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At first, he thought he might have been mistaken, so Tino paused and pressed his back to a tree and closed his eyes to listen.
No, there it was again—a sort of muffled mumbling and the loud crack of a branch beneath an untrained foot. (Or simply careless, Tino, don’t make assumptions or let your guard down, his papa’s voice in his head reprimanded.)
He used his small size to his advantage and leaned around the edge of a stone outcropping, arrow first, just in case. However, when he realized just who he was pointing his nocked and readied arrow at, he nearly fell over. He hastily dropped the arrow point toward the ground before he was noticed.
Or at least, he thought he had.
“You were going to shoot me.” It was only Lukas, the village wise man. Tino let out a sigh of relief.
Lukas was as small as Tino and only one summer older, but he commanded the respect of the entire village. His parents had been killed by raiders when they were both very young; he had been lucky enough to be taken in by the chief, himself, thanks to his special, ah...gift. Then, he had become betrothed to the chief’s son in a—
“You’re staring, Tino.”
“Ah, heh, um, sorry...” Tino emerged from behind the stone outcropping and stepped carefully across the brambled forest floor to reach Lukas. “Um, is everything okay?”
Lukas was kneeling on the ground beside a basket of colorful flowers. A patch of pink flowers spread out in front of him, and he was weeding through them one at a time, as if looking for just the right bloom. “They’re for the midsummer pole,” he said without being asked.
Tino blushed at being so predictable. He knelt down beside Lukas to examine the flowers in the basket. “Are you picking them all by yourself?” he asked, remembering that Lukas’s scary bodyguard was never far away from him when they were outside the village.
“Yes. Berwald is helping Mathias.” Lukas finally selected one of the pink blossoms and cut the stem far down toward the dirt. “I’m glad to be alone.”
“Oh, well, then, I should—” Tino started to apologize and withdraw, but Lukas put a finger to his lips to silence him.
“Something’s bothering you.” It didn’t sound like a question, but Tino hadn’t grown up with Lukas for nothing.
He wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn his interest (and he wasn’t even sure that he wanted it), but he supposed he’d better answer. He wouldn’t want Lukas to think he was rude, after all.
Besides, come to think of it, perhaps Lukas could help him. Tino situated himself on the ground beside him and tried to find a way to voice his question. Lukas didn’t press him, and for a while, Tino watched as the older boy’s fingers nimbly picked through the multitude of pink flowers searching for just the right one to add to his growing bunch. It was quiet and...sorta nice...
“Um, Lukas,” Tino finally started, and he had to swallow what little pride he had to ask a particularly embarrassing question: “Who will I marry?”
When Lukas raised a slight brow in his direction, Tino suspected the extra curve at his cheek might be a hidden smile and he blushed brightly. “I-I mean, uh, that’s not it, I just...”
Tino sighed and shook his head. Yes, he knew how ridiculous he sounded—already sixteen summers and without anyone in mind. He would end up in an arranged marriage to someone in another tribe if he wasn’t careful. He wrung his hands, not sure if Lukas was amused by his question or the unfortunate circumstances that led to it. Tino was too shy to court any of the girls in the village, and those who expressed any interest in him were really only interested in his skill with a bow and the prestige it would bring to become betrothed to a valuable hunter. They often lamented his lack of presence and strength. Some wished he was taller or more handsome, and of course, like all of the boys in the village, he never measured up when compared to Mathias. The chief’s son was tall and well-built—he wielded a heavy ax as easily as Tino might lift his bow—and it went well with his bright, charismatic attitude.
However, he was out of reach for most of them and would never marry a woman since he was betrothed to Lukas, himself (though it was common knowledge that this was merely a political match, and that Mathias was expected to take plenty of mistresses and produce a large number of little warriors for the village).
Tino’s gaze inadvertently shifted to Lukas’s face, but if Lukas was unhappy with his own arrangements, he never let it show. His perpetually muted features remained unchanged as he hunted amongst the pink blossoms. Perhaps those with magic were just...different? Hm. But that didn’t help Tino. As the son of a low-ranked hunter who had surpassed his own father by age thirteen on merit alone, any of the girls in the village would be lucky to have him, he reassured himself.
But Tino didn’t want just any girl.
He wanted the right girl. But which one was it?
