From now on, all oneshots related to my main story Failed to Fail will be put here. I try to write every oneshot as standalone so you don't need to read FtF, but there will be few things and names that would make more sense if you do.

This one is based on kmeme prompt–Zevran is having nightmares and the Warden helps him to deal with them. Zev and Air are in love here, but they're not lovers yet and it happens shortly before their last trip to Denerim.

Big thanks to Brelaina for beta-reading this.

Cast Your Burden On Me Tonight

They are standing in a row, backs straight, chests forward, feet spread shoulder wide, arms behind their backs, each hand clasping the opposite wrist, staring in front of them. The sun is shining directly into his eyes, but he knows better than to move his head. Master Xavier doesn't tolerate impertinence.

The sound of feet and something dragged through the dirt reaches his ears. Nobody turns, nobody mutters. A young Crow, dragging a tied man, as if he is just a heavy package. The man is gagged and blindfolded. The Crow drops him to Master Xavier's feet.

"Untie him."

The Crow obeys without a word. The man blinks and quickly glances around, but doesn't dare to move. Master Xavier grabs his hair and pulls him up.

"This piece of trash," he says, "Was one of us. But he's no longer worthy of that honour. Not only he failed his mission but he cost us lives of good, strong Crows. What punishment does he deserve?"

"Death!" They repeat in unison. His voice sounds a bit squeaky; he knows what will follow. He was thirteen yesterday. Master Xavier looks at him.

"Arainai. You do it."

He steps forward, hands on his daggers, ready to attack at any moment, if the Master orders so. Master Xavier smirks – from him, it's the sign of the highest possible appreciation.

Then the Master drops the man on the ground again, and kicks him hard. "You know the rules, Moega," he says. "Make it to the exit of the training yard and you're free to go."

"But in that case you die, Arainai," he adds, and looks directly into Zevran's eyes. "Start."

The man doesn't even have time to get up before Zevran is there, grasping his hair, pulling his head upwards. Their eyes meet. They stare at each other. A prey and its hunter. Both are terrified. Zevran's hands are sweating and the dagger is slightly trembling. A second; an eternity; then he slides his hand across the man's throat. The blood is pouring and pouring, bright red, spoiling his dagger and his hand. He lets the body fall to the ground, and doesn't give him another look. Instead he focuses on his hand and the drops of blood at the tip blade of his dagger, dripping, dripping...

"Well done, Arainai."

He lifts his eyes, startled. He didn't even notice when Master Xavier came over. When the Master reaches his hand, he half expects a blow for his carelessness, but the Master just playfully strikes his face, tips his chin upwards and gently brushes their lips together. He stiffens and the Master pushes him off, chuckling.

"Go clean yourself and come to my quarters. We will start with the next part of your training immediately."

It's good that his body knows what to do and bows and moves by itself; but the blood is dripping, still dripping...

He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. Why? Why did it keep returning in his dreams? Why couldn't he forget that disgusting bastard?

How many times he wished during that night that he had let the man escape.

Stop thinking about it. It's nothing but a memory now. He was not even a Crow any more. Now his task was to protect the life of his little Warden. What would Master Xavier say to that?

He stepped out of the tent and took a deep breath.

"Zev? Something wrong?"

"Amore? Wasn't it Sten's turn?" He walked to the fire and sat next to Airam, brushing their lips together.

"You have three guesses."

"Nightmares?"

"Bravissimo," the boy smirked, but then became serious again. "Just like you."

"No. I was just hot."

"Hm." Airam didn't press further. "I can cool the air in your tent a bit," he offered.

"No need to waste magic for such mundane purposes," he said, imitating Wynne. He had had enough of Xavier and Muega for tonight.

Airam gave him a knowing look and smiled. "Shall I tell you a story from the Circle, then?"

"A dirty one?"

Airam laughed, and got up to pour them some tea from the kettle. "Flemeth's recipe, Morri finally decided to share it. I'm warning you, it will keep you awake no matter how boring my telling is."

"Then I will have fun just staring luridly at you, bello mio."

"If you insist…" Airam sat down again and sipped some tea, leaning on him. "So, there was this lecherous Enchanter, generally known as Bedbug…"

oOo

The nightmares continued. He tried his best to keep it a secret. As a Crow, he was used to getting just a few hours of sleep, so it shouldn't have been a problem. Or so he thought. But when was he able to fool his little Warden? For a few days now, Airam was watching him closely and already gave him several perfect opportunities to talk about it, should he wish. But he stubbornly kept denying the truth.

