12. The Balance

Carrying two hot toddies, Micah stuck his foot first through his tent flap. He left behind a blazing fire ringed in by Folk dancing to ukulele and piccolo music. He didn't have to duck when inside the tent anymore, and their limestone walls were almost complete. There were now multiple jars of faerie lights hanging from wire hooks across the thatched ceiling, casting a warm flickering glow inside.

Andrew sat in the middle of all their blankets in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, hugging his knees to his chest with his head down.

"Andrew? What's wrong?" Micah set the mugs on the stump they used as a nightstand. Next to the mugs was the honeysuckle delicately placed under a bell jar in a tiny vial of water.

Clambering through the blankets, he lowered Andrew's knees so he could see his face. A blank expression cloaked Andrew's features as he limply allowed Micah to shift his body.

"Sorry. I'm fine," Andrew said quietly.

Micah sat cross-legged with his knees pressed against Andrew's. "Liar. I know your face when you're dissociating. Everything goes slack."

Andrew dropped his forehead on the heel of his hand. "It would be better if I didn't talk about it."

"Oh, you think so?" Micah tipped Andrew's chin up with one finger. "Did that help this summer, when you started getting suicidal and didn't tell anyone?"

A growl rumbled from Andrew's chest as he moved his chin. "Leave it."

"I can't. I'm entering my era of annoying you into talking about your feelings." Micah folded himself sideways to catch Andrew's eye again. Annoyance was evident in the crease in Andrew's brow, but that was better than no expression at all. It brought a smile to Micah's face as he took Andrew's hand in his and traced his nails along the skin of Andrew's wrist.

Then Micah frowned, spreading Andrew's fingers on his palm. "Wait. Why are your hands all chapped? They weren't like this earlier today."

Andrew tried to pull his hands away but Micah held on. His chest labored as Micah's grip thawed him out and all the images started flashing in his mind again. "I still see all your blood. I feel it on my hands. I've been washing them and washing them, and yet…" He started to curl up again, but Micah climbed onto his lap so he couldn't. The pressure on his legs helped, actually, and he started to be able to feel his skin again as he clutched Micah's shoulders. Face pressed to Micah's neck, Andrew breathed in the scent of somber spruce and twilit meadows. His senses told him Micah was still alive, but… "I still feel like you're dying."

Micah's stomach flipped with unease. "I'm so sorry."

"How am I supposed to get over that? It's such a relief we saved you. But…you were almost dead in my arms." As if to reassure himself, he flattened his hands against Micah's shoulder blades so he could feel the healthy rise and fall of his lungs and the thumping of his heart.

Micah stroked Andrew's hair and kissed the crown of his head. "I guess on the dying end I don't know how scary it all was. I got…really calm. Kind of felt like I was floating."

Cringing, Andrew blinked back tears and shook his head. "It was horrid. It was a nightmare but it was really happening and I…it keeps replaying in my head."

Micah ran a strand of Andrew's hair between his fingers. The caress softened the intensity of Andrew's panic, bringing down his heart rate. When Micah noticed it working, he used both hands to smooth Andrew's hair, pressing his lips to the hinge of his jaw, sliding Andrew's hands beneath his sweatshirt against bare flesh.

"Did you know," said Micah, voice gentle, "that honeysuckles stand for undying true love?"

Andrew snorted as he gripped Micah's warm hips. He leaned their foreheads together. "Of course they do." With a faint smile, Andrew glanced over at the stump and saw the mug. "Is this a hot toddy?"

"Yeah. I sent Gwynn down the street for some whiskey. You like Jameson, right?" Micah climbed partway out of Andrew's lap as he struggled out of his sweatshirt. He tipped himself off balance and flopped onto the bed with his arms stuck over his head. Laughing, Andrew helped free him from his shirt. Micah sat back up, blushing, and Andrew stuck his hand in Micah's hair and messed it up a bit more.

Picking up the mug and wrapping both hands around the warm clear crystal, Andrew took a careful sip and sighed as it burned down his throat. "Splendid." He offered it to Micah, who took a drink himself.

"Mm, splendid." Micah faked an accent, and Andrew pinched his nose in response.

They sipped quietly for a few minutes, listening to the revelry outside the tent, faint as it was becoming as the limestone walls blocked most of it out. Soon enough, their shelter in Lilydale was going to be a substantial little home, albeit very different from the brownstone on Saint Claire.

When Cirrus shattered the wall, that sense of safety was shattered with it. For more than just him and Micah, Andrew suspected. No paranoia could stop the Folk from song and dance and feasting, but whenever a hush fell over them, it was tense and watchful.

"Here's the problem." Andrew's voice was raw. "We set out on this doomed meeting with the witches to identify who broke the wall. Right?"

"Yes. And Cirrus made the mistake of bragging about it and showing where Chami's arrow hit her. She also had to have gotten my blood ward from your apartment when she was hanging out with Sam."

"Right," said Andrew, "and she and Sophie were obviously the ones who invaded your dreams."

"Yeah. Fortunately Sam didn't seem involved. They must have just used his image." Micah's fingers ghosted over his neck as he remembered the ghastly version of Sam in his nightmare.

"Right. That's a conversation with him and I for later."

