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“I didn’t know what was happening to me,” Cal murmured, his voice almost drowned out by the water splashing against the porcelain tub. “I thought I was dying. My heart was racing, I was sweating each time I saw him, and in the mornings—” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I tried to wash my pyjamas myself. The water was too hot, and my pants shrunk.”

Roy pressed his lips together, smothering the chuckle. “You’re cute.”

“I didn’t know that’s what attraction was supposed to feel like!” A blush coloured Cal’s cheeks. “I knew a partner would be assigned one day, and I knew my offspring would come from the gestation tank. Believe me, I watched Uros very closely as he grew. I knew I’d have to give my genetic material for that to happen. But—and I swear I’ll hit you if you laugh—I thought that worked like taking blood. Needles and all.”

“Your parents never talked to you about that?” Roy frowned. As a teenager, he’d endured that dreaded discussion three times—his parents, eternal tides bless their souls, first cornered him alone. Then, after he’d confessed to dating Milo, they’d been given a lecture on ground rules and safety, both from Roy’s parents and Milo’s Mum.

“By the time I was sixteen, I realised I wanted a husband, not a wife. They told me to keep myself pure, that my body belongs to the Void, and to my future spouse. That was the end of the discussion.”

The bathtub had filled enough for Cal to close the tap. He stripped off his clothes and slid into the bathtub, his head falling onto the tiny pillow. “This is the stuff. Wanna join?”

“Um.” Roy’s hands fumbled with the strings of his tunic. “Sure.”

As he submerged his tired body, the foam bubbles coated his skin. With his arms hooked around the bathtub’s rim, he grinned at Cal’s idea to use Roy’s chest as a footrest.

“So, did you date the garage steward?”

“Oh. No.” Cal gave a faint smile. “He was almost thirty. Auntie explained, gently, that it wasn’t a good idea. She also brought me some books and told me I could always come to her if I had questions.”

“What books?” Roy asked.

“Romance stories, for teenagers. I even smuggled one back to Eiden and read it when everyone went to sleep.”

Before going to bed, Roy added another log to the fireplace. Flames licked the dry wood, sending sparks up the chimney. He slipped under the heavy feather duvet and snuggled against Cal’s warmth.

“I didn’t even ask, love. How was your day?” Cal whispered, his long fingers slipping under Roy’s shirt, tickling.

Roy twitched. “Uh, I had… tea. With Xallan.”

“Really?” Cal shifted, propping his head against his fist. “Did you enjoy it?”

Roy couldn’t claim he didn’t enjoy it—Xallan had given him a piece of memories he’d treasure until his own mind dissolved into stardust. “I’m, um, just… shaken, a bit.”

“I hope they weren’t harsh with you?” Cal frowned. His warm palm pressed on Roy’s sternum, thumb tracing up and down in an endless loop.

“No.” Roy let out a breath, weaving his fingers with Cal’s. “They showed me something their hive mind had stored, back from the Pyrite Wars.”

“Something?”

“Yeah. The memories Milo replayed when…” Pressure rose in Roy’s sinuses, needles prickling the back of his throat. He could claim he was allergic to feathers, but Cal wouldn’t be fooled so easily.

His blue-haired prince pulled the blanket higher, shielding them both from the chilly air. He snuggled closer, tangling his long legs around Roy’s. “Will you tell me about him?”

“What would you—” Roy’s voice cracked like a slowly eroded cliff. The tension gathering in his chest became insufferable. He let out one shaky breath, then another. A sob followed, accompanied by a few drops that escaped his lashes and rolled down his cheeks.

“Darling,” Cal whispered, planting tender pecks into Roy’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Roy mumbled, hating the nasal tone of his voice.

“Do you remember the psalm of the lost?”

Through the tightness of his throat, Roy squeezed out one of the only verses he still remembered from his little hymnal. “No one dies while their name is spoken, for they endure as long as the heart remembers.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Cal’s thin lips collected a fresh tear from Roy’s cheek. “I know you still love Milo, and I don’t want you to forget. Whenever you’re ready, tell me the stories. I want to know them all.”

Roy squeezed his eyes shut, colours dancing on his eyelids. Softness enveloped him—the fur bed sheet, the silky duvet, and Cal’s warm body pressed to him. Sometimes, he wondered if it was just a dream. Each morning, he would first inhale deeply—only after sniffing Cal’s flowery lotion would he dare open his eyes.

“Thank you,” he breathed out.