Chapter 50: Ch 50: Picking All Of It

Ch 50: Picking All Of It

They stayed under the maple tree until the light began to turn the color of honey. Abel’s heavy weight was warm and solid on top of Orion, a comforting anchor. Orion just kept stroking his hair, over and over, listening as Abel’s breathing evened out from its earlier ragged rhythm into something slow and calm.

The forest seemed to settle around them. Leaves rustled overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a bird called to its mate. The world had continued turning while Abel’s heart had felt like it was breaking. Now, beneath the old maple, there was nothing demanding that he explain himself or pretend to be fine.

Orion was content to let the silence remain gentle.

Finally, Abel pushed himself up on his elbows again. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. He looked down at Orion like he was seeing him for the first time all over again.

"My heart doesn’t hurt anymore," he announced, as if reporting a scientific finding.

"Good," Orion said, smiling up at him. "I’m glad."

"It feels... big now. Not squeezed. Just big." Abel placed his hand over his own chest, frowning slightly in concentration.

"That’s probably the love part winning," Orion offered.

Abel nodded, accepting this. He rolled off to lie on his side in the moss, propping his head on his hand. He reached out with his other hand and started playing with a strand of Orion’s dark hair, twisting it around his finger.

"I didn’t mean to scare everyone," he said again, quieter.

"I know you didn’t."

"Will Aster still play strategy games with me? With the wooden soldiers?"

"I think so," Orion said. He shifted onto his side to face Abel. "He might wait a day or two. Let you settle. But yes, I think he will."

"Good."

Abel was quiet for a minute, twirling the lock of hair. His fingers moved carefully, as though the simple task required all his concentration.

"I don’t like the quiet rooms. But sometimes... my head gets loud inside. And then the loud comes out."

Orion understood. The episodes, the "fits" as the household called them—they weren’t madness. They were a system overwhelmed. Too much noise, too much emotion, too many broken memories colliding. And with no way to sort it, the only release was outward. A roar. A lash. A storm.

The household saw the aftermath, the frightened servants, the overturned furniture, and the damage left behind. They didn’t always see the struggle that came before it. They didn’t hear the noise Abel carried inside his own head or understand how desperately he wanted it to stop.

Orion wished he could take that burden from him. But he couldn’t simply make the world quieter, and he couldn’t promise that Abel would never struggle again.

He could, however, help him find another way through it.

"When it gets loud," Orion said carefully, "can you try to find me? Before it comes out? I can be your door, remember? You can come to me."

Abel’s gaze was serious. "What if you’re not there? Like today. You were in the forest."

"Then... find something that smells like me. My pillow. A shirt I wore. Or find Angel. Or just sit down and put your head between your knees and breathe until the loudness passes. You don’t have to let it out, Abel. You can let it fade."

"It’s hard," Abel whispered.

"I know it is. But you’re the strongest person I know. You can do hard things."

A small, proud smile touched Abel’s lips. He liked being called strong. He leaned forward and bumped his forehead gently against Orion’s.

"You help. You make the loud softer."

"That’s my job," Orion said softly.

Abel pulled back. His stomach growled, a long, low rumble that sounded comically loud in the quiet woods. He blinked, looking surprised, then patted his belly.

"Oh. We missed lunch. And tea."

Orion laughed. "We did. I’m starving too."

The cookies felt like a lifetime ago. Between the jealousy, the tears, and the long conversation beneath the maple tree, eating had become the last thing on either of their minds. Now, however, Orion’s stomach was beginning to make its own complaints.

"We should go back," Abel said, but he made no move to get up. He looked reluctant. "The manor is... noisy too. In a different way."

It was. The whispers, the judging eyes, Ashford’s looming presence even in confinement, the Duchess’s expectations. It was a social noise, a dangerous one.

Orion understood why Abel wanted to remain beneath the tree, where nobody demanded anything from him. Here, they could simply exist without worrying about what anyone thought of their marriage or what the future might hold.

But they couldn’t stay in the forest forever.

"We don’t have to go straight to dinner," Orion suggested. "We could go to the kitchens through the back. Get some bread and cheese and apples. Take it to our room. Have a private picnic on the floor."

Abel’s eyes lit up. "Like the meadow date. But inside."

"Exactly like that."

This decided, they finally sat up. Abel stood first, then offered Orion his hand and pulled him to his feet. They both brushed moss and leaves from their clothes. Orion’s training tunic was wrinkled and damp in patches. Abel’s fine linen shirt was smudged with dirt from the forest floor.

