I have two cups from Mugshot in my hands, so I nudge open the door of Aiden’s office with my shoulder. Seeing that the light is subdued inside, I quickly shut the door after myself, wary of damaging anything with the much brighter lights of the hallway.

“Hey, you,” I say, but Aiden doesn’t look up.

He’s standing at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, archivist gloves on his hands. Before him, small groupings of photos are set out beneath the dim lamp. Aiden’s head is bowed over them, a chestnut strand escaping into his eyes as he rearranges the pictures, slowly and carefully. The glow from the lamp is soft and beautiful, spreading up from the desk onto his hands, his powerful forearms.

He’s extremely focused on what he’s doing, but I don’t think that’s why he failed to hear me. Sometimes I catch Aiden when he’s not bothering to struggle against all the noise in his head. I guess it’s probably impossible for him to keep it down all the time, and he has to reserve his energy. Sometimes he just lives with it, just lets it be for a while.

This is one of those times, I think. Aiden is fully absorbed in his work, too absorbed to devote a big chunk of effort and focus into keeping things quiet.

He’s also not controlling his expression, and if I didn’t know better, the intensity in his eyes would be very intimidating. But I’m certain that when he looks up at me, that’s all going to change.

I stand there for a moment, just looking at him.

Aiden’s inherited work - his Guardian work - that’s all about reshaping the future. But the work he chose for himself is preserving and deciphering fragments of the past. It’s another contradiction that I deeply love about him.

I could watch him do this for ages, and I have no intention of disturbing him.

But he hears me through his other channel of listening, too. My energy must cut through the rest of the unsuppressed noise, because I haven’t said a word, but Aiden blinks, and looks up at me.

As I knew it would, a sweet, adorable smile breaks through the brooding look on his face, warming his blue eyes.

I start to go to him, then divert my path so I can set down the cups from Mugshot. After this long dating Aiden, I know better than to bring food or drinks anywhere near archival materials.

“Hi,” Aiden murmurs, when I step up close to him.

“Hi.” I roll up onto my toes to accept a swift little kiss of greeting from him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Should I come back later?”

“No, don’t leave. I’ve been thinking about you all day.” Aiden bends to put his forehead against mine, keeping his gloved hands away from me. “And you make it easier for me to focus, anyways.”

“Oh, do I?” I arch a skeptical eyebrow at him. “And here I thought I was death to your productivity. To quote you.”

Aiden lets out a helpless laugh. “Somehow it’s both.”

That soft, sweet huffing sound makes my heart stumble. Aiden can’t hold me with his gloves on, but I can hold him, and suddenly I really need to.

I wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pull him down for a much longer, much more thorough kiss. I can feel his pulse beneath my fingertips, rapidly picking up speed. He leans into me, takes a soft inhale, then breathes it out, so that it spills onto my lips.

I start to melt into Aiden, the rough tickle of his beard plucking at all of my heartstrings. The remaining snow on my jacket and in my hair starts to melt away, too, dissolved by his heat. Pinpricks of cold that drive me up even closer to him, into the comfort of his warmth.

When I draw back, Aiden’s hands are cupping my face, his palms pressed against my jaw.

“Oh my god,” I say, because I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him forget that he’s wearing his gloves.

It takes Aiden a second to realize what happened - his blue eyes are hazy and dilated, zeroed in on my face - but when he does, he stares down at his hands, just as startled as I am.

“Jesus,” he says, ripping off one glove, “Christ.”

He tears off the other, too, and tosses both down, shaking his head at me. I’m about to start apologizing, but Aiden laughs again, running a now-bare hand through my hair. He takes it between his fingers and gives it a ruffle, a familiar feeling that never fails to make me feel stupid and melty and -

“You,” Aiden says, putting his nose to mine, “Break my brain.”

“I'm sorry. Would it help to know that you do the same to mine?”

“I know that I don’t.”

“You do, Callahan.”

He makes a disbelieving face at me. “So - you’re saying that you had one, in the first place?”

“Don’t be rude,” I laugh, smacking his arm.

Aiden laughs, too, then clicks his tongue at me as he opens the desk drawer and digs out another pair of gloves.

“Good thing I keep a backup pair, because now I’ve got to clean those ones.”

“I’m sorry,” I answer, starting to feel bad.

Aiden hears it in my voice. He pauses, smooths his palm down the curve of my neck.

“It’s fine,” he says, smiling. “I should have known to take them off as soon as you showed up. Not your fault.”

