Dark pavement stretches out before me. A road. It bears a glittering blanket of shattered plastic and glass. The broken remains of destroyed vehicles. I hear the screeching brakes, the impact of metal against metal - and against skin, bone, muscle. In my dreams, the woman doesn’t look up in time. I don’t see it, but somehow I know.

The awful vision plays on repeat in my head, unrelenting. The brakes, the crash, the scream. Over and over.

But then…

The dream begins again, and everything is different. This time Aiden is there. I see him cup his hands around his mouth to shout. The woman glances up just in time to spot death as it makes a grab for her and misses. She falls back onto the sidewalk with a terrified shout.

Aiden disappears before she can even look up again.

She doesn’t drive herself home. She’s way too shaken for that. She calls someone she loves and asks them to come and pick her up. The person that comes to get her could have received heartbreaking news tonight - and they’re not alone in that. I see them like pinpoints on a map: all of the people who care about this woman, whose lives nearly just changed in the worst way. They have no idea that someone flipped the railroad switch just in time to change the course and prevent the train from going off the cliff.

My dreams turn to the man who had been driving the car. Who knows why he blew the red light? Was he drunk, being careless, on his phone? Or was it something out of his control? A mechanical problem, old brakes? One wrong moment with his eyes off of the road? No matter the cause, his life would have changed forever, too. If today had gone differently, he would have had to carry the weight of that accident for the rest of his life. And how would that impact his connections, the people who love him?

In my dream, both the man and the woman involved in the accident return to their respective homes, unnerved, raw, reeling - but unharmed.

~~~~

I find myself suddenly very much awake. There’s no drowsy in-between: I go right from deep sleep to being totally alert.

I lay there for a moment, absorbing the quiet darkness of my bedroom. Aiden and I both fell asleep on top of the comforter, but I’m not cold. He’s basically a radiator, I swear.

The wind rustles the leaves outside of my open window, making a whispered, papery sound. It must be really late - or really early, I guess. Pale light makes its way through the branches outside and falls over my bed. Some combination of moon, star, and streetlight glow.

My dreams are still in my mind.

This is what Aiden does, I realize. He breathes a little more life, a little more joy into the world. He snatches people away from suffering, and not just the ones who would have died without him.

He even did that with me, didn’t he? He gave me back Kasey before I even had to process the idea of living on without her. What would my life be like right now, if he hadn’t done that? Just trying to imagine it makes my eyes sting.

I’m not in Aiden’s arms anymore.

I turn over and find him there, asleep on his side. Facing me, one arm folded beneath his head. The faint light from the window catches on his messed up hair and spills down onto his face. He looks worried, even in his sleep. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows, a tightness to his jaw. His hand is clenched into a fist on top of the covers.

I prop myself up on an elbow and watch him for a moment. Inch up close, lean down over him.

“Are you having bad dreams?” I murmur. “Should I wake you up?”

No answer. He really is out. I hesitate, then gently trace my fingers down the side of his cheek. Maybe he’ll get the message in his dreams, that he’s here and safe and there’s no reason to worry.

He breathes out a quiet sigh and rolls towards me, shifting onto his stomach. The movement pushes me flat onto my back. I end up with Aiden’s head resting on my chest, one of his arms draped over my waist.

“Aiden?” I whisper, but he hasn’t woken up. I hold still for a moment, then reach out and cradle his head in my arms. Push my nose into his hair, the way he does to me when we’re standing up. The glossy chestnut mess turns out to be ridiculously soft even when it’s all tangled up. I skate my fingernails through it, mussing it up even worse than it already is.

The next time I glance down to see whether he’s still asleep, that worried little crease is gone from his forehead. He looks calm again, breathing peacefully.

I’m struck with a moment of staggering, breathtaking clarity, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. My deepest self is trying to tell me something, and for once, I’m listening with rapt attention.

I absorb the message, close my eyes, and finally fall into dreamless, restful slumber.

~~~~

I wake up again to find sunshine spilling into the room, reflecting off of my mirror, sending dazzling little crystals of light onto the walls. I can hear it raining, so I guess we’re having a sunshower. I open my eyes just long enough to confirm my guess, then close them again and lay still, pretending to be asleep. I need to gather myself together for a minute before Aiden and I talk.

With my late-night calm gone, my nerves are rushing back. I’m not totally sure what I’m going to say to him. It’s going to come from my heart, but I have to find a way to say it with my mouth. It’s important that nothing gets lost in translation.

