionna. Walk, darling."

Fionna lifted her large head, her black lip parted slightly over her sharp fangs, drool stringing off beneath her maw. She stumbled forward, away from the tree.

"Can you take off your wolfskin?" Andrew asked hurriedly, heart in his throat. "Let me carry you." Not looking at him, Fionna lunged at Micah, snapping sharply at his knee. Micah leapt away and then stepped quickly further back, onto the trail, his expression going blank. It was still impossible not to notice, however, that Micah crossed his birchwood staff protectively in front of himself. Andrew crouched and looped his arms around Fionna's chest, her damp fur overwhelmingly smelly and somehow off, some kind of smoky grunge rising off her coat that wasn't there before. He dragged her away from the tree and said again, "Wolfskin!"

When his sneakers hit the trail, Fionna obliged. She dragged off her wolfskin and clung to Andrew with both her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him as he hauled her off the ground and against his chest. As soon as he had a hold on her, Andrew took off at a run from the tree with the doll hanging off it, heading back toward Lilydale. He heard Micah's feet pounding on the pavement behind him. When they were out of sight of the accursed oak tree, Fionna's grip on Andrew loosened and she lifted her head off his shoulder. Her face was wet and smeared with snot and tears, but her eyes were clear and focused.

Andrew skidded to a halt, leaning her back on his hip, wiping her face with his sleeve. "What happened?" he asked her. "You tried to bite Micah."

Fionna's face crumpled. She slid off his hip and onto the ground, hurrying to Micah right behind him and flinging herself around his waist. "Sorry," she wept.

Micah blinked, his gaze still dark indigo as he patted the girl's hair. "I'm not hurt," he assured her. He fussed with the zipper on his purple windbreaker, glancing up at Andrew before looking back at the girl. "Did you want to bite me?"

Fionna shook her head urgently. "No, no!"

"What happened, then?" asked Andrew again.

Burying her face in Micah's windbreaker, Fionna cried, "Witches!"

The once-borrowed tent where Andrew and Micah took up residence in Lilydale had transformed into a sturdy, nearly completed brick house with a thatched roof. The Folk had a few rows of bricks yet to add but it was a far cry from the canvas-sided cone it had been that first night when Micah had been injured. An ornate Persian rug spread out over the limestone ground, banishing the chill from the space. Next to the doorway, a driftwood bookshelf was bursting with gifts the Folk had given them. Deeply personal, unique trinkets welcomed Andrew and Micah to Lilydale. Stone earrings, turkey feather quills, pearlescent hair beads, and handsome handmade parchment kept appearing at their door. It made Andrew almost happy to return there, though this complete transformation of his life continued to surprise him. He often thought about that first journey into the bluffs seven years ago by himself, what he'd expected the Folk to be like with their poisonous flowers. He wasn't that far off. He just didn't think he'd end up getting along with everyone quite this well.

Andrew unfolded a leather satchel tied with thick dyed twine and tenderly touched the wooden staves inside. Maeve, a solitary dryad who lived in Lilydale when she wasn't traveling, had gifted Andrew the staves last year for his birthday. She hadn't offered him an explanation, just handed him the satchel and climbed into a knotty hole in a willow tree to go to sleep.

There were twenty twigs each roughly finger-sized, burned with a variety of tic marks long and short that comprised an ancient alphabet used in Ireland called Ogham. Each symbolized a different type of tree, each with a different spiritual meaning. Much like other divination methods, Andrew had played around with layouts to create different types of readings to serve his purposes.

Much in the same way that the birchwood staff felt familiar to Micah, so did the twenty staves Andrew was using. Micah could confidently identify each of the twenty different trees used to make them. The branches smelled different—rowan had a sharper, more lethal smell than the cheery sweetness of the apple tree stave, the holly branch like a winter breeze whereas the yew tree felt like autumn. It made Micah wonder if his sense of smell was all that different from an animal, but it seemed only so finely attuned for plant life.

Running the tip of his tongue over his slender lips, Andrew glanced up. The faerie lights toyed with the color of his eyes, so they turned to syrupy amber each time he blinked or looked away, slipping to midnight black when his brows shadowed them. On the cross sectioned stump that made up their low table, he indicated three columns. "My reading will focus on insight around Emotion, Spirituality, and Physicality."

Micah nodded, legs tucked into his chest, resting his chin on his knee. He liked seeing Andrew this focused; he practically had an aura right now, faint maple-hued light rebounding off his pale skin. Even his voice sounded different, coarse like shale but as insubstantial as a whisper of wind in leaves.