There was a legend that certain types of magic were most potent on Midsummer’s Eve, during the solstice, on the longest day of the year when the sun barely sank below the lip of the land. And who else would know about magic like that than the village wise man?
“Lukas...is there some way to find out? Who I’ll marry, I mean. Even her name would be enough, and it would take a lot of pressure off...” Tino toed one of the delicate pink blossoms with his boot. It shivered and a few drops of dew dripped out onto his foot.
“Flowers,” Lukas said, cryptic as always.
“Any, uh, specific flowers? I sort of meant, well, you know, magic ways?” Tino watched Lukas, hopefully.
“Nine different types of flowers, picked from nine different meadows.” Lukas stood up and brushed the bits of leaf and grass from his pants. Apparently there were enough pink flowers in his basket for the midsummer’s pole. “Place them beneath your pillow on Midsummer’s Eve and you will dream of the person you’re to marry.”
“Nine flowers from nine different meadows. Okay, I can do that! Thanks a lot!” As Tino turned to leave Lukas to his flower picking, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Lukas?”
“There are a few other things you could try, too. To be sure.”
Tino wasn’t sure he needed a back up plan, but Lukas looked serious and Tino wasn’t one to look down upon help offered, so he walked and talked with Lukas for the better part of the afternoon before finally returning to the village.
He had caught several squirrels and a grouse, and he was armed with a new arsenal of ways to find his future mate. It had been an afternoon well-spent.
When he got home, his mother let him taste some of the first strawberries harvested from the field, and with the sweet, sun-ripened berries overwhelming his senses, he soon forgot about his wife-hunting for a while.
The night of Midsummer’s Eve found Tino crawling on hands and knees in a field quite far from the village. The flower he was hunting was his ninth and the last required to complete the bouquet Lukas had promised would bring him a dream about his future beloved.
“Aha!” Tino cried and laughed out loud when he spotted one of the bright red flowers hiding just beneath the edge of a bush. He plucked it low to the ground and put it safely away in the empty arrow quiver he had brought along to protect it. It wouldn’t bode well if he were to mangle the flower on the way back to village.
Tino scrambled victoriously to his feet, intent on performing a few more of Lukas’s suggested rituals before retiring to bed and—”AH!”
The quiver containing the flower tumbled to the ground along with Tino’s pride as a hunter. Standing only a few steps off was the tall, hulking bodyguard who normally followed Lukas like a shadow on Mathias’s behalf. Berwald also held a bouquet of flowers quite similar to Tino’s, though he looked slightly less surprised to have company. What was it about Lukas and Berwald that left them so unnaturally emotionless? (Well, they were both close to Mathias, who seemed to compensate for them...) Were they holding back or were they just stoic?
(Now, Tino, that’s not really any of your business, he reminded himself. They’re two very respected members of the tribe based on merit alone, after all, so it’s not your place.)
“Yer picking fl’wers?” Berwald finally asked, and he gestured slightly with his own colorful bouquet. It rustled softly between them, and Tino examined it closely enough to notice that it wasn’t only similar to his own—it was identical! Was Berwald trying to learn the identity of his future wife, too? Tino couldn’t imagine anyone married to such a big, quiet boy. Though maybe he would grow into someone, more, um, friendly?
“Yeah, I am. They’re pretty...” Tino said, not sure if he wanted to admit why he was crawling around in the field of flowers to the one person in the village he could honestly say scared him. That would require a bit more fortitude than he could currently muster.
“Mm,” Berwald agreed. He seemed to analyze Tino’s bouquet more closely for a breath before simply turning on his heel and heading back toward the village.
He didn’t even say goodbye, Tino thought, though he was mostly relieved that Berwald was gone. It had been awkward, and his current task was embarrassing enough without having to explain it to someone like that.
Not that there was anything particularly wrong with Berwald...
Tino decided that if he wanted to continue his tasks, he would have to find places where the others would be less likely to disturb him. After all, most of the young men and women of the village would be hoping to catch a glimpse of their future spouse by all sorts of means that night. Better to do the next step somewhere a little more private.
Putting Berwald far from his mind to focus on the task at hand, Tino scooped up the quiver-turned-flower-vase from the ground and marched off across the field toward the treeline. Not far within was a spring fed from fresh-flowing snowmelt from the mountains. He had decided in advance that if any spring or well was going to be magical, it would be this one.
