#...ugh. and despite all this which I feel remains a perfectly sound argument... I still feel guilty for condemning it entirely

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Christmas without Miracles

I’ve fallen a bit behind on my contributions to @drawlight’s Advent Calendar, but behold!

One fic using two prompts so I feel less guilty!

This one takes place in the early 1800s. No specific location - just isolated, outside of England, and cold.

This is supposed to be a few years before the 1862 argument, but if you want to headcanon a universe where this happens instead of the 1862 argument, that’s cool, too.

06 - Sleigh Bells/07 - Silent Night (2,630)

Snow had started to fall.

Just lightly, each white flake twisting down from a sky dark with clouds.

All the usual nighttime noises – insects, animals rustling in the undergrowth, even the wind in the trees – were silenced. Just the gentle hush of snow accumulating, molecule by molecule.

Aziraphale knew he should be inside. There was a fire blazing in the hearth, the cabin bright and warm and empty. Two of the three would be an improvement on what he had out here, standing on the porch, looking across the rolling, tree-dotted hills.

Cold. Empty. Silent.

He hated the silence most of all.

--

Crowley didn’t hate snow, so long as he didn’t have to travel in it.

Walk, and your boots filled up with snow.

Ski, and you looked ridiculous anywhere outside the Alps. And in them, too.

Riding a horse was out – if he went the rest of eternity without ever sitting on one of those again, he’d be happy.

But anything with wheels was also out – carriages and wagons and carts could barely handle clean city streets.

Trains were good, if the tracks were cleared, but so far Hell had not been interested in his proposal to build a train line that stopped at every human residence in the world. Which was fine, that had only been semi-serious, anyway.

The only remaining option was to use some form of sled.

He glared at the…sled? Sleigh? Whichever. It was small, just enough room for one person, or a small pile of supplies, to sit in it the seat, but whoever drove it had to stand behind on the runners. It was pulled by some kind of long-maned pony or very small horse that looked like it had its own ideas about who was in charge.

The bridle and reins were covered in bells.

“Do you have one without the bells?” he asked, not even really hoping.

“Nope,” the man said with the cheerful joy of one who knows he has the transportation market cornered for the next few months. “Those bells let people know you’re coming even when they can’t see you. And anyway, they keep off the evil spirits.”

“So I’ve heard.” Crowley reached over and flicked a finger at one of the large silvery bells.

Chk-chk-chk

The whole line jingled, sending shivers up and down his arms, settling at the back of his neck.

He hated that noise most of all.

--

Too many frivolous miracles.

First, a letter full of such threatening language that only a trek through a revolution-torn city to find his favorite pastries – as well as a not-quite-chance encounter with a certain demon – had been able to calm him down again.

Then, a commendation. Congratulations on performing your job perfectly as always.

And now, a “meditative retreat” – five months alone to think about what he should and shouldn’t be using his powers to achieve. No miracles allowed.

A month and a half in, he’d decided – he hadn’t the faintest idea.

Take the most simple of duties: sometimes, he was assigned to keep a person safe.

Did that mean use a miracle to stop them from being injured? Or to heal them afterwards? Or was he supposed to guide them, miracle-free, as if he were another human? Do what seems best, he’d be told, but what seemed best to him never seemed best to anyone else.

Or protecting himself – his corporation, rather, since Aziraphale’s true self was rarely in danger. Could he use a miracle to avoid a dangerous situation? Heal himself from an injury? Was his body the same as a human body, or less valuable? Was all this a waste of Heaven’s resources when he could simply get a new body? How many miracles were equal to one body, anyway?

Questions he shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t have to ask. He should just know. Angels received their orders, obeyed them, and chose the best course of action, because that’s what angels did.

Angels weren’t supposed to get confused.

But Aziraphale did. All the time. What did that make him?

--

Crowley preferred to do everything by miracle.

Need new clothes? Manifest them.

Need money? There it is.

Food? Never bothered to learn to cook. When he was hungry, he pulled fully prepared meals out of the nearest cupboard.