“Oh. Okay.” I smile back at him, relieved. “So - what are you up to, archivist?”

Aiden beckons me closer, pulling on his new pair of gloves. I come right up to his desk and peer down at the photos laid out on its surface.

They’re different options that Aiden's been sorting through for the exhibition. He told me that he was starting to narrow down what he wants to show, but I haven’t actually seen his selections in person before now.

Some of these feel familiar, though, because Aiden talked to me about them.

An old shot of a logger camp, for example. Taken in 1901. The camp’s crew has gathered together for the photo, posing with their axes on their shoulders. The men look young, but they all have serious facial hair, and very serious facial expressions.

A felled tree is to the left of the group. The trunk is so ridiculously huge that even on its side, the tree stands taller than the men. It must have a diameter of at least ten feet.

I haven’t seen this photo, but I know it right away. Aiden described it to me.

“I think that when you see it,” he said, when we were cuddled up in bed last night, “You’re gonna like that there are some cute guys in the shot, but then you’re gonna get mad about what they did to the tree.”

I groan loudly, and Aiden laughs, clearly aware that his prediction was accurate.

But I find myself quickly growing serious again as I look through the photos. Aiden has to narrow down his selections, but everything he’s chosen so far is just beautiful.

Some of the pictures tell human stories. I particularly like one of the portraits, a photo of a young Kalispel woman in traditional dress. Her hair is in two symmetrical braids; beaded necklaces wrap around her throat and spill down her front. There’s an intricate, hand-painted pattern on her clothes. She’s staring down the camera with fierce, narrowed eyes.

Other photos are of nature, untouched old-growth of breathtaking proportions. Conifers like giants, disappearing into the mist before the human eye can follow them to the top. Hemlocks and Douglas-firs that seem to go on forever, to reach right into the sky. Along with the pictures of the forest, there are shots of the rivers, the fields, the mountains.

I suddenly wish that we could fit all of these into the exhibition.

“Aiden,” I murmur, breaking what’s accidentally been a long silence. “These are gorgeous. I know you still have to finalize all this, but - you did such a good job, babe.”

I’m still looking down at the photos, but when no answer comes, I turn to look at Aiden. He’s watching me, trying to bite back a smile.

“Bet I can guess which one is your favorite,” he says.

My gaze moves back to the pictures. “Yeah, it’s - that one.”

Aiden and I point to it, simultaneously. He smiles, then gently picks up the photo in his gloved hands, holds it closer to the dim lamp.

It’s a picture of the old-growth forest. Yellow cedars and grand firs, shooting up in every direction. The trees grow unbelievably tall and wide, pearlescent mist winding around their boles. Their trunks are thickly blanketed with moss, lichen, mushrooms, ferns. Each tree contains and supports enough life to be its own complex ecosystem. 

There are probably upwards of sixty million pine needles on just one of these Douglas-firs.

The picture was taken in the understory, but sunlight filters down from the canopy, and everything in the forest seems to be lifting, reaching for it. It’s staggeringly beautiful, something right out of a fairytale.

“Honestly, Aiden,” I say softly. “I can’t believe you found this in that fucking mountain of photos you had to sort through. You really have an eye, you’re so talented! This - this is...”

I trail off, blinking hard. Suddenly it’s as bright in here as it was in Aiden’s bedroom this morning.

“What-?” I instinctively spread my hand above the photo, trying to protect it. “Did the lights just turn on by themsel-?”

I break off sharply, having turned to look at Aiden. He’s absolutely glowing, his smile radiant, his gaze locked on my face.

He stirs when I meet his eyes, then glances around at his office, realizing that it’s bathed in golden light.

“Oh, oops.” He sets down the photo, his cheeks picking up a faint blush. “Shit, again? That’s been happening all day.”

Now I’m the one just smiling at him. He said that he’s been thinking about me all day, didn't he?

“Will it hurt the photos?” I ask, and Aiden shakes his head.

“No. I don’t think my light has UV.”

“Oh.” I stare at him, then let out a laugh. I will never stop reeling at the strange and unusual things I’ve had to think about since Aiden came back into my life. “Well, that’s good news for my Irish skin. Hey - why don’t you use your light for the exhibition, Heliomancer? That would be one problem solved.”

“I would,” Aiden groans. “But the show is going to be up for three weeks, and I can’t be constantly burning energy for that long. Not without having an exhaustion breakdown, anyways.” He hesitates, suddenly a little shy. “And I - I don’t know how I’m doing this, right now. I’m just - happy.”