Andrew blinked as Micah's orchid-tinged eyes swirled lighter and lighter almost to periwinkle. With a curl of his lips, Andrew pinched Micah's nose. "Hey. Focus."

Swatting his hand away, Micah scowled at the ceiling. "I refuse to apologize for admiring you."

Andrew cleared his throat, looking at his staves and pretending they both didn't know he was blushing. He gathered up the staves, rolling them gently in his palm, sinking his pelvis into the limestone floor, which was hard and unforgiving even under the thick rug. Sitting so close to the stone was helpful for grounding, though, physically and spiritually. He rolled his agate across his knuckles, smooth and cool as if his fingers dipped into the relentless waves of Lake Superior. The clatter of the goblins' cauldron traveled through the gaps in their walls like the sounds wanted to become waves striking iron ore cliffs.

He blinked open his eyes, shaken by just how far away he'd suddenly become. Awestruck, Micah stared at him across the table with slightly parted lips. Andrew had looked like stone for a moment, rusty red and sharp, but then the illusion had faded. Andrew rolled his shoulders back with a little scoff, blinking a few more times.

"Something you learned Up North?" Micah inquired, admiration obvious in the way his hazel cheeks rose to crinkle his eyes.

"Um—I guess. Close your eyes," Andrew said firmly, partly to deflect the strangely magical moment dangling between them on a string of unanswerable questions. Micah obliged, making Andrew pause to admire the sweep of his long green lashes against his supple cheeks. And in the tight, slightly sheer tee that Micah was wearing, his nipples were pert and his abdominal muscles swelled as he took in a deep breath. This blasted man made it just as impossible for Andrew to stay grounded now as he had when they first met. Bothered in more ways than one, Andrew pushed his shoulders back and then lifted Micah's wrist to set his hand on the staves.

"Choose your first."

Micah's fingers trailed over the branches as confidently as if he was fluently reading Braille. The air around the staves became charged, making the hairs on the back of Andrew's hand stand on end.

"Wait, wait." Andrew snatched the staves back. "Can you tell which branch is which?"

Micah's eyes stayed closed, but his lips twitched as he tried to fight a smile. "No."

"Bah." Andrew pushed his hand back and then shut his own eyes as he slid the staves onto the table. His fingers closed on the first just as he felt the tickle of his loose hair brushing against his throat. Eyes snapping open, he flinched away from Micah's reaching hand which was about to clasp the side of his neck. "Micah! Do you want me to help or not?"

"Oh, yes," said Micah, shameless, gaze unwavering. "I want you."

With a scornful sigh, Andrew covered the staves with a corner of the satchel. Micah's smirk faltered briefly before Andrew reached across the table and hauled him closer with a fistful of shirt. Micah growled as he came to him, their lips crushing together with breathless fervor and their chests and thighs close behind.

Andrew tipped over, landing on his back with Micah caging him in between flexing biceps. Micah caught Andrew's hand within his own and pinned it over their heads while he stooped to graze his lips along Andrew's throat, nipping his jaw. Andrew purred beneath his touch, digging his fingers into Micah's hip when their mouths found each other again.

Andrew caught Micah's lower lip between his teeth and tugged until Micah moaned and released his other hand only to get tangled up in Andrew's hair. Andrew gave him a push toward the bed and sat up as he sucked on the balsam-scented skin of Micah's muscular neck.

They clambered onto their cinder block bed frame, which was deceptively plush and luxurious all things considered. The bed absorbed their hardly stifled moans as their tongues danced and hands roamed. Andrew tore off Micah's shirt, scraping his hands across the antlered bobcat tattoo as if he could collect the magic beading within the inked lines. Micah rewarded him with a devilish grin and his thigh slotted between Andrew's legs, the pressure of which sent shivers down Andrew's arms as he slid his eyes closed and twined around Micah's muscular leg.

Huskily speaking around a gasp of pleasure, Andrew said, "You know what you get when you irritate me." Then he sank his teeth into Micah's pectoral, but the sound that resulted was anything but agonized. Andrew lapped at the wounded flesh with his tongue but then bit him again right below his collarbone, delighting in the goosebumps that rippled out across Micah's chest.

Micah flipped Andrew easily onto his stomach and pulled him free of his bottoms, using his lips and his teeth to push up Andrew's shirt before planting a line of kisses up his neck and onto his jaw. He let himself out of his own pants and gave Andrew barely a chance to suck in a breath before entering him, lifting up his hips as he did so. Tears sprang into Andrew's eyes, which were closed as he covered his own mouth to muffle himself.