One time he was on the verge of admitting it, but then he changed his mind. There was nothing that could be done about it, so what was the point? Airam had enough problems without his bad dreams, he told himself. A small voice in his head laughed at him and mocked him for being a coward, but he ignored it, pretending he didn't know what it was talking about. He had never had these nightmares before; this had to be just some short-time weakness, like a cold – it simply had to be suffered till it was over. It shouldn't take much longer.

But it lasted for more than two weeks now. Sometimes he would wake up still feeling sore after a cruel flogging from his allenatore if his performance during training was not perfect, or dirty from Master Xavier's touches. And he didn't want to think about that. Not daring to ask Wynne – she'd say it to Airam immediately – he tried to mix up few sleeping potions. But he had to admit that his skills in this area left much to be desired and the potions were too weak.

Last night was no better. If it doesn't stop soon, he would have to go to Airam anyway, whether he liked it or not. He could not endanger the whole group by being clumsy and incautious due to prolonged sleep deprivation. Till the end of the week, he decided, as he packed his tent, desperately trying to sound his usual cheerful self, when the others joked and fooled around. Then he'll go and ask Airam for a sleeping potion.

But life is a bitch and seldom cares for plans, yes? They were attacked by group of darkspawn, a dozen or so, that shouldn't have been a problem. Nothing extra, a bunch of genlocks, few hurlocks and only one emissary. They had killed hundreds of foul creatures by now, what were a few more? Any of them could take on this particular group single-handedly – well, except perhaps for Wynne and the mabari.

And except him, it seemed. He saw that hurlock's attack and normally it wouldn't be a problem to block it or to step aside. This time, however, he was too slow. Surprised, he stared at the sword protruding from his belly. So that thing really got him? How disappointing, I hoped to die with more style, he thought, dimly aware he was falling to the ground.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the tent. Airam was sitting on the chair nearby, looking worried and scared. He tried to give him a flashing, reassuring smile, but he was so weak, so tired, it didn't quite work. Airam looked relieved nonetheless.

"Zev," he whispered, leaning to him, caressing his cheek and gently kissing his lips. "Zevvie, you Makerdamn fool, don't you dare scare me like that again, or I'll kill you."

"Amore… I am sorry… I…"

"As you should be, silly assassin. No, shhh, don't talk, you need to rest. I'm going to call Wynne, all right?"

Rest… yes. Yes, that sounded very good.

oOo

Zevran wasn't aware how many days passed; most of the time he was sleeping, with only short periods when he was awake, too weak to even feed himself alone. The sword of that blasted creature was poisoned and in combination with his wound and exhaustion it was almost miracle that he was still alive.

You said you didn't want to give him more worries, said that mocking voice in his head again, and look what you caused now. Problems, complications, delay. All because you're a coward.

And this time he couldn't pretend it wasn't right.

"Amore," he said when Airam came with dinner, "I am sorry I lied."

"About the nightmares?" asked Airam lightly as he spooned some soup into his mouth. "I just can't understand why it was so important to pretend you don't have them. Especially in front of me. I did have a nightmare, too, once or twice, you know."

"I was an idiot," he said as he swallowed the soup.

Airam snickered. "Well that's a promising start. Please, go on."

"I am sorry I cause problems for you-"

Airam raised his brow at him. "Trying to change the subject, are you?"

"No, but we are wasting time because of me."

"We're not. You are wasting time, lying here like some elven prince. The rest of us are working hard, you know."

That only made him feel worse, but as he opened his mouth to apologise again, Airam pushed the spoon with soup in his mouth, chuckling softly when he spluttered a bit.

"It's only the fourth day and Wynne says you'll be good as new before the end of this week. So do not worry. Besides, even if it was forty days, you don't really think I'd care, do you? Silly assassin. Back to the subject. How long have you been suffering these nightmares? But the truth now, if you like."

"Some two weeks. I thought it would end soon, but I was going to ask you for help..."

"You were? How nice to hear that. Most reassuring, really, to know you were going to tell me before you died."

He wanted to reply, but again a spoon was pushed in his mouth.

"Will you stop using that spoon as a weapon?" He tried to sound angry, but Airam didn't buy it, of course.