At the water’s edge, he set down the few items he was carrying. Then glancing left and right to confirm his total privacy, Tino began to strip his clothes away, one by one, according to Lukas’s instructions. Given the goal of the ritual, he did so reverently, letting each garment slip to the ground to pool around his feet with no small amount of trepidation. Perhaps he was better off not knowing—would the pressure be too much if he looked into the spring and saw the face of a girl in the village? How would he face her the next day during the midsummer festivities? Would he confess? Would he wait? Would he—
(Come on now, Tino, you want to do this.)
Inhaling and exhaling slowly to calm his heart and still his shivers that were only partly to blame on the chill in the air, Tino walked a little ways down the length of the water until he found a curve in the edge of the bank. There in the crook of the rock was a sheltered inlet protected from the bubbling of the spring, and the water was nearly glass-smooth—a perfect reflective surface.
Still slightly nervous, but summoning all the bravery he possessed—it was a girl, after all, not a wild boar—he stepped forward and peered over the edge. Only his own pale face stared back at him from the water.
“Oh, well...” he breathed and exhaled all of his expectation with it. Not that he’d expected much, but...didn’t he deserve to be happy, too? Ugh, those kinds of thoughts were just—”AH!”
Tno’s arms pinwheeled as he tried desperately not to fall into the still frigid water of the spring. He failed miserably, and moments later landed with a great splash and a desperate gasp of shock. He choked and sputtered and flailed in the water, and when he finally scrambled up onto the bank, he was soaked and naked and not entirely sure, but he thought he’d seen... “Berwald?”
A cloak was suddenly draped around Tino’s shoulders as if summoned from the ether. Standing above him, Berwald’s face was somewhat less stoic than usual and, possibly, quite perturbed. Was he angry? Oh, no, was Tino not supposed to be doing this here? He didn’t think it would be a problem, but...”Um, thanks, aheh...I fell...”
“Yeah,” Berwald said just loud enough to speak over the bubbling of the water. His voice was deep and resonant, with just a hint of a rumble. He offered Tino a hand up off the ground and took a moment to arrange the cloak more fully over his shoulders. How strange that someone so big could also be gentle. Tino hadn’t really thought it possible.
But even as he helped, Berwald looked so bothered that Tino felt like a terrible burden. So he stepped abruptly out of arm’s reach and put on his best and brightest smile. “Thanks, um, Berwald.” He continued to inch away as he spoke. “L-let me get dressed and I’ll return your cloak...”
“Keep it,” Berwald interrupted him and raised his hand.
He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Tino the entire time, and it was a little unnerving, so Tino took the opportunity to break eye contact and scurry over to his belongings. “No, really, I’ll—”
“Give it to me t’morrow,” Berwald insisted.
The extent of his bravery in front of Berwald exhausted, Tino only nodded and gathered his things into his arms. “Um, okay then. Uh, I’ll be going...Berwald...” He ducked around his companion and took off toward the village at full speed. It wasn’t that he was scared. Not really. He just didn’t enjoy the awkwardness of their conversations, and well, he was still naked beneath the cloak.
And wet.
And his teeth were chattering.
All along the way, he tried to shake the foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d failed to see the person he would marry reflected in the water like Lukas said. He’d only seen himself and Berwald. It was a little disappointing.
But, he knew Lukas was an expert when it came to these sorts of magical things, so he would trust him and put the bouquet beneath his pillow that night. It couldn’t hurt, right?
When Tino arrived home, his mother tutted at him for being soaked to the bone. Once he was changed and dry, she pushed food on him once again—this time, it was salted herring. At first, he wanted to admit he wasn’t very hungry, but after remembering yet another idea Lukas had given him, Tino ate twice as much as usual, ensuring he would get rather thirsty while he slept. Not only would he learn the name of his beloved wife from the bouquet of flowers under his pillow, but he would dream about her bringing him a glass of water to ease his thirst. Then, there would be no doubt, he was sure.
Smiling to himself as he tucked his legs beneath the furs and blankets of his bed, Tino fell asleep with a full stomach and a knot of excitement in his chest.
Berwald had remained at the pool for a while after Tino left, contemplating the water and the dipping midnight sun that brushed and flirted with the peaks of the distant mountains.
What was the meaning of this? Was his luck finally turning? Were the gods playing a trick on him? He was careful not to mutter a particular trickster god’s name, lest it draw his attention to Berwald and his plight.