"We look messy," Orion observed.

"We look like we had an adventure," Abel corrected, sounding pleased.

He took Orion’s hand firmly in his.

"Come on. I know a secret way to the kitchens."

He led Orion not back toward the main path, but along a nearly invisible deer trail that wound behind the old stables and came up beside the manor’s laundry yard. The smell of soap and steam hung in the air. A few laundresses glanced up, saw Abel holding Orion’s hand, and quickly looked away, hiding smiles.

Abel moved with a quiet confidence here, in these servant spaces. He pushed open a heavy, unmarked door that led into a dim, cool storeroom smelling of onions and potatoes. From there, it was a short dash across a hallway and into the vast, warm chaos of the main kitchens.

It was the hour between afternoon baking and evening meal prep. The head cook, Mistress Dora, a formidable woman with arms like ham hocks, was sipping tea by the hearth. She saw them and raised one eyebrow.

"Lost, are we?" she asked, her voice not unkind.

"Hungry," Abel said simply.

Her eyes swept over their disheveled state. She saw their joined hands. She gave a slow, knowing nod.

"Missed a few meals, by the looks of it. Sit."

She pointed a thick finger at a scarred wooden worktable in the corner.

They sat on stools. Abel didn’t let go of Orion’s hand.

Mistress Dora bustled about. She didn’t ask questions. She brought them a loaf of still-warm brown bread, a wedge of sharp white cheese, a bowl of crisp apples, and two slabs of cold roasted chicken left from the servants’ midday meal. She plunked down two tankards of sweet cider.

"Eat," she commanded. "Quietly. And use the back stair when you’re done. Don’t need you traipsing through the front hall looking like woodland sprites."

"Thank you," Orion said sincerely.

She waved him off and went back to her tea, giving them the illusion of privacy in the bustling room.

They ate with their fingers, tearing the bread, breaking the cheese. They were both ravenous. The food was simple and delicious, and the warmth of the kitchen made the meal feel even better after their hours beneath the tree.

Abel fed Orion a piece of apple, and Orion fed him a bit of chicken. They didn’t talk much, just ate and shared smiles. Their shoulders occasionally brushed, and every time they did, Abel seemed quietly pleased.

There was no need to discuss what had happened again. Not now. They had already spoken about the hurt, the fear, and the things they wanted to do differently. For the moment, they could let the food and each other’s company be enough.

When they were full, Abel carefully wrapped the remaining bread and cheese in a clean cloth Mistress Dora had left. He tucked the apples into his pockets, making his trousers bulge comically.

They slipped out the way they’d come, through the storeroom and into the fading light of the laundry yard. Abel led them to a narrow, winding stone staircase built into the outer wall of the manor—a servants’ stair. It was dark and smelled of stone dust and old wood.

Their room was on the second floor. Abel pushed open the door at the top of the stair, and they emerged into a familiar, carpeted hallway just a few doors down from their own chamber.

Safe.

Inside their room, the evening sun streamed through the windows. Abel immediately went to the hearth and knelt, building up the fire with an expert ease that spoke of ingrained memory. Orion set their bundled food on the small table.

They shed their dirty outer clothes, leaving them in a heap by the door. In just their soft undershirts and trousers, they felt lighter. Abel spread the quilt from the bed onto the floor in front of the growing fire.

Their indoor picnic.

They sat cross-legged, finishing the apples and the last of the cheese. The fire crackled, painting their skin in dancing orange light. Outside, the sky deepened toward evening, but inside, the room was warm and comfortable.

"Today was a good day," Abel said eventually, leaning back on his hands. "And a bad day. And then a good day again."

"That sounds about right," Orion agreed, taking a sip of cider.

"I learned about jealousy."

"You did."

"And I learned that my heart is strong enough for the big feelings. Even the hurty ones."

Orion looked at him, this man who could be shattered and mighty in the same hour.

"It is. It’s the strongest heart I know."

Abel crawled over to him. He didn’t kiss him. He just lay down and put his head in Orion’s lap, looking up at the ceiling. Orion began to card his fingers through Abel’s unruly blond hair.

The movement was familiar now, as natural as breathing. Abel’s eyes grew heavy beneath Orion’s gentle touch. His body relaxed, the tension gradually leaving his shoulders until he seemed to sink into the quilt itself.

He was soon asleep, his breathing deep and even.

Orion stayed there for a long time, just watching the firelight play over his husband’s face, feeling the weight of his head, listening to the steady beat of the strongest heart he knew.

They picked each other. And for now, that was more than enough.