"That's not a weapon. This is," he said, holding up the fork. "I was going to give you some meat, but if you insist, I can... find some other uses for it."

He laughed and tried to pull the boy to him, but he was too weak to budge him. "Kiss me," he demanded desperately.

Airam leant forward, brushing their lips together, but then pulled away, ignoring his protests. "No, thanks, Zev. If I want more soup, I can eat it myself."

He groaned. "I hate you."

"Of course you do. And stop distracting me, I'm trying to discuss a serious matter here, you know. Tell me, these nightmares - are they something related to your past, or just some terrible fantasies, with scary demons and such?"

It was useless, he knew - when his little Warden decided to do something, it was not easy to distract him.

"My past. Training. Masters... things like that. But why is it necessary to talk about it?"

"Because me and Wynne think we could help you. Remember when you asked me why demons try to attack only mages in their dreams, and ignore the non-mages like you, who wouldn't be able to defend themselves?"

He chuckled. "How could I forget, when you compared me to Alistair's lamb stew and yourself to Antivan fish chowder?"

"Silly assassin. Should have known you'd only remember the joke."

"No, wait. You said... mages had to, close their mind before they go to sleep, put up a mental barrier, right? And that non-mages are not attractive for demons, because they don't have magic, but that if necessary, they could be also trained to do that – oh. I see. You think the demons finally noticed how awesome I am, yes?"

"Sorry. For demons you're still just a bowl of a lamb stew. Cold and stale." Airam smiled, but then became all business-like and serious again and he knew the time for joking was over.

"So tell me, Zev. Are there mages among the Crows?"

He stared at the boy's face. Sure, there were mages in the Crows, but why would they bother to do something like this? Why not just send someone to kill him? He had been with his little Warden for almost a year now, and yet, there was no one hunting him. Ignacio said, months ago, that he was 'Taliesen's responsibility', but nothing had happened. And this definitely wasn't Taliesen's style.

"There are. But I don't see why would they do this."

"Perhaps they want to weaken you, before they attack. Perhaps they hoped to find out something about your whereabouts, or about the Wardens. I don't give a damn why they're doing this, right now all I care about is stopping it. If you'll let me, that is."

That was odd. Why would he be against it? And why was Airam looking so worried? "Of course I'll let you. Do you even have to ask?"

"I do. Because, if I'm to help you... then you have to let me in."

"In, where?" he asked, though he knew the answer. And he didn't like it at all.

"In your dreams, Zev," said the boy softly. "I can only find the mage doing this from your dreams."

"So why don't you let someone in and help you with your nightmares?" It was a cruel question, he knew. But he didn't like the idea of letting anyone see those things.

"I would gladly do it, if it was possible." Airam's voice was so quiet now he could barely hear it. "My nightmares have been with me for ten years. Ever since... well, you know what. It's not the work of a demon, or a mage. Only my memories. If someone could... but that's not possible. That's why I have to drink so many sleeping potions, so I don't dream at all."

Airam looked at him. "But I know how hard it is. I wouldn't like other people to see... what happened. So I won't force you, if you don't want to. We can try to teach you to close your mind, and in the meantime Wynne will give you some sleeping potions."

Ten years, he realised, for the first time understanding in full what it meant, what it had to be like, to drug oneself with the sleeping potions in order to sleep without any dreams. Even then, it didn't always work and the nightmares would come. And Zevran knew what they were about, Airam told him what happened on that day, when he lost everyone and everything, he trusted Zevran with it, even though he was hardly worthy.

"No," he said. "If anyone can... then it's you. Will you do it tonight?"

Airam smiled. "From one extreme to another. I love that about you. But no, not tonight. It will take some time to prepare the ritual. You'll have to take Wynne's potions for a few more nights, all right?"

"Ritual? What are you going to do with me?"

"Oh I think you'll like it. We will both drink a potion, Wynne will start to prepare it today, and then we'll sleep together."

"So I am going to sleep with you - and with Wynne's blessing? Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"See, told you. Now, I can't spend all day just feeding you. Say 'aaaaaah'..."

"I can't eat that stew. It would be cannibalism, no?"

"You really want me to use that fork on you?"

"Tsk, tsk. Such cruelty towards someone so injured and helpless..."

They could probably go on like this much longer, but then the flaps on the tent opened.

"Kadan. Wynne is looking for you. Urgently. I will take over from here."