To be honest, his chest ached.
He stared down at the pool and chewed his lip. Tino’s reflection gazed back at him from the gently drifting water wearing a bright smile that curved his lips in a way Berwald had never seen directed at himself.
Maybe...maybe Lukas had been wrong when he’d told him to have faith.
Berwald leaned over him and all of Tino’s coherent thoughts were brought to focus on one word—big. It was true; Berwald was big. He was tall, with broad shoulders and heavy, defined muscles that…ngh…they were beautiful, and—
When Berwald lowered his lips to Tino’s neck, the kisses he placed there were surprisingly warm and gentle. His mouth lingered against Tino’s skin, kissing his way down to the dip in his collar bone. Down to his bare chest riddled with goosebumps and heat. Tino’s cheeks flushed crimson and he looked away as Berwald’s tongue smoothed across his nipple and down his slight, but well-formed chest. Berwald’s hands—also surprisingly warm—brushed a lock of hair out of Tino’s eyes and tilted his head back to look at him.
Somehow Tino remembered that Berwald liked to look at his face when they made love. He liked to look at his eyes, Berwald had once confessed (but he hadn’t right, they had never done this and he hadn’t confessed a thing, but somehow he was just as sure that this Berwald had). Tino had to agree that it was definitely the best because, looking at Berwald now, he saw something he knew he had never seen in his waking life: passion. From his pink cheeks to his heaving chest, the way his lips pursed around Tino’s name, and the faintest tremble of his hands as he unbound Tino’s belt, the evidence was there. And as he slid Tino’s pants down his thighs, Tino sighed and whispered in return (“Ber…”) and raised his arms to wrap them around Berwald’s broad shoulders and pull him down to him.
In some distant part of Tino’s mind, he was fully aware that he was dreaming. Here and now in Berwald’s bed, beneath Berwald’s body as he thrust into him in exactly the way he knew Tino liked it, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All logic was lost, abandoned for the sweetness of Berwald’s mouth on his and their bodies pressed together like two halves of a whole.
“Faster,” he gasped against Berwald’s neck. Tino knew he was afraid to hurt him, afraid to lose control and unleash the strength lying dormant in his strong, merciless body, but he dug his fingers into Berwald’s back anyway and he urged him deeper, urged him to trust himself, just a little.
And then Tino was sinking. He was drowning in the warm, cozy waters of euphoria. His body held out for as long as it could—until the heat and pleasure became madness and he could no longer resist the pull of the tide—and when he released his seed against Berwald’s stomach, Tino forgot to inhale. Berwald’s name became his breath and his touches were Tino’s anchor to consciousness.
Berwald came soon enough, and that anchor disappeared. Tino sank into the abyss of satisfaction...of happiness...to the cadence of Berwald’s heart beating against his ears and the hum of his name whispered reverently into the darkness, like a prayer to the gods.
Tino laid in bed for a while staring up at the dim slats in the ceiling and trying to come to terms with that he had seen—and done—in his dream.
He...and Berwald...
Worse, he wasn’t panicking nearly as much as he thought that he should. He was actually rather calm. Serene might even have been a better word. In truth, it was all so very unbelievable that he might have been in shock. Because it was all a coincidence; it had to be. He was supposed to marry a pretty girl and settle down, not dream of doing...that...with him...
Ugh. His trousers were uncomfortably stiff against his hip and when he moved some of the hair attached to a very sensitive place pulled at his skin painfully.
As he rolled out of bed and started taking off his pants, he tried to reason with himself—I’m still young, after all, and Lukas did say that nearly anything could cause Mathias to have that kind of reaction, even dreams about food or...or...or hunting. For Tino, they might have been more rare, but it wasn’t as if he’d never had erotic dreams. They were usually about various girls in the village (and he hadn’t been able to meet their eyes for weeks), but those had been passing fancies, gone before any feelings could be realized.
To be honest—and he felt pathetic admitting it even to himself as he cleaned the leavings of his dream away from his body—Tino was a bit lonely.
Being smaller, more soft-spoken, and of a sweeter nature (as his mother put it) had led Tino to be overlooked by most of the village. He wasn’t forgotten, per se, but he wasn’t particularly thought of, either. He was, in the teasing words Mathias had used to bully him years before, forgettable.