Hell rarely tracked exactly what he did, as long as he could demonstrate evil had been accomplished.

But they did track where he was, using miracles. It didn’t do to be more than a few miles from where you were supposed to be.

This wasn’t anywhere near Venice, which was a pity, because he’d rather like to be in Venice right now.

He stared around the bakery. “I don’t know. Just get me several things that are hot and edible.” He had a list, but it wasn’t helping. “Do you have a…stuffing? Or butter?”

“You can get butter from the general store,” the baker’s wife offered, putting together his packages.

“No. The shop person said they didn’t have any dairy.”

“He just meant milk and cream. They’ll have butter, and cheese if you want it.”

Crowley dragged the heel of his hand across his forehead. He’d lived in agricultural societies. He knew perfectly well that butter and cheese were both dairy. “Fine. I’ll go back. How about the stuffing?”

“You’ll want to make your own.”

“Really don’t.”

“I can give you a family recipe!” She started writing in pencil on the brown wrapping of one of the packages. “You’ll need ground beef, sausage…”

A few minutes later, Crowley opened the door to the bitter cold wind outside, making all the bells in the wreath jangle up and down his already-raw nerves.

Chk-chk-chk

He paused, cracked his neck, and kept walking.

--

Aziraphale finally had to return to the cabin, as the snow had piled up higher than his feet.

Only a single room – wood stove, table and benches, rug; there was a bed even though he didn’t sleep, a few pots and pans even though there was no food. 

No chair. No books. Well, one book.

Gabriel had left him a journal, and pen and ink. Encouraged him to write down his thoughts.

Aziraphale thought best when he was reading, talking, engaging with someone or something. For the first few weeks, he’d talked to himself a lot, arguing with the empty room, having mock conversations, even reciting poetry he had memorized.

But slowly the oppressive quiet had settled across his soul. And he found himself picking up the pen to write –

What? What could he write about? His doubts? His confusion? What would he even say?

When it got to be too much, he tried drawing, sketching out what he could see. That helped a little, but once he’d scribbled down images of the room, the hills outside, the one tree he liked to walk to…well, he was back to the same dilemma, what to write?

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to list a few questions. Just so he could think about the answers.

--

Chk-chk-chk

The door of the last shop slammed behind Crowley, bells clattering. Shaking his head to clear it, he checked his list one more time. It looked like he had everything, though the ink was already smudging where snowflakes fell on it.

He settled the packages into the sled, tucking a blanket all around them, and pulled up the collar of his coat against the biting wind.

“Better leave room for yourself,” said the kid.

Crowley looked him up and down. Seventeen or so, son of the man who had rented him the sled and horse. He was supposed to drive it out and return with it.

“Nope. I’m driving, you’re staying.”

“That’s not how this works. We only have a few, and we need to be able to get supplies out in an emergency –”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Crowley handed over a pile of money. “This should cover the sled and the horse, in case I don’t come back. Plus a bit. Give it to your dad.” He considered the kid another moment. “You have, I don’t know, a girl you like? Boy? Anything?” The kid tried to give him a stubborn, blank look, but some of that pink wasn’t just from the cold. “Whatever, not my business.” Crowley handed over the rest of his money, saving only what he would need to get back to London. “Give him, her, or them something nice. Cheers.”

While the kid was still staring at the pile of money, Crowley climbed onto the runners of the sled and took the reins in both hands.

Chk-chk-chk

He felt that one in his stomach.

With another jingling of sleigh bells, he shook the reins –

And nothing happened.

“Go.”

Nothing.

“Move, horse!”

Now it was just embarrassing.

The kid leaned against the sled. “Are you sure? I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

“Of course I don’t!” He jerked the reins back, trying to ignore the way the sound of bells hammered into his spine. “But no one can know where I’m going.”

With a shrug, the kid shoved the money into his pocket. “Pull on one side, gently, to turn. Not too sudden, it’ll tip over. Whoa to slow down, walk to go, and remember, you’re in charge.” He winked, and walked away with a swagger that wasn’t quite as good as the demon’s, but better suited to over six inches of snowfall.

