The big day's finally here. Well, it's been here since before Zevran and I resolved to close the game and get what little shut-eye we could before the morning started in earnest. But big days deserve better than a mid-sentence introduction.

Ever since Zevran's birthdate was decided, I've had the plan to do something special. I'll close the clinic at midday, and Shadi's got an early finish because of a doctor's appointment after lunch– well, they're seeing me, so it's not a complete lie. Shadi's got the cake, I've got the presents and decorations, and once I've got Zevran out of the house, Shadi will get to decorating and Zevran will have his first ever surprise party.

Well, it'll probably be Zevran's first ever birthday party at all, when it comes to it. It's brilliant.

Actually, I'm not entirely sure how much of a surprise it's going to be. Over breakfast, Zevran regularly switches between eating mouthfuls of yoghurt and eyeing me with the same scrutiny he now gives anything resembling Red Vines.

After roughly the hundredth squint-analysis, I set my toast down and put on my most winsome smile.

"Is there something on my face, Zev?" I ask sweetly. "Apart from the usual array of body parts, that is."

Zevran gives a coy grin. "Ah, Van! I see nothing but stunning beauty." He shrugs with one hand. "And a small blob of lime marmalade, but I think that only adds to your charm. Up on– yes, just by your nose there."

I lick the errant preserve off my finger. "Thank you kindly. Now, there's something we need to discuss, my friend."

"Oh, is there now?" He eats another spoonful of yoghurt and drags the spoon out of his mouth with deliberate slowness. "And what might that be?"

"Well, for a start, I want to wish you a happy birthday! Twenty-six and fabulous!"

His eyebrows are a-waggle, but the rest of him is suspiciously still. "Why, thank you ever so much."

I had planned to tell him I'd be away to work shortly and he would, unfortunately, have to amuse himself until I got home, but something about giving an assassin a surprise party suddenly strikes me as an unwise move.

"Hey." I reach over and give his arm a squeeze. "You know what? I had some ideas for celebrating your big day today. Around here, people often plan each other's birthday celebrations to show they care, but it just occurred to me you might not want that." I shrug. "Or, well, you might at least want to be consulted first. Can we talk about it a little bit?"

Zevran's impish grin is unnervingly incongruent with his perpetually scanning eyes. He nods anyway.

I nod back. "How much of this can I tell you about? If you want a surprise, I don't want to wreck it for you, but otherwise I'll happily fill you in."

He shrugs one shoulder off-handedly. "I am happy to hear anything you wish to divulge."

So… don't keep this a surprise? Has he ever been allowed to say what he wants?

"Right. Well, what would you think if I finished work early, and we had a small celebration with Shadi? Traditionally, we eat a special cake, you open your birthday presents, and maybe we have some games or movies, or roaming around the bay a little bit." I quickly hold up a finger as he goes to speak, "Receiving birthday presents is non-negotiable, sorry. They're already here, they officially belong to you, and what you do with them is your choice."

Zevran chews on his lips, eyeing me beadily.

"But how else we celebrate is up to you. What do you think so far?"

He sits with my question for a moment, if only a short one. "I must say, I am rather intrigued," he says. "The very wealthy had birthday parties in Antiva, though without the advanced entertainments that we have here."

I chuckle at that. "Just think, you're the only Antivan who's ever seen a movie."

Zevran grins. "There are some things money cannot buy, it seems, and I do love a good party."

"So that's a yes?"

"Mmm," he nods cheerfully. "What sort of cake is a birthday cake? I can have one made by the time you come back from work, I think."

I waggle a finger. "Ah-ah, the golden rule of birthdays is that you're king for a day! No housework, no work of any kind."

He raises an eyebrow at me. "You know that monarchs tend to put in a long workday, Van, sí?"

"Ugh," I wave a hand. "Don't try to find