Micah slowed down as soon as he saw the tears, drawing Andrew's back against his chest and kissing the dot of salt on his cheek in an apology. Twitching against Micah, Andrew grabbed his hand and guided him down his navel and beyond, unbothered, urging him on with a half-formed word that was nevertheless clear in its meaning. They found an all-consuming, rocking rhythm, only interrupting it when Micah flipped Andrew once more. He enjoyed how much easier it was now to throw the lithe, skinnier man around after this month of strength training, and Andrew's cry of delight said that he enjoyed it too. Hooking Andrew's knees through his elbows, Micah leaned down as he thrust forward, sucking on Andrew's porcelain, freckled chest before making his way up to crush their mouths together as they reached the crescendo.

Soon after, they collapsed onto the blankets, shining with sweat, hair sticking to cheeks and foreheads but laughing with their noses touching, panting hot clouds against each others' faces.

"It's the biting," Micah said by way of apology. "You don't do it often enough."

"I'd have thought you had enough pain this month," Andrew rasped.

Micah shook his head. "That's not pain."

Andrew nodded, brushing his hair off his cheeks before sighing and flopping onto his side. "I can relate."

Micah pushed onto his elbow, kissing Andrew's collarbone. "Sorry for the intermission. I'll pay better attention now."

Ochre eyes glittered. "Oh, will you now?" Expression softening, Andrew trailed a finger across Micah's damp brow, unsticking his mossy hair from his skin and running the pad of his thumb over the bristles of his eyebrow. He swallowed, his throat dry and hoarse. "It's all right. I think it's this hut. Sex is great wherever we have it, but this place…this bed…it's ours."

Micah's eyes gleamed lavender as he leaned into Andrew's hand. "The whole future is ours, little fox." The nickname wasn't one Micah used for him very often, and only then in private. But it had lost its sting since Ingrid called Andrew that in his apartment before they went to the Redwoods. "Let me get you some water."

Micah climbed over him and yelped when Andrew pinched his ass. He helped Andrew upright and pressed his lips to his sweat-salty shoulder, neck, and jaw while Andrew drank deeply from their steel water bottle. Andrew passed him the bottle when he was finished before slipping the glittering black hair tie from Ingrid off his wrist to bind his hair in a messy bun. As soon as he put his hands down, Micah tugged the tie back out and gripped a fistful of his auburn hair, tilting back Andrew's head to graze his teeth against his throat, grinning when Andrew groaned in annoyance and pushed him off.

"Let me try braiding it," said Micah as he reached for Andrew's hair again. Andrew stuck his elbow into Micah's bare stomach before scooting off the bed and to his feet.

"After," said Andrew. "I think we should do this stave reading."

"I can multitask," Micah whined.

Shaking his head, Andrew held out his hand for the hair tie. Instead of giving it back, Micah caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, not missing the goosebumps that made the deep red hairs on Andrew's freckled arm stand on end. Andrew shivered, pulling at his hand that remained fast in Micah's grip. Grinning over his fingers, Micah relented with a sigh. He let him go one finger at a time, and then finally slid the hair tie onto his pinky.

"Chaotic man," Andrew grumbled as he pulled back on his underwear and pants. Micah looked wildly unapologetic, a satisfied smirk on his shining lips as he watched Andrew dress before slowly following suit. When Andrew sat back down on his knees at the table, he tugged Micah down behind him and held the hair tie out for him between two fingers. Micah purred appreciatively and picked up Andrew's boar bristle brush from their little stump nightstand, gentle as he teased out the tangles he'd made there himself. Andrew allowed the soothing rhythm to help him find his center again. He was about to close his eyes when the flap to their tent burst open.

Fionna appeared in the opening, her tawny hair up in twin buns that were speckled with tiny white flowers. "Cosmos says they heard," she said expressionlessly, likely referring to the pixie who did her hair.

Andrew's eyes widened. Micah stifled a snicker.

"We all heard!" someone—it sounded like Chamomile—called over the trill of several accompanying wolf whistles. Andrew felt his ears heat up.

"Then finish the walls already!" Micah shouted, laughter in his voice.

Fionna sniffed the air, glanced at the bed, and then shrugged indifferently. "Can I run with Cosmos outside?"

Leaning his forearms on Andrew's shoulders, Micah watched him silently, yielding.