Clutching the reins again, Crowley called: “Walk.  WALK!” He shook them hard. “COME ON YOU BLESSED HORSE, WALK!”

Nothing moved.

--

Once Aziraphale had started writing, it was hard to stop.

Page after page. Whatever entered his mind.

It was nice just seeing the ink flow.

Hearing the scratch of the pen fill the silence.

--

Crowley got off the back of the sled and walked up to the horse, grabbing it by the bridle. “Listen, here, you, I am in charge!”

The horse snorted and stomped directly onto his foot.

“Nghaa that was not – ugh!”

The horse shook its head, jingling the bells again and again until Crowley was ready to tear his own ears off, until Crowley let go and stepped back.

The horse lashed its tail.

“Look, fine.” Crowley grumbled trying to stand where the horse could see him clearly, despite the snow that was now falling thick. “You’re in charge if that’s what you want. But I need to get somewhere. I should have been there hours ago. Days ago. You are my only way of getting there. I have nothing to bribe you with. I promise, you get fed either way, you get brushed either way, and you will absolutely get enough apples and sugar to make you sick because I’m not doing anything else with those.”

He reached out a hand to touch the horse. He had lived in agricultural societies, but he was much more comfortable around the crops and plants than the animals. Still, rather to his surprise, the horse let him stroke its nose. “Please. This is more important than you can imagine. Just get me there.”

He stepped back onto the runners, picked up the reins. “Walk.”

The horse didn’t walk. It moved much quicker than that.

--

Aziraphale lay down his pen, wiggling his fingers after all that writing. There were a lot of words on the page. Perhaps he should read over them.

He found himself walking back to the door, stepping into the silent night outside again.

The snow was falling so fast it was almost a physical thing, blocking his view even where the light from the door should have been enough to see the edge of the woods. It spilled across the porch, piled at the corners of the cottage.

And still, everything was so quiet. Even the wind, which had picked up, seemed to carry only the flakes and not any sound –

Were those sleigh bells?

A moment later a horse came into view – one of the small, sturdy northern breeds – pushing on through the unbroken snow, pressing through the storm with determined strides, pulling behind it a small sled and clinging to the back of that –

“Crowley?”

“Whoa,” called the dark figure. “Whoa – I said whoa! We’re here!”

With a final jingle of bells, the horse stopped in front of the porch, and Crowley fell backwards, off the sled runners and into the snow.

“Crowley! What the Hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Angel.”

“You’re supposed to be in Italy!”

“Yeah, I am. No, don’t worry, I can pick myself up.” He started to rise, then stumbled again.

Aziraphale rushed forward. “I’m – I didn’t realize – what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Bloody sleigh bells. Chase off evil spirits.” He clasped Aziraphale’s hand, pulling himself up. “I’ll be fine, just need to get a drink and warm up.”

“Of course, but – I don’t have any food or drink.”

With a very tired grin, Crowley tossed aside the blanket in the sled. “Happy Christmas, Angel.”

--

Crowley had needed to compromise on a few things.

He had the goose, and what he was assured were all the ingredients needed for stuffing and gravy.

Potatoes, brussels sprouts, and parsnips had been easy to find; and something he was almost certain was redcurrant sauce.

There had been no plum pudding this far from England, or mince pies, or fruitcake – though he wasn’t certain fruitcake was something you bought, it was possible all fruitcakes already existed and were simply eternally exchanged. He had managed to get a variety of sweet pastries.

Lots of wine.

And two bundles of books – the ones he had picked out at stops on the way, and the ones he had taken from the shop. Aziraphale shouldn’t have been surprised Crowley knew his favorites, but the demon was pleased at his smile either way.

There were two things to take care of first.

Crowley spied the notebook as soon as he stepped in. He only glanced at it long enough to see that Aziraphale had written a lot.

Then he picked it up and dropped it into the flames of the stove.

“Crowley! That was a private journal!”

“No it wasn’t.” He pulled off his glasses and glared at Aziraphale. “What did you think, they were going to let you keep that? Ask you to tell them the important parts? They left you here alone to write your own confession.”