His happiness shines over us, glitters and glows all around us. I smile up at him, so hard that my cheeks ache.

“Good," I answer. "You should be happy. The pictures you chose - they’re amazing. This one…”

I point to the old-growth photo, my favorite one of the bunch.

“You can almost imagine what it would have been like,” I tell Aiden, gazing down at the photo. “The forest back then. It never would have been quiet, not with the number of critters living there. There’d always be some creature talking, in their way. And there’d be a constant drift-down of particles in the air. Spores, bits of life from overhead, breaking down, falling very slowly. Everything around you would be green, even the light.”

Aiden doesn’t say anything, so I continue.

“Everything works together, in a forest. People who think that nature is inherently cutthroat and combative - they don’t understand how a forest works.”

I glance up at Aiden to find him listening in attentive silence, a smile playing around his lips.

“Just makes you want to close your eyes and take a breath of that air, doesn’t it?” I ask. “Picture yourself walking through the fogbank, on the pine needles, through those trees, just... taking it all in.”

Aiden closes his eyes to do it.

When he opens them again, his expression is oddly blank. He stands there silently, staring at me.

I always try not to disrupt Aiden when he’s untangling a complicated thought. So I wait, my head tilted to the side, looking back at him.

The silence stretches on and on. Just when I’m beginning to worry that Aiden might be upset about something, he breaks into a huge, delighted smile.

“Oh, shit.” He straightens up, speedily pulls off his archival gloves. “I just had an idea for the exhibition. Something that should - yeah, I think it’ll solve all of the problems.”

I narrow my eyes at him, confused. “I thought you said we can’t light the exhibition with magic?”

“No magic necessary.” Aiden’s excited smile widens even further. He takes my face in his hands, plants an affectionate kiss on my mouth. “Jamie, you just gave me such a good idea - oh, man, I love you - come on, we need to go talk to Gabby!”

I have no idea what’s happening right now, but I let Aiden lead me out into the hallway. The golden light fades out behind us as the door of his office swings shut.

I have to rush to keep up with Aiden, who is too excited to remember to slow his pace for me. Those long fucking legs, I swear. I’m practically jogging.

But I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m smiling to myself. I love to see Aiden like this. If I was the one whose emotions escaped as magic, this whole building would be glowing.

And something tells me he’s got a really good idea.

~~~~

By the time we get home from City Hall, it’s late, and snow is coming down in droves.

Aiden kisses me all the way into my apartment, and I respond just as enthusiastically. We go stumbling through the door, laughing, our faces and bodies pressed up close together.

Aiden’s idea went down super well with both Gabby and Ripley. I think it's great, too, and I’m so fucking proud of Aiden for coming up with a killer solution to all of the problems. One that actually transforms the whole idea of the show, but in all the right ways. I have a much bigger role to play in putting it together, now, but that’s fine with me. Aiden has a vision, and I’m really excited to help him bring it to life.

We’re both feeling good, and we’re both feeling each other. So we don’t notice that we’re not alone in my apartment until we’ve already gone tumbling into the living room.

“Um,” someone says, “Hello?”

I whip around, nearly losing my balance. Aiden catches me before I can fall, thank god.

“Calla!” I gasp, putting a hand to my chest.

My heart was already racing from having Aiden’s hands all over me, and Calla's very unexpected presence does nothing to slow it down.

“Holy shit," I stammer. "You scared the hell out of - how did you get into my apartment? How do you even know where I live?”

“Your address was on your ID, James.” She’s lounging back in the armchair, reclining in it like this is her place, not mine. “As for how I got in… I mean. Are you really surprised that I found a way?”

“No,” I grumble, “But, like - couldn't you just knock?”

Calla gets to her feet, slips her hands into her pockets. “Preferred not to be seen.”

“What are you doing here, Calla?” Aiden’s cheeks are almost as red as mine, but he’s not struggling quite so hard to get his breath back. “I thought you said-?”

“I know what I said,” she interrupts, frustrated, running a hand over her buzzed hair. “And believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options.”

Aiden and I exchange a baffled glance.

"Okay," Aiden says, turning back to Calla. “So - what the hell does that mean?”

“I…” She winces, reluctant to say it. “I need your help.”

Aiden and I stare at her for a second, caught completely by surprise.

“Our help with what?” I ask.

Calla shrugs her shoulders, like we should already know the answer.

“With stealing something, obviously.”