Tino paused to examine his work and deemed himself clean enough. After his little dip in the spring the night before, he wasn’t going to chance catching a cold by bathing again today. Instead, he slipped his festival clothes on and went to stoke the fire. His parents were already at the festivities, preparing the midsummer pole and tending the bonfires. His mother would have brought fresh strawberries and herring, and his father would be selling freshly cured hides that they had both caught throughout the year. He really should have joined them already, but he took his time getting ready in front of the fire and then ate a small breakfast of cheese and a handful of the remaining strawberries. They stained his fingers and he licked the juice off, relishing in the sweetness.
Sweet, he thought again, somewhat more bitterly than expected, And forgettable. They were words used by other people to describe him, but how would Tino describe himself?
How would Berwald? a voice in his head interjected, and he frowned at his pink-tinged fingers. There was no way to know and, well—he blushed a bit—what did it matter, anyway? It was just a dream (the wrong dream) and he’d just have to wait until next Midsummer’s Eve to try again. Maybe he could purposefully avoid Berwald the week leading up to it so that he couldn’t taint his dream.
That reminded him that he still needed to return Berwald’s cloak, which meant he was definitely going to have to see him that day, dream or no dream. He wouldn’t be able to meet his gaze (well, more than usual, he supposed), so what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just leave it at Berwald’s doorstep; that would be rude, and it had been kind of him to lend it to him, despite not being very close to one another.
“Well, that’s not particularly true, either,” Tino mumbled out loud to himself as he grabbed his boots and Berwald’s cloak and headed toward the door. He paused to shove one foot into each boot before stepping outside. It wasn’t that they weren’t close, he mused along the way to the festival, it was just that when they were alone together, their conversations always consisted of Berwald hming and nodding occasionally while Tino talked himself into a corner to fill the silence. Eventually he would say something wrong, Berwald would get angry, and that would be that. Those conversations usually left Tino fleeing from Berwald’s side with rushed apologies and embarrassment burning in his cheeks.
Maybe Berwald hadn’t been kind in giving Tino the cloak. He frowned and unconsciously gripped the fabric in question closer against his chest. Maybe he just couldn’t wait to get rid of me?
And just like that, any relief he had felt vanished and he didn’t know what to think of the dream, or Berwald, or the older boy’s intentions the night before.
All he knew was that he wouldn’t be finding his wife this year, so he may as well go and have fun at the festival (even if he was alone).
Three passes around the midsummer pole and a morning spent tending his parents’ table, and Tino had nearly forgotten his disappointment. If it weren’t for Berwald’s cloak tucked beneath the table, he might have let it go completely, but each time he reached underneath to retrieve some of the goods stored there, he caught a glimpse of it and his stomach sank.
He’d seen Lukas pass nearby several times already, usually with Mathias attached to his arm and Berwald shadowing close behind scanning the crowds. Though ostensibly supposed to be watching out for Lukas’s safety, Tino wondered if Berwald wasn’t also looking out for the person he’d seen in his own dreams last night. That’s right. He had a bouquet, too, Tino remembered, and somehow he didn’t feel consoled knowing even the bodyguard was fated to be with one of the girls in the village. He wondered idly who she would be. Probably someone similarly quiet and thoughtful, who could render Berwald’s silence warm and companionable. Or perhaps a girl who was funny and talkative, someone who could bring out Berwald’s personality (assuming he had any)—perhaps even make him smile, as Lukas had once confided only Mathias could, and rarely at that.
He envied anyone lucky enough to—
“-ino! TINO!”
Tino blinked away his uncharacteristic self-pity only to find Mathias’s face alarmingly close to his own. “Wh-what?” He took a (big) step backward. “Oh, um, hi there, Mathias...Lukas.........Berwald.” No one else seemed to notice the awkwardness he was feeling, so Tino tried not to make it more obvious by stumbling over the object of his embarrassment’s name.
“Wow, you were really daydreamin’ there! Hehe, thinkin’ about all the food we’re gonna eat soon?” Mathias was all grin and teeth despite Lukas thumping him on the shoulder for having a one-track mind. “Oh, yeah, so you wanna eat with us or what?”
Tino glanced from Mathias and his expectation to Lukas and his patient non-expression. He knew if he raised his eyes to Berwald’s face he would find similarly neutral features gazing back at him (there was simply no way Berwald’s face could ever make the lewd expressions Tino had witnessed in his dream; what had he been thinking?) “You’re...asking me to eat with you?” Tino asked dumbly, still trying to make sense of things. It must have been Lukas’s idea, but only the gods knew why.