Aziraphale clenched his teeth, didn’t say anything.

“I don’t like it.” Crowley grumbled. “They’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what’s changed.”

The other issue was the horse.

“No, I can’t have a horse in the cabin!”

“You can’t leave it outside, Angel, it’s a storm!”

“I thought you didn’t even like horses.”

“I don’t! But this one got me here and…” Crowley shrugged. “And it’s as much of a bloody-minded stubborn bastard as you are, so you’ll probably get along.”

Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley could see him start to give in. “How am I supposed to hide the fact that there’s been a horse in here when Gabriel gets back? We can’t miracle it clean.”

“Eh, just tell him some traveler lost in the storm stayed here a while. It’ll be true enough.”

--

And so, with the horse in the corner working through its feed bag and having the night of its life, Crowley and Aziraphale set about figuring out how to make a Christmas dinner.

It wouldn’t be perfect.

Neither of them had ever cooked without miracles before. There was immediately an argument over how one peeled a potato, and what exactly stuffing was for, really.

It wouldn’t be perfect.

But the jangle of the bells had ended, the silence had been driven from the cabin, and once again they were together.

And that, in a way, was perfect.

[starside-brewery]

Where Rivers Join

Aspen slowly opened his eyes at the morning sun that peaked softly through his bedroom curtains. Rodrigo had curled up to him in the night, and he didn’t want to disentangle himself, but he had to get to work. Careful not to wake him, he pulled away from the sleeping lover’s arms and crept softly to the closet, where fresh work clothes had been left from his last visit. He smiled softly to himself and wondered why they weren’t just living together as he laid the clothes out over a chair and walked into the bathroom for a shower.

Rodrigo came to at the sound of the running water and whined quietly at having lost a source of warmth. The cold of the snow outside seemed to slip through the walls of the room and leech all of Rodrigo’s remaining heat, and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Aspen’s apartment was much colder than he was used to, and smaller, but it had the advantage of being roommate-free, so they could be together without interruption. Despite his best efforts, Rodrigo was unable to fall back to sleep, and he watched the ceiling fan turn slowly above his head and listened to the sound of water pouring from the shower. When Aspen finally came out, he hastily pulled his work clothes on and came over to give Rodrigo a kiss goodbye.

“You’re leaving so soon?” Rod asked, knowing well that his boyfriend worked early on weekdays.

“I told you last night, I’m opening the store today. You know, if you would just settle up and find a job, you would have something to bide your time until I got off work,” Aspen argued sensibly.

“Well, maybe if you let yourself have some roommates, your bedroom would be a bit warmer. My feet are freezing,” Rodrigo retorted, with a soft chuckle.

“I know, you kept trying to put them on me in your sleep.” The two smiled at each other with warmth and love in their eyes. “Promise me you’ll job hunt today. The sooner you do, the sooner we can both move out of our apartments and find somewhere perfect.” Rodrigo grumbled to himself, but it was more playful than argumentative.

“You know I’m more of a house husband type,” he whined, and Aspen frowned at him. “I will, I swear. Kiss for luck?” he asked, puckering his lips. Aspen bent over and kiss him softly.

“Ugh, morning breath,” Aspen exclaimed, wiping his mouth off and heading towards the door as Rodrigo laughed. “I swear, you eat the worse things just to make this harder for me.”

“Love you, sweetie,” Rod called after him.

“See you soon, angel,” Aspen answered dismissively, with a wave behind him. Rodrigo continued to stare up at the ceiling, and grinned. He loved his boyfriend, but he loved not working just as much. His roommates let him get away with unemployment, because he was the housekeeper, cleaning and cooking as long as someone else paid the rent and bought the food. He felt completely dedicated to Aspen, and knew that he was the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but couldn’t the leisurely part last just a little bit longer?

“No,” he said out loud to himself. “This is what’s supposed to happen. I can just quit whatever job I find when we move out anyway. But for now…” and then he was back to sleep.