Aiden must be up already. I can hear him moving around my room, trying to be quiet. I feel the mattress depress. He brushes a feather-light kiss onto my temple. My heart flutters at the scratch of his stubble against my skin.

The mattress shifts again as he gets back up. There are a few more footsteps, followed by a sound that can only be the door of my apartment, opening and then closing.

Did he really just leave? He fucking promised me he wouldn’t!

I roll over immediately and hear a soft crunch. Lifting my elbow, I find a page torn from the notepad I keep on my fridge. I pick it up and stare at it. The scrawled, untidy handwriting plucks all of the familiar notes in my heart.

I’ll be right back.

I press my palms into my eyes, telling myself to take a breath. I can finally see the path ahead of me, but that doesn’t mean I've got all of my feelings under control. I’m so fucking nervous about this conversation that we need to have - actually, nervous doesn’t begin to cover it. I have no idea how Aiden will react, or what’s going through his head right now.

I’ve also just - never had a talk like this, and I don’t know how to navigate it.

I have my mind about ninety-nine percent made up, but first I have one question for my mom, and a few for Aiden. I reach for my phone, swipe it unlocked, and blink down at the screen in surprise.

Noah ⚡ 9:12 AM: Hanging in there bro?

I shoot him back a quick response (Yeah, thanks, you actually gave me some good advice, shockingly, unbelievably, against all odds) and then pull up the chat I was looking for.

Me 9:40 AM: Mom, when you were a nurse, you must have seen a lot of sad stuff, right?

I’m hoping that routine will help me get a grip on myself, so I get started, brushing my teeth while I type. By the time I step out of the shower, she’s already texted me back.

Mom 💗 9:50 AM: Is everything okay? Do you want me to call you?

Me 9:51 AM: No no I’m fine

Mom 💗 9:52 AM: James. Honesty, please.

Me 9:53 AM: No need to ‘James’ me, seriously I’m ok, just wondering!

Mom 💗 9:54 AM: OK just checking baby. To answer your question, yes, I’ve seen some things that have stuck with me

Me 9:54 AM: Do you ever regret doing it? Now that you have to live with those memories?

Mom 💗 9:59 AM: Some days are harder than others, sweetie, but no, I don’t regret it. I was able to help so many people!

Mom 💗 10:00 AM: And having your father around always made the tough days a little easier. Sometimes all you need after a bad day is someone to hold onto.

I read my mom’s texts a few times. A memory stirs in my mind: the flower that Aiden gave me, which I have pressed in that book of poetry. I pull on a t-shirt and head for the kitchen.

The book is on the counter, under a stack of heavier volumes. I pull it out and thumb through the pages, then extract the paper towels with painstaking care and unwrap the little treasure inside.

The Asiatic lily is starting to press beautifully, all white and purple and delicate. I set it down next to the book. There it is, the line from the poem that reminded me of Aiden. I read it again in silence. The rain flecks down on the windows, making soft, muffled tapping sounds.

I hear the door of my apartment open, then close. Aiden steps out from the entryway with two cups of coffee in his hands. He pauses, spotting me at the counter. His hair is a little damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his shirt. He’s no longer wearing his pajamas, so I guess he must have doubled back to Kent’s.

My nerves leap again. There’s a beat of silence. We just look at each other.

“Hi,” Aiden finally says, crossing to me and setting the coffees on the counter. He pulls my car keys from his pocket and sets those down, too.

“Hi,” I answer. This is awkward. We both know it. “Are you, um. Going to be late for work? I know I asked you not to leave, but I just realized…”

“Took a sick day,” he says. “In case you still needed me. I called Gabby while I was on the way to Mugshot and told her I wasn’t feeling well, so. Back me up on that, if she asks.”

Right. I told him that, last night. That I needed him. The memory brings a pink flush to my cheeks.

“Thanks for doing that. How many sick days do you get per year, working for the government?”

Aiden shakes his head.

“Not important right now.”

“Well - alright.” I pause, not sure what to say.

“You seem a little better,” Aiden observes, leaning his elbows down on the counter. “What are you looking at, over there?”

I didn't really plan on showing him, but I guess there's no reason not to.

"You can come see, if you want."

He straightens up, moves to my side of the kitchen island, and stops, staring at the lily on its paper towels. He knows exactly what it is, I can tell right away. I don’t have to remind him.