"Do you think she'll be all right, after this morning?" asked Andrew softly.

"In the bluffs? She couldn't be safer," Micah answered with a nod.

Andrew glanced at a cuckoo clock on the bookshelf, taking a moment to calculate. "Have her back before dusk!" he called.

"Yes, Uncle Fox!" returned Cosmos's musical voice.

Fionna gave a hop of excitement. She scrambled over to Andrew and licked his temple despite how he cringed. Looking up at Micah, she pawed his cheek with her fingers, grinned, and then turned and trotted out of the tent.

Andrew dropped his face into his hands, but relaxed when Micah gripped his shoulders and kissed the curve of his ear.

"All right," Micah murmured. "We've been side-tracked long enough." He leaned his hips against Andrew's back and resumed brushing his hair until he felt Andrew grow heavier against him as the remaining tension melted away. As Micah clumsily began braiding, Andrew let out a long breath, shut his eyes, and ran his fingertips over the staves.

He placed three of them on the table before him while Micah hummed and focused on his auburn locks. Andrew took three more measured breaths before he looked down at the table, hunching slightly, Micah easily echoing the movement so he didn't pull his hair.

Andrew gently rolled the stave on the left so he could see the mark etched in the chunk of wood whittled flat. "Emotion is Beith. Birch," he said, laughing. He moved onto the middle, already with its mark faceup, smiling again. "Spiritual is Duir, oak." Andrew paused over the third stave, his shoulders tingling. Micah's fingers stilled as if he sensed the same thing. As Andrew turned it so the mark faced up, he saw it pointed away from him, reversed. He bit the inside of his cheek as he said more slowly, "Gort. Ivy."

"Why does that scare you?" Micah asked quietly.

"Gort reversed is…inhibited growth," Andrew said, choosing his words carefully. "Life, or…or spirit, being threatened."

"The fuck?" Micah muttered. "Isn't the third spot Physicality?"

"Aye," Andrew agreed.

"Is that talking about what's already come to pass?" Micah reached back and clutched the healing athame wound. The scar felt tender still, stinging as he rolled his shoulder.

Andrew shook his head. "It should be future-oriented." He swallowed and looked up, watching Micah's ribs expand and a muscle jump in his jaw. Grasping Micah's hand, Andrew pointed at the middle stave and said more lightly, "Duir is for leadership, though. You're coming into your own."

"Great…" Micah sounded dubious, eyes on Gort.

"Sometimes the message isn't very literal," Andrew assured him, rubbing Micah's pronounced knuckles. "It could be a metaphorical threat. The doll." He paused and then added, "I'm not an expert, either. The trees speak to you more than me."

With a resigned sigh, Micah nodded and tapped the first stave, the chunk of birch. "What about my little birchwood friend here?"

"Ah." Andrew grinned, lifting Micah's hand to plant a kiss on his wrist. "Beith—for emotion—is new, joyful beginnings. Prosperity, overcoming challenges, symbolizing love magic and union."

"Stop!" Micah cried, hugging Andrew's neck. "How perfect."

Laughing, Andrew nodded and nuzzled his arms. "Literally our marriage is your emotional waypoint. Whatever else is in store, let that guide us."

Kissing his temple, Micah sank onto the floor next to Andrew and sighed heavily, touching Gort again.

Sobering, Andrew offered, "We can talk to Ingrid. Tell her about the doll."

Micah picked up the piece of ivy, rolling it between his fingertips, considering. Finally, he shook his head. "Not yet. I…part of me wants to, yes. Because she's my big sister that can fix everything." He tapped the piece of ivy against the piece of oak. "But shouldn't I deal with this on my own? It's my mess with Diana and those bitches, so really what we should do is figure out a plan ourselves. Especially if Fionna's somehow at risk."

Andrew nodded. "Okay." He chewed on his thumbnail, staring at the Ogham symbols for so long his eyes went blurry.

Micah paused. "Do you think I can do it?"

Andrew's gaze sharply returned to his fiancé, whose skin was molten bronze and hair was seaglass beneath the faerie lights. "What? Yes. Obviously."

"It isn't obvious." Micah grimaced. "I handled nothing in the Redwoods, Andrew. I was powerless. And when we settled here, I was a disaster. I hardly made it through school. Hardly got the brownstone." He shook his head slightly. "This is all new to me. Having to handle shit."

"Good thing you aren't alone," Andrew said quietly, cupping Micah's cheek.

