The above is a personal photo with all rights reserved.
I remember the day that I accepted that I was in love with him. It was the day before I had to suddenly sort out all of my romantic life and where I was living on whichever plane of existence.
But before that, before everything became complicated, I had one of the few moments in my life when I felt completely happy. It felt like it would burst through my skin.
Brand has been cheerfully planning my wedding, with or without me. Before I’d had more than one conversation with Freyr. I have not decided how I feel about this. Commitment to relatively mortal beings doesn’t frighten me, but commitment to a god is a little overwhelming.
I haven’t felt bothered or nervous at all about the Work I’ve been given, though I finally got the full-on skeptical eyebrow face from someone about it yesterday. Despite being similarly aware that if I abandoned my Work, it would also not be good. But the Work demands so much less than a spouse. I can have things come up and need to reschedule. You can’t reschedule people very well — I should know, by now: Freyr is extremely difficult to reschedule and heavily dislikes it.
At least if I am completely exhausted and he wants to see me, holding me while I sleep seems to make him happy. I spend at least a couple of nights every week sandwiched between him and Brand like that. Brand, perpetually tired, here. I, little better. Freyr, never tired.
I did notice I’d been herded into buying a ring, but it’s fairly unsuitable outside of Work. It isn’t something I can leave on all of the time, and wash my hands, shower, etc.
“It could be an engagement ring!” Brand chirps in with.
“I’m pretty sure it’s part of the official outfit,” I respond wearily. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense as anything else, honestly. It’s too… him-as-god, not him-as-boyfriend/spouse.”
“Do they separate?”
“What kind of wedding ring would you like?”
“Did he put you up to this, or is this just your meddling?”
What is important is that when we are together and things are quiet (it actually happens sometimes), I feel comfortable and I want to stay. I don’t want it to stop. There are days that I hate getting out of bed, not because of my lifelong depression, but because I feel safe on a level deep enough that I do not have to actually think, “I feel safe.” Or “I feel peaceful.” I feel like what I imagine cats feel like when they’re sleeping curled up with another cat in the sun.
Or otters, who hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart with the tides.