“Well, yeah. So, you comin’?” Mathias’s stomach growled.
Tino wondered if he was getting impatient. “Um,” he felt his heart picking up speed. It was a great opportunity—being seen with the chief’s son and the village wise man would reflect well on him and his family—but...but...how could he stay so close to Berwald without dying of embarrassment, even if he was the only one who knew? After all, Berwald..."Berwald probably doesn’t want me to.”
The moment the words were out, Tino slapped his hand over his mouth. What had he done? He hadn’t meant to say it! Was it possible to take it back??
Worst of all, while Lukas was staring at him oddly and Mathias seemed unfazed, Berwald was actually looking a bit uncomfortable. As if he were either very offended—and rightfully so—or about to object and...and...
“It’s okay,” Berwald said and his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. “I don’t mind since yer m’wife.”
Tino opened his mouth then closed it again. Every word he ever learned seemed to have escaped him and he couldn’t form the sentence of denial he knew he must utter for his own pride’s sake, if nothing else.
Fortunately (or not), Mathias was at no such loss. “What? Yer wife? That’s a good one, Ber! Wow, you are capable of crackin’ a joke after all!”
Following Mathias’s lead, Tino began to laugh, softly at first, and then with increasing desperation bordering on madness. Suddenly all of the failed expectation and disappointment were just bubbling up and he was laughing so hard his sides were starting to hurt.
While Mathias seemed quite amused by this turn of events, Berwald did not, and without a word, he suddenly disappeared into the milling crowd of the festival.
“Hey!” Mathias yelled when he finally noticed that Berwald had left them, “Where’d he go? I’m hungry and—“
“Then you should have been more observant.” Lukas’s voice was cold and sharper than usual. “He was serious. And you were not.” He was glaring at them both and exuding a menacing aura that made Tino want to hide beneath the table. He’d never noticed that Lukas was protective of the very person supposed to be protecting him. It was somewhat endearing, and Tino wondered what Lukas saw in Berwald that he didn’t. He must have some redeeming qualities and, well, it was all clearly a misunderstanding, right? (Now, Tino, you know what you ought to do.)
“I’ll find him!” Tino dropped below the table and re-emerged hugging Berwald’s bulky cloak to his chest. “Meet us at the cookfires, okay?” he called over his shoulder and didn’t wait for an answer. It was rude, and he would definitely apologize later, but for now, he had to fix his mistake. As he scurried off into the crowd of festival goers, however, Tino realized that he had no idea how to find Berwald. Would he be near the food, already eating without them? Or perhaps he was browsing the items available for trade?
Guilt tugged at Tino’s heart, and in a flash of inspiration born of discouragement, he headed off in the opposite direction, away from the festival and the colorful revelers.
He crossed several fields, then stopped short of the treeline that bordered the mountain spring where Tino had seen Berwald the night before. The older boy was sitting on a rock at the water’s edge, and Tino’s shoulders fell. Lukas was right; Berwald looked...heartbroken. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to fix things, but he did bring the cloak all that way, and he did want to help, somehow, because he felt more than a little responsible.
He hadn’t bothered to hide his presence as he stumbled and crashed through the underbrush on his arrival, so there was no chance that someone like Berwald didn’t already know he was there. Rather than insult him by calling out and making more of a fool of himself, Tino straightened his shoulders and took several deliberate steps toward the water. Berwald showed no sign of reacting, so he sidled up beside him and settled his hip against the rock Berwald was sitting on.
(Okay, Tino, you can do this...)
“Um, well, you know...” Tino’s voice faded, stifled by the intimidating silence that draped like a curtain between them. Perhaps a different approach was needed. “I brought your cloak. I really appreciate you letting me borrow it. I hope it’s okay, it got a little chilly last night, so I spread it over my other blankets. It helped a lot...so...um...” Tino’s voice died yet again, this time because Berwald had finally looked at him and he was staring so intensely that Tino couldn’t tell if he was going to get hit. “Um, if it’s not okay, I’m sure we can work something out, well...I mean—”
“Three years,” Berwald interrupted him rather abruptly.
“E-Excuse me?”
“That’s how many times I’ve seen ya in the water...”
