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279 pages, Kindle Edition
Published February 21, 2025
Never again would he be able to stand isolation, to sleep alone in his bed. Darach and Finlay would break his heart. A stone under a sledgehammer, shattered into multitudinous pieces. Folke might take the shards and try to give them to others, someday. Try, and fail, for the shards would crumble in his attempts until nothing but dust remained. Because no one else would ever compare. He was ruined, irrevocably, and wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Because we want ye, Folke.” His fork screeched across the plate, halting its hopeful chase for remnants. “If ye’ll have us.”
“Ye’re breathtaking when ye smile.”
“Alright.” Finlay snorted. “Fuck, if you keep on being so precious I’m really going to fall for you.”
“Then my plan is falling into place.”
“I knew you had a mouth on you, Precious.” He fired back, “Of course you did, I’ve been using it on you.”
“I want you to stay for as long as you’re willing.” And let that willingness be forever.
"Ye care deeply. No' about a lot. I reckon ye would, if ye werenae so intent on locking yersel away. I saw it when we met in the storm, a shepherd more concerned for his flock than himself or his bleeding foot."
This was more than a snippet. This felt like the beginnings of a jumper being undone right at the hem, the first few stitches pulled loose. The thread now there for him to tug on. Fibres might snag, knots might build, but he could work his way through it. He could unravel it all if he were determined enough to be without the warmth of the jumper.
"Your sheep will be fine."
Folke wanted to argue, it's the only thing I'm good for.
Voiced, "It's all I have."
And hated himself for it. Busied toeing dirt out from the soles of his boots, while Finlay remained silent. His eyes were on Folke, he could feel them.
"That's not true anymore, is it?"
"I just - don't go anywhere without me. I'll be by your side. Even if you have to go shit in the woods, I'll come with you. I need to come with you. Do you understand? Don't go out on your own."
A breathless, shocked laugh sprang free. "Saying you're worried about me would be less crude."
Although perhaps too direct even for the blunted axe.
Happy. He made both men happy.
Such a terrifying notion, when he'd never even entertained the thought of being someone's happiness before.
Never again would he be able to stand isolation, to sleep alone in his bed. Darach and Finlay would break his heart. A stone under a sledgehammer, shattered into multitudinous pieces. Folke might take the shards and try to give them to others, someday. Try, and fail, for the shards would crumble in his attempts until nothing but dust remained. Because no one else would ever compare. He was ruined, irrevocably, and wouldn’t have it any other way.