On the subway, Aspen was thinking about the future. It was something he did a lot of. When he would propose, or if Rod would do it first, where they would move in together, when they would have their wedding. He had no doubt in his mind that they would be married, it was all a matter of when one of them gathered the courage to make the first move. He doubted he would be able to, and was counting on Rod, somehow the more romantic of the two. Despite being so far apart in that moment, they both shared the same memory right then, of a promise made at a riverbed.

“My brother said it’s been empty since before he was born,” Aspen said, staring across the river at a large house, white paint chipped, walls laden with ivy.

“Woah, that’s a long time,” Rod said. “How come no one lives there now?”

“He said that there used to be an old lady who lived there, but she died, and now nobody owns it, so no one can move in.”

“Do you think she was a witch?” Rodrigo asked.

“Maybe. That would explain all the plants on the house.”

“Yeah.”

“I think it looks pretty. It’s like she made the garden part of the house.”

“I don’t think it was on purpose, though.”

“No, probably not. But I still like it.” The two of them sat in silence for a bit. Aspen was eight, and Rodrigo was seven. The river was deep in the forest, and they were only allowed to go this far together. Aspen was coloring books and building blocks, and Rodrigo was rope swings and kickball, and somehow they got along perfectly.

“Do you think you’re gonna live there?” Rod asked after a time.

“I don’t think I can. The people who own the houses in the neighborhood don’t own this one. I can’t buy it, I think,” Aspen answered.

“But if you could, would you live in it?”

“Yeah, I think I would.”

“I’m gonna fix it for you,” Rod stated, matter-of-factly.

“What?” Aspen asked in surprise.

“I’m gonna find out how to get the house, and I’m gonna make it nice, and you’re gonna live in it like you want to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Promise.” And then continued to watch the house, without noticing that their hands had come together.

“Wake up, you lovely moron,” Rod’s phone screamed at him. He bolted up in bed and grabbed it, dismissing what he thought was an alarm. “It’s noon, Rod, you need to wake up.” It was not an alarm, but a phone call from Aspen.

“Oh, heeeey, love,” he replied groggily.

“What are you doing?” Aspen asked in frustration.

“Loving yooooouuuu,” Rod said with a tired smile.

“Cute, but wrong answer. You told me last night to wake you up by noon because if you don’t clean your apartment Don and Eric make you pay rent, so you need to go do that.”

“Ugh, you’re right, you’re right. I’ll clean up here before I leave. Sorry to make you have to interrupt your work,” Rod said, finally waking up truly.

“It’s fine, it’s been a slow day anyway. And if you have a free day, which I know you do, you should look around for some local jobs. Even ones that don’t pay well are better than nothing,” Aspen suggested in a way that made it clear it was closer to a demand.

“Anything for you, love,” Rodrigo promised.

“Thank you, hon. I’ve been saving up all week to bring chinese for game night tonight, so don’t worry about cooking or doing dishes.”

“I love you so much,” Rod said, grinning.

“I love you too. Have a good day,” Aspen said.

“You too,” and then they hung up.

Aspen was thirteen, and Rodrigo was twelve. They were both nearing the end of middle school, and about to enter a world where people thought about their futures and got jobs and a million other things neither of them were comfortable with.

“I don’t think I ever want to get a job,” Rod said, tossing a stone into the water with a satisfying ‘plunk’.

“You have to, though. Everyone has to get a job,” Aspen argued.

“My mom doesn’t have one. She’s a housewife, and she says it’s more fulfilling than a job anyway.”

“Your mom is a terrible liar.” Rodrigo took a moment to think up a response.

“I just think it would be nice to live with someone who worked and I could just, like, clean or cook or whatever. It sounds nice.”

“I hate housework. I always clean up after myself, but then I have to clean up after my siblings and my parents too? It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Housework is easy, though.”

“Maybe to you.”

“Well, what kinda job do you wanna have instead?”

“It’s not that I WANT a job, I just know I have to have one. I think I’m gonna go into accounting. Most kids hate math, but it comes easy to me.”

“How can you think math is easier than cleaning up your house?”