Eyes bright with restrained tears, Micah nodded, covering Andrew's hand with his own. There were days when he was younger that Micah wouldn't have believed that anyone would want to see him grow. That they'd prefer to see him fall. His life was so different now, especially since they started spending nights in Lilydale this last month. He could hardly recognize it. "Good thing."

Later in the day, the temperature was too warm for it to snow, but too cold to hold off the precipitation, turning everything to wet sludge. Andrew slid through slush towards Magic's Repair to put in a few hours of work with Sam, wearing a thin wool jacket over one of Micah's trendy hooded sweatshirts in hot pink.

When he pulled open the red door to the shop, Sam looked up from where he sat on the counter talking to a head of platinum blond hair. His companion lifted her head.

Outraged, Andrew yelled, "Gross! I remember you."

The heavyset woman narrowed her dark eyes lined with thick black makeup. "Oh, yeah!" She sneered. "The lame old man."

Andrew planted his fists on his hips. "Super lame of me to be pissed at you for stranding Sam in Lilydale by himself."

"What's the big deal? You know your way around there plenty, don'tcha?" She winked.

Sam was blotchy red from his forehead down to his neck. "Cirrus and I have just kept running into each other…it felt like fate, I guess?"

"Bummer though that he's still stuck with you," Cirrus said sweetly. She wore a black sweater dress accessorized with platform sneakers. Andrew hoped she would faceplant in the street in those shoes.

He sneered at her, "And what do you have going for you? ‘Permanently stuck in your goth phase?'"

Cirrus straightened, crossing her arms and swaggering up to Andrew. She was so short it was as if she'd grown horizontally rather than vertically, like run-over chewing gum.

Glaring up at Andrew, she said to Sam, "Looks like I'm gonna go. Don't want this guy's bad vibes spreading to me." She shuddered and made a flicking motion at him. "Begone."

Andrew scowled at her as he watched her leave the shop in a cloud of incense. His boot squeaked as he turned his scowl on Sam. Very deliberately not looking at him, Sam resumed quietly working on a programming project on the iMac. Andrew gave him a growling sigh. "Come on, Sam. We live in the second largest city in the state. You can't find someone else to chill with?"

Sam glared at him with unexpected heat. "Andrew, you're hardly ever here. Why do you care who I'm hanging out with?"

Andrew grimaced. Sam slumped into his desk chair, heaving a ragged sigh, guilt tugging his lips down.

Andrew came around the counter and sat down in his chair next to him, the leg under him squeaking as he turned to face Sam. "You're right."

Arwen jumped onto the counter under his arm, twining her tail around Sam's neck and purring deeply in her chest. Sam mumbled something and tapped on his keyboard, eyes glassy with tears.

"And I haven't been helping with orders as much," Andrew added. "And that's unfair. This is my business and I can't dump it on you. At least not without your consent." Arwen padded up to Andrew and touched her nose to his.

"I mean, Micah got stabbed." Sam's voice was barely louder than his clacking keys. "It's a good reason to take a leave."

"But still." He reached out to scratch Arwen's chin but she dodged away, retreating to Sam's other side. Andrew tried to pretend like that didn't sting.

Sam lifted his head and stared at the ceiling tiles. "You just don't realize how boring being a human is till you're seeing all the crazy shit that happens to magical people like you."

Andrew sat back and blinked. "I'm not magical."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Because non-magical people effortlessly bond with shapeshifting wolves."

Pausing a moment, Andrew let a small sigh out his nostrils. This was his first time realizing that maybe Fionna wouldn't have attached herself to just anyone she met in the woods. Shaking off the odd feeling the thought prompted, Andrew scooted his chair so he could bump their elbows together. "You're an outstanding guy, Sam. But Cirrus?" He curled his lip. "A big old dick."

Sam shot Andrew a quick and halfhearted glare. "You can be too, you know."

"Ouch." Andrew rubbed his neck. "Fair point."

Sam clicked his mouse and murmured, "I have to keep making friends. You're marrying a faerie prince. You're not gonna be around here forever."

Andrew leaned his cheek on his fist. He had a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but he sensed that wasn't Sam's point.

Sam took a short breath, more like a gasp than a sigh. "Can you look over this code for me before I execute?"

"For sure. Did you finish the Karan order?"

"Yeah. There's a new one you can start, the Franklin file."

"Roger that." Andrew wheeled over to Sam and started tapping down through his program file. Sam let him sit with their arms touching, and Andrew hoped that was enough for now.