"Right. I'm going. And make sure he eats everything, Sten. Be a good boy, Zevvie."

Ignoring his protests, the crazy kid patted his head, kissed his brow and left. He looked at the Qunari, grim and quiet and sighed. Better not to joke around this guy.

oOo

Zevran tries hard not to tremble in fear. Showing fear or any other weakness will just make things worse, he knows that much already. He stands quietly in the middle of the circle of his fellow apprentices.

Which of them betrayed him? Toni? Roberto? Julio? They all stare at him with stone faces, because to show pity is also a weakness. And a Crow cannot be weak.

Master Alessandro is now explaining it to the others. Keeping things of a previous life means to be weak, to depend on foolish sentiment. The sooner they learn that the better. Those who will not, will be severely punished.

It means he's going to be flogged. It won't be the first time. In the half a year he was with the Crows he was flogged seven times already. Some of the older apprentices said he was too stubborn for his own good and that he would not survive the first year. So what. Better die than to become like Master Alessandro.

The Master pushes him towards the pole, and he obediently goes and leans on the wooden frame and lifts his hands; one of the older apprentices swiftly ties them. The Master comes, holding a thick cane; as a repeated offender and because this offence was so serious, he is sentenced to receive ten hits.

One.

His body whole body arches in pain. I won't cry I won't cry I won't cry!

Two.

Tears are rolling down his face, but he manages not to cry out. He is not weak. Even though he kept his mother's gloves, he is not weak and he will prove it to them.

Three.

"I will break that pride of yours, Arainai. You will beg me to stop and you will never violate the rules again." The Master lifts his hand again – but the fourth hit never comes.

"Zev? Zevran!" He hears someone's horrified cry. He doesn't know that voice, but he likes it immediately. It is young and warm and... friendly, as if that person really cared for him. Then again, it could be a trap. Better answer it before the person gets angry.

"Yes, Master," he peeps.

But the man is already next to him, untying his bonds. "Andraste's sweet ass. What kind of sick bastard flogs a little child like that? I'm so sorry, it took me a while till I found you... But I thought you'd be your normal self, from what Wynne said... we'll deal with that later. First, let me heal you..."

It doesn't make any sense, but it doesn't matter. The cool flow of healing magic wraps around his body and the pain stops. He hesitantly turns around, not yet sure if he should trust this person. The Masters always say only fools trust other people. Maybe this was just another test, and who knows what they would do to him if he failed again.

But then two hands – two very white hands – lift his head. "Come on, look at me. Are you that embarrassed that I saw this memory?"

Zevran looks up at the man. He is definitely the strangest looking man he ever saw. An elf, and not very old – like some of the older apprentices, but not as old as the Masters. And he has dark violet hair. And purple eyes. And white skin. He is whiter than Master Alessandro's shirt.

Speaking of which – he quickly turns his head to where Master Alessandro was standing. His eyes widen in horror. Master Alessandro is turned into statue, white and cold to touch.

The man laughs cheerfully. "I'd say it's a great improvement, don't you think? He looks almost lovely like this."

So this man must be a mage. What does that mean? What does he want from Zevran? Maybe he is one of the Masters, if he could freeze Master Alessandro like that.

"What's wrong? You're shaking." The man sounds sincerely worried.

"I am sorry, Master," he peeps, humbly bowing his head. He didn't want to become a lovely statue.

"Master? What? Zev – Zev, look at me... you... don't know who I am?"

He gulps. Maybe he should lie and say he knows him? But he doesn't even know his name. "I am sorry, Master. I have never seen you before."

The man run his hand through his hair. "Never, huh. Great. You're not awake yet. Just great. Why should something be easy, when it can be complicated? Maker, what could have gone wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to do it," he tries to apologise, and would kneel down, if the man didn't stop him and hug him tightly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Zevvie... Uh... you... don't mind me calling you that?"

He shakes his head and the man smiles again.

"Good. You didn't do anything wrong, sweetie. I am your – eh, friend. Airam Surana. Pleasure to meet you."

"Yes, Master," he says, still unsure what this strange man wants.

"I'm not one of those bastards. Don't call me that. Call me just Air."

"As you wish, Mas- Air."

The man... Air, just sighs again and rubs his brow. "This is going to be difficult. The easiest thing would be to leave it and try again tomorrow, but I can't stand the idea of you going through that again. Perhaps we can still find the mage causing this."