Oh, that made sense. But just as Tino started to understand, Berwald made things a bit more complicated.
“...and in m’dreams.”
“I...you...dreams...what...really?” It came out all high-pitched and choked, like Tino’s vocal chords refused to say it out loud. Berwald simply nodded and tossed a pebble he’d been holding into the stream.
Tino’s cheeks were alight with heat, rivaling the brightest of the midsummer bonfires, and his heart pounded in his chest. Could Berwald have had a similar dream? About Tino? How embarrassing. And what did it mean? They were fated to marry? Two men? Well, okay, yes, Lukas and Mathias were two men, but everyone knew that was ceremonial. This...this was...not that. Berwald had seen Tino in the water...he had dreamed about him for years...
“But...but, that’s just coincidence, right? Of course. Because we saw each other not long before we went to bed. It doesn’t mean, well, I mean...it doesn’t, right?”
“I don’t b’lieve in coincidence,” Berwald stated plainly, and Tino’s flimsy reasoning folded in on itself. Of course, once, maybe twice, it could be coincidence, but three years was probably pushing even Tino’s limits of belief. And he, himself, had seen Berwald in his dream and in the reflection in the spring. He couldn’t deny it was a reasonable assumption to make, especially given how confident Lukas had been that the whole thing would work. Had he known all along that it would be Berwald? Had he set him up?
He didn’t doubt it. He had been either a fool to have gone along with it, or a fool to resist. (Or perhaps, as Tino feared, both.) So instead of refuting it again, Tino swallowed his pride—and trepidation—and turned to fully face Berwald. “Well, Berwald, it seems...that I saw you as well. In the water, I mean, and...in my dreams last night.” He hadn’t thought his face could burn any hotter until it proved him quite wrong. “But it doesn’t have to mean anything,” he quickly added, stumbling over the words in a hurry to get them out.
“It means yer m’wife,” Berwald stated again and looked away.
Tino folded his arms across his chest and considered it. He couldn’t say that he disliked Berwald; he didn’t really know him. The only things he knew about him were that he was tall and quiet and strong, and he was the only one who could control Mathias when he was drunk and angry. That wasn’t much to go on.
But Tino also remembered how lonely he often felt, and he couldn’t help but recognize that they were possibly two of a kind in that respect.
Tino was sweet and forgettable. And Berwald was tall and quiet, and no one ever bothered to look deeper than that. They were both pigeonholed, put into niches, and left there to remain forever at a distance from the others. He remembered Berwald at the same spring the evening before, and how gently he had wrapped his cloak around Tino’s shoulders without a word. Perhaps, if there was more to Tino than sweetness, there was more to Berwald than quietness, and that possibility deserved what Tino decided was a compromise.
“Berwald,” Tino formed his lips around the name more deliberately than usual, feeling it out thoroughly and with great care. “Berwald, I know what we both saw and what you think it means. What...we both think it might mean. So...” He took a breath to steady himself. Berwald still wasn’t looking at him, and it was a bit unnerving when what he had to say was so important. With trembling fingers, Tino reached forward to touch Berwald’s chin and urge him to look his way. When their eyes met, his hand fell to his side, but the heat of Berwald’s skin refused to leave his fingertips. “So...so I’d like to spend the next year, well, you know, getting to know you...and...uh, you, me. And if we dream about each other again next year, I guess we’ll have to accept it then, won’t we?”
There was a long, long silence when he finished speaking—a silence in which honest, kind Tino had a chance to come to a painful realization: Berwald had been doing the same rituals for at least three years. He had been looking for that special person with which to spend his life for all that time. No, he had been seeing Tino in his dreams for all those years. Tino might be forgettable to some, but Berwald, well, he hadn’t been able to forget him, had he? In fact, he’d been thinking of him all along. Whether or not the next year proved that they were a match or not, Tino was already feeling a bit lighter and happier knowing that, and he smiled despite the heaviness of the silence surrounding them.
Finally, the tension seemed to drain from Berwald’s shoulders. “I don’t mind.” He placed a hand on Tino’s shoulder and only hesitated for a second when Tino didn’t shy away as he’d apparently expected (it surprised Tino, too!). “I can wait as long as ya need.”
And Tino, still smiling, could only wonder at how warm Berwald’s strong hand really was.
Just like it had been in his dream.
. end .