“I don’t know. Everyone’s different, I guess. My dad is an accountant, and he gets a lot of money doing people’s taxes for them. I could do that.”

“I hope you do. Easy jobs and money usually don’t mix.”

“Yeah. I think you could be a professional housekeeper.” They both smiled.

“Maybe if you make a lot of money, you could buy the house,” Rod suggested, and they both turned to look at the old house across the river. What little paint was left was peeling off of the rotting wood. The grass and weeds had grown tall and were overrunning the porch. All but one of the windows were broken. “I don’t think you would still wanna live there, though.” Aspen stared at the house, deep in thought.

“I could fix it up. Y’know, almost like rebuilding the whole thing. I think that would make it more special anyway.” Rodrigo turned to the older boy, and though he was too young to know it, he looked at him with a heart full of love.

In his apartment, Rod was washing dishes by hand, because he didn’t trust their dishwasher to do a good enough job. He had taken the trash out, picked up anything out of place, and vacuumed. The shelves were organized, the furniture dusted. It was catharsis for him, and he was ready for game night, and for everything that would entail. Though he had done it a dozen times already, he went to check that the little black vbox under his bed was still there.He took a deep breath, and held the box in his hands.

“Tonight’s the night,” he whispered to himself.

Sitting behind a desk, Aspen was filing paperwork and daydreaming. He pictured game nights of theirs, Rod’s roommates being loud and drunk, roughhousing with each other and throwing UNO cards around the room, and how it always made him laugh to watch them act like children. It was endearing, in a way. Every week they got together, ate take-out, played board games and cards until they were too tired to think, and Aspen went home happy. He hoped tonight would be as good as the rest, and that he wouldn’t ruin everything, though a strange sense of unease kept him from feeling that things would go according to plan.

Rodrigo and Aspen were sitting on the bank of the river, holding hands and watching the water flow. It was the day before graduation, before they would split up and go off to separate colleges. They would spend the summer together, with the looming threat of leaving haunting them.

“Do you think we’re ever really gonna come back here?” Aspen asked.

“What do you mean?” Rodrigo answered.

“This river. This house. We promised to live here when we were younger, but it doesn’t seem like it could happen now.” Aspen threw a stone into the water, so far that they couldn’t hear the noise it made when it splashed.

“You never know. I mean, we’ll still see each other when we come home for holidays. We’ll still be friends.”

“Why did we have to go to different schools?”

“You knew I was never going to get into your school. You were in the top ten students and my class rank was smack dab in the middle.”

“We could’ve tried long distance.”

“You said it yourself. We don’t want to hold each other back.” Aspen put his head down, and Rod wrapped his arms around him. “It’s going to be okay. If it’s meant to be, we’ll be together again before you know it,” Rodrigo assured.

“Promise?” Aspen asked, with an uncharacteristic level of emotion in his voice. He looked up at Rod, and there were tears in his eyes.

“You see this river?” Rod asked. “And you know that, behind that house, there’s another one just like it. And a little ways down this bank, they come together, and make a river so big it goes all the way out to sea. But for the longest time they’re two rivers. The water flows for miles before it meets its other half.” Aspen rubbed the tears away and looked into Rodrigo’s eyes.

“So we’ll be okay?” he asked.

“We’ll be just fine,” Rod said.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Aspen knocked on the door with a large bag full of chinese take-out hanging from his arm and a small box in his coat pocket, next to his phone and his keys. The door was opened by Rod, who met him with a kiss on the cheek as he took the bag and walked to the small kitchen. Don and Eric were already next to each other on the sofa, games laid out.

“Hey, Aspy, how’s it hanging?” Don asked, dealing out cards into four piles. Eric just waved and smiled, and Aspen returned it.

“You guys know that nickname embarrasses him,” Rod called out from the kitchen as he gathered plates and forks.

“Yeah, and if you won’t embarrass him, one of us has to,” Don joked.