He doesn't understand one word and it all sounds very scary, but he tries his best not to show it. But then Air smiles again. "Will you take me for a round? And looking at you, I suggest starting in the canteen."

"B-but, the Masters will not like it..." he says, but regrets it immediately and shrinks back, half expecting a blow for being flippant.

Air notices and his eyes become sad. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Zevvie," he says softly. "Or anyone else, now that I found you. I won't let anyone hurt you. If they are mean to you, they will end up the same as this guy, right?" Air reaches his hand. Zevran hesitates for a moment and then he holds it, nodding.

The servants in the canteen tell them to go away, that it's not time for lunch. Air refuses, so they call the guards. Air puts him up on one of the tables, casts some spell on him and tells him not to move and enjoy the show.

And then the chaos starts like he's never seen before.

It suddenly becomes very cold and the floor is covered by the same white thing as Master Alessandro. The guards keep staggering and falling and he can't help laughing. Air looks very pleased with himself and keeps taunting the Crows, mocking their clumsiness and casting all kind of spells, sparkling and funny. And the angrier they get, the clumsier they are.

It is over soon and he is almost disappointed. Air winks at him. "I think we work well together. A real Dream Team," he laughs. "Hey, that's not bad. Even Poet Tree couldn't come up with a better one."

He just stares and Air sighs. "Never mind. Now, let's see if we can finally get some food... or do I have to continue demolishing the barracks now?"

One of the men on the floor quickly gets up. He knows the man by sight, it's one of the Masters training the older apprentices, Xavier. The Master is calm and polite. "No need for further violence. Do you have any special wish?"

"Fish chowder, please, if possible. And please, be very careful with seasoning. I learned to be quite fussy about that, you know."

The Master clenches his jaw and shoots a dirty look at him. "I understand." He commands to other men that are now getting up, as well and they all quickly run to do as he says.

It doesn't take long and they are served: Air gets a bowl of steaming fish chowder, he gets a bowl of porridge, cold and gray. He doesn't mind, it is still food and it seems ages since he ate properly but Air snaps it from him before he could start eating. After a brief suspicious sniff he simply throws the bowl across the canteen. The Master pales in helpless fury.

"I wouldn't feed this to a dog. And what is with this tiny bowl? Tell you what. You eat this, right here, in front of me, just to see if the seasoning is right, and your men will bring us a full tureen."

The Master clenches his jaw but sits down and starts eating. Everyone is now looking at them and Zevran squirms on the chair. "B-but, Mas-Air, I am just an apprentice. I can have the porridge."

"As if. – So where is that chowder?" Air raises his hand, sparkles dancing around his fingers and the Master almost chokes on the piece of fish and quickly barks more orders at his men.

A moment later they are served properly. He had never ate something that good before, and so much. Air doesn't eat much, it seems he is much more interested in watching him eating his fill. "Is it good? You don't have to hurry like that. Nobody is going to take it away from you, you know. Slow down, or you'll get sick."

Zevran obediently slows down. He still doesn't understand what is going on, but doesn't care about it much. Air is quite crazy, but in a nice way, he decides, not like the Maters.

After he ate his three days share, Air wants to see his room, so next they go to the sleeping hall. The Master joins them, still calm and polite, says he will be their tour guide. On the way he can see him giving signs to other people and he is scared but Air winks at him and smiles.

The sleeping hall is big and dark, smelling of sweat and stale dirt; it was not cleaned unless some unfortunate apprentice was ordered to do it as a punishment. There are no real beds, just cots made of straw and a few old blankets. There are always less blankets than cots. It doesn't matter when it's warm like now, but when he first arrived, the nights were cold and the apprentices were often fighting for one of them.

"This is… which one is yours?"

"Mine?" He looks up at Air, surprised. "None of them is mine. There is nothing people can claim as theirs, only what they win in a fight. That is why we must train hard, because only those that are strong can win and survive. "

The Master smirks. "Good boy. Full mark."

It makes Air angry. " Making little kids fight over beds... You're just sick."

"No point investing coin in them until there can be some use of them. And if they are to be useful, they need to be strong, hard like steel. We're not a charity. We're the Crows."

"Oh, I just hope you and that idiot who flogged him are still alive when I come to Antiva."

But we are in Antiva, Zevran wants to say. He can see that the Master is just as confused as he is, but Air doesn't explain.