“I’m pressing it,” I explain. “So that I can keep it.”

“Oh,” Aiden says softly. He clears his throat. “So - you use books, to do that?”

“Yeah. I mean, there are a number of ways you can do it, but. This just reminded me of you, so I wanted to press it on this page.”

A little whiff of vetiver escapes his neck as he leans over my shoulder to read the line I'm pointing at.

Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror / up to where you’re bravely working.

Aiden stares at the line. He looks up at me, his expression unreadable. Something is happening in his eyes, and it has nothing to do with magic. They’re always beautiful, but sometimes there’s this glow they get. This inner sunlight he has, spilling out through them. He turns away, but it's too late. I saw it.

“I want to kiss you,” he says, very quietly, not looking at me. “But I don’t know where we stand.”

I take his chin in my fingers and turn his face towards me.

“Aiden. I need to talk to you.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s preparing himself for something awful.

“Yes. Okay.” His voice is a little unsteady.

“I have follow-up questions.”

He opens his eyes again.

“Follow-up questions.”

“Not a lot of them. But there are some things I need to know.” I drop my fingers from his face and meet his blue gaze. I want to read the answer in his voice, but - sometimes I learn more from his eyes. “It’s not about magic, it’s about us.”

He blinks, surprised. “Alright...”

“Has it really been since high school, for you?”

There’s a silence. The rain taps away against the windows. Aiden bites his lip, hesitating, then reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his wallet, opens it, and draws out a folded piece of paper, which he offers me.

I'm not sure what it is, but I take it from him.

It’s so soft with age and wear that the paper feels like fabric. I open it carefully and stare down at two pages of my own handwriting. The poem. The original copy, torn from my journal. The depth of the creases speaks to a thousand times folding and unfolding it.

My breath catches. I look back up at Aiden, my heart rising into my throat, making it hard for me to talk. But I have to push through.

“I know that you gave this to Melanie,” I tell him, and he winces.

“Yes.”

“Why? Why did you take it, why did-?”

“I - I took it because I wanted it.” Aiden blows out a heavy breath and runs a hand through his hair. “The moment I read it, I - it was just this one piece of you that I could actually have. And then I wanted to get rid of it, because it was making everything harder on me... but I couldn’t force myself to throw it away, so I gave it to Mellie, and then the minute I did that, I wanted it back.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I stole it back from her before I left, because I was the all-time champion of selfish assholes, and I couldn’t see myself leaving town without something about you to… hold onto…” He falters and fades off, biting his lip. “It wasn’t exactly like I could ask you for a flannel or something. I mean. I guess I could have. You probably would have given it to me, you being you.”

Whatever this thing is growing in my chest, my heart just tripped over it like, ten times in a row.

“After all that time,” I say, my voice scraping, “You’re really willing to just let me go, if that’s what I decide?”

A pained look flashes through Aiden’s eyes. He nods slowly.

“If you ask me to,” he answers. “Only if you ask me to.”

I can barely breathe. I hand Aiden the poem, and he takes it back. Folds it up with an archivist’s practiced care and tucks it back into his wallet. I wait while he puts it away, thinking of the thick stack of plane and bus tickets I’d found in his passport. All of those places he’s been to, without losing the poem.

“Look,” he says, his voice strained. “None of this should play into what you decide. Don’t feel bad just because it’s been a long time for me. You didn’t ask for that, you didn’t even know. It’s my shit to deal with, not yours. It doesn’t entitle me to anything, and it doesn’t obligate you to anything.”

“No, I know. That’s - not why I asked.”

I asked because I need to be sure that this feeling goes both ways before I say a lot of stuff I can’t take back.

“I wouldn’t sign up for this because I feel obligated,” I tell him. “I don’t think that’s what either of us would want.”

“No,” Aiden agrees immediately. “No, I definitely wouldn’t want that. That’s the worst outcome I can think of, actually.”

There’s another silence, and then Aiden steps a little closer to me.

“Jamie,” he says softly. “I - I’ll answer any questions you have, and I’ll talk to you about all of this stuff more, if it will help, but… I meant what I said yesterday. I don’t want to influence your decision just by being here.”

“You didn’t.”

Aiden freezes.

“Didn’t,” he repeats. “Does that mean-?”

“Yeah. I’ve already made up my mind.”