“Trust me, he embarrasses me plenty,” Aspen countered pack as Rod laid a plate in his lap, and the night progressed onwards like that. They played various card games, Clue, Guess Who, board games and Jenga, and by the end of the night their cheeks hurt from smiling so much. When it felt like things couldn’t get any better, Rod excused himself from the room. Aspen looked at his roommates, and their cheeky grins seemed to scream that something was expected to happen about now.

Aspen took a deep breath, and stood himself. They expected him to be the one to propose. He was the more responsible of the two, and who cared if Rod still didn’t have a job? His own little apartment would surely be enough for them.

“It’s now or never,” he thought to himself as he reached into his coat pocket.

On the floor, Rod was rummaging under his bed for the little black box. He couldn’t keep making Aspen wait for him to get his act together. By being the one to propose, it would show that he, too, could be responsible, and that he was looking for a job seriously.

“It’s now or never,” he said to himself as he held the box in front of him.

“Well guys, I think that-” Rod stopped talking. He looked at Aspen, standing in the room with a hand in his pocket. “What is this?” he asked. Don and Eric were wide eyed and on the edge of their seats. “No. No really, what is this?” he asked again. Aspen took a knee, and pulled a small black box out of his pocket. Rod gripped his own tightly.

“Rod, I know that my apartment is small, and cold,” Aspen began.

“Oh my god,” Rod stuttered.

“And I know that I don’t make much right now,” Aspen continued.

“Oh my god?” Rod asked.

“But I make enough for the both of us, I think,” Aspen said, and he opened the box, revealing a small engagement ring. It was beautiful.

“Oh my god,” Rod repeated.

“And, if you’ll have me, in my dingy little home, with my broken heater, and my dead-end job,” Aspen said, and Rod knew he had to make a move. Without thinking, he, too, got down on one knee, and pulled his black box out. He opened it, and another engagement ring lay inside.

“W-What?” Aspen stuttered.

“Aspen, I know I seem like a deadbeat a lot of the time, like I only want to do easy jobs,” Rod began, and Aspen started tearing up.

“Is this real?” he asked.

“But I found work. An apartment building down the street from yours was looking for a housekeeper,” Rod continued.

“Oh, Rod,” Aspen said, laughing as tears began to stream down his face. Rodrigo found that his own eyes had begun to become watery.

“I want you to know that there’s no change in lifestyle I wouldn’t make for you. Your little apartment, your dead end job, that’s nothing. I’d do anything for you,” Aspen seemed almost like he wanted to say something, but was too choked up.

“Aspen Hayley, will you marry me?” Rodrigo asked. Aspen took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes, before bringing his own ring back out.

“Rodrigo Hernandez, will you marry me?” he asked right back. Rod smiled, and then started to laugh, and he dropped his box, embracing Aspen in a tight hug, which his partner enthusiastically returned.

“You two are so damn cute,” Eric chimed in as they put the rings on each other’s fingers.

Then it was one year later. They were married, and house hunting. The wedding was small, like they both wanted. They were both counting down the seconds until they could call each other ‘husband’, and the rest of the day was a foggy blur of a memory. Now they were holding hands, looking at the old house in the forest, gray with age and weather, underneath the layers of wild plants.

“A year of saving,” Aspen said.

“A cheap wedding,” Rod added.

“A year of sharing that tiny apartment.”

“A year of cleaning up after people.”

“A year of praying for a promotion.”

“All the dollar store meals.” Rodrigo turned to Aspen.

“A year with you,” he said, and they embraced.

A month later, the house was theirs. They stayed in a hotel while they fixed it up, battling weeds and overgrowth, removing rotten wood and building new structure. They painted the walls, they paid for heating and running water and electricity and internet. Aspen could work from home. Rodrigo could be a house husband. They had a flower garden in the front, and a vegetable garden in the back. There was a library, and a crafts room, and a den with a fireplace. They were also bats, and leaky roofs, and creaking wood. But that didn’t bother them.

Each night, Aspen would read until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and Rodrigo would just hold him close until the light turned off. Every night, both of them would remember the promise that was made, that was kept, that one day they would make a home there, the two streams became one. Each and every night they fell asleep in that house where rivers join.