When they get outside, the Crows are waiting for them, senior apprentices and the full Crows and Masters, all of them. Master Xavier smirks again and walks over to them. Zevran's heart is thumping madly. Air is awesome but there are so many! There's no way they he can defeat them, they are both going to die here –

Air ruffles his hair again. "No need to be afraid, Zevvie. A few subconscious projections can't hurt me. I'd never be able to look at Erwin without shame if they did. So don't worry."

"What are subcopious projects?"

But the answer doesn't come, as Air becomes preoccupied by the Crows trying to attack. Suddenly big clouds hide the sun and then a lot of that white stuff starts falling and the Crows can't move, they slip and fall or they become all covered by it and stiff like those guys in the canteen. Some of it falls on his hand and he cries in horror, expecting to become all stiff, too. Air quickly turns to him, alarmed.

"Maker's breath, don't scare me like that, crazy kid..." He laughs. "Ah, you have no idea how long I've wanted to say that... Don't worry, it won't freeze you. Why don't you build a snowman while I get rid of these fools?"

Watching the fight soon becomes boring, and Zevran's not afraid of the white thing any more. He takes some into his hands and it's cold and wet and it can be pressed and squeezed into different shapes. It's fun, he decides, and for a while forgets all about the fight, trying to shape it into different things, but all he really manages are few balls. His fingers are numb with cold, but he determinedly continues to work –

– and then the air tingles, something strange is going on, he wants to cry out but he can't, and his whole body shivers –

Where was he? And why he was so cold and wet? He stared at the snow balls at his feet. What the – wait. He remembered now. The crazy kid wanted to enter his dream to stop the nightmares... that's right, and he was just a brat and Air had to fight all those Crows alone.

He quickly turned around. The Crows were gone, as are the barracks and buildings. There is only plain filed, covered in a thick layer of snow. And in the middle of it, Air and another mage.

"Give it up," said the other mage. "Your ice spells won't work on me, as you can see."

"We shall see. I haven't really started cooling down yet."

Airam didn't sound worried, so he calmed down, too. A quick check confirmed that he had all the equipment with which he went to sleep, just as Wynne promised. Excellent. And it seemed they hadn't noticed him yet. He quickly wrapped himself in shadows and pulled out his daggers.

"You really think a young fool like you can defeat a Crow?" The man was trying hard to sound arrogant and confident, but the fact he was not attacking showed his uncertainty better than anything else.

Airam shrugged. "I already have. Can you say the same about the Wardens?"

He was almost behind the mage now. The man was real fool, bragging about being a Crow, when he couldn't see what was going on right below his nose.

"That is enough from you! I will end this now! It will be a nice extra touch to my mission if I can make the Warden Tranquil during it."

"And what do you mean by that?" He whispers into the man's ear, with the blade of a dagger just below his chin. The poor fool was so surprised he almost dropped his staff.

"The mages who are killed in the Fade become Tranquils," said Airam. "What I want to know is who sent him and why."

"I-it was Master Xavier," answered the man quickly. "He didn't tell me why. I'm just following his orders. Please, do not kill me."

Airam laughed. "Well now. Doesn't this seem a bit familiar?"

"You wound me so. I am much more attractive," Zevran quipped. "So, if he's a tranquil, can he still deliver a message?"

"I can't see why not."

"Then take this message to Xavier. Tell him I don't know why he did this, but I'm really glad that he reminded me of his existence. I will definitely stop to say hello when I'm in Antiva."

The man wanted to say something else, to beg, probably, but he didn't care to hear it. This fool wanted to make his little Warden into a Tranquil, and if he could, he definitely wouldn't change his mind. One quick motion of his hand, and the man is falling, blood spilling -

and the next moment shattered and collapsed into nothingness.

oOo

Zevran opened his eyes. They were back in the Airam's tent, lying next to each other, hands bound together. Wynne was sitting next to them, but she had fallen asleep.

"You didn't tell me about the Tranquil part," he whispered accusingly when Airam opened his eyes.

"I know. And you can give me a proper scolding about it. And you must also tell me who that Xavier is. But not now, all right? In the morning. Right now, let's just sleep."

"How could I resist when you offer it like that?"

Airam rolled his eyes and kissed him on a brow. "Good night, Zev. Have a nice dreams."

Kissing him back, he was sure his next dream was going to be very nice.

And he wasn't disappointed.