"Sure."

Andrew continued, "So, at this doomed meeting, we determined it's Cirrus who has been targeting us. Now, yes, your back is healed. But who escaped the restaurant unscathed, without consequence, very much with the upper hand?"

Silent, Micah blew steam off his cup, eyes downcast.

"Cirrus is an evil little girl." Andrew's chapped hands curled into fists. "She's an evil girl who wants to take everything that's not hers and bring us all down with her. She deserves to die." He paused. "I want to kill her, Micah."

Micah winced. "C'mon, babe…"

"This isn't just your choice." Anger seeped through the cracks in Andrew's voice. "I can't bring back the part of me that died today when I thought I was going to lose you."

Still staring at the knitting in the blanket under them, Micah started to say something.

Andrew didn't let him. He said sharply, "I think you should have let Ingrid kill her."

Micah's eyes flashed. "You're wrong."

Indignant, Andrew began, "But if—"

Micah raised his hand. "No, listen to me, Andrew."

Offended, Andrew immediately clamped his mouth shut. His cheeks flamed red.

"I let Ingrid kill someone not even six weeks ago," Micah said, firm but calm. "It's what got us into this feud with the witches in the first place. Ingrid thinks I'm being a ‘pacifist' relative to her, and my mother. But I'm not, actually."

Andrew remained silent, staring at his drink.

"And if your instinct is always going to be to wreck shit and get revenge, Andrew, then you and I are going to struggle over that," Micah added frankly. "That simply isn't an option for me."

"What's wrong with wanting to fight for you?" The fire in Andrew's voice softened to glowing coals.

Quieter, Micah said, "I know in your case you're being protective, and passionate, and I like that. I don't want you to care less." Micah squeezed Andrew's fingers, successfully smoothing over Andrew's wounded spirit. "But I'm trying to be strategic. I'm trying to be balanced. If we take life that we shouldn't, then things tip against us. It's the only truth I've ever known. Okay?"

Andrew nodded, silent. Liath had told him the same thing last month. He just didn't like it.

Micah finished, "So, no, I shouldn't have let Ingrid kill Cirrus."

Andrew mustered a soft, "I'm sorry." He ran his tongue over his lips. "You're right, about balance. And I knew that. I just…got so scared."

Frowning, Micah sipped his drink before swallowing audibly. "Ingrid is hot-headed. She steps into violence immediately, and that might be fine in a domain like my mother's was, but we don't have the luxury to cut everyone down here. There's houses not even half a mile east of us. We're small and we have to play nice with the powers around us." He set his mug back on the stump. "But you are right. Nothing regarding Lilydale is just my choice. Not if we're going to keep our tiny slice of magic on the bluffs alive."

"We will. It's survived here this long."

Looking down, Micah opened and closed his mouth. He swirled a finger around the rim of his teacup.

"What is it?"

"I'm going to give my notice at To a Tea tomorrow."

"Wow." Andrew's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Micah said with some bitterness, "The more I come into my magic, the more magic I'll attract. It isn't fair to keep playing pretend, showing up to make bubble tea when I'm not busy with whatever madness is going on up here."

Andrew said nothing for a moment, nodding faintly and pursing his lips. "You just seemed to like it there."

Micah nodded. "I do. I'll stay on part time to train my replacement and make sure I can cover bills for the brownstone."

"There isn't a mortgage?"

He grinned sidelong at Andrew and scraped his fingers through his hair. "Chami actually paid it off for me last week. Apparently she hoards currency too."

Andrew snorted. "Naturally."

"But be warned, because she claims the trade-off is that she can show up whenever she wants and cause mischief. She says there's some buttons of yours she's been eyeing."

Andrew groaned.

Grinning, Micah kissed Andrew lightly until he made him smile.

"I had a wedding idea," said Andrew. "When you said this little slice of magic. Why don't we have the ceremony in Cherokee? It'll be cold, but…Folk can come and go discreetly. We don't have to rent out a space, because parks only require a fee in the summer. And we can come back here for a…whatever idea of a reception we want."

Micah didn't hesitate or break eye contact. "Yes. It's perfect." The corner of his lips quirked, dimpling his cheek.

"Cool." Andrew grinned.

"It is cool, babe." Micah crawled across the blankets and kissed the column of Andrew's neck, pulling down his sweatshirt collar to nip at his collarbone.

"I had another thing," Andrew said as Micah pushed him down onto the blankets so his red hair spread beneath him like a corona. His hand sliding up under Andrew's sweatshirt, Micah pressed a kiss to the corner of Andrew's lips with a distracted hum. Andrew's firm stomach shivered under Micah's roaming hand.

"I want to take your last name," Andrew said, gasping softly.

Micah froze. Pulling back to survey Andrew's intensely dark gaze, the words settled like a warm and cozy rabbit in his heart. "Aw." Micah bit his lip. "Really?"

Nodding, Andrew traced his fingers over Micah's shoulder blade, the faint impressions left on Micah's skin from his magically healed wound. "I want to be free of the last thing I have in common with my father. I want to be Andrew Stillwater."

Letting out a breath that descended into a ragged growl, Micah gripped Andrew's hips with both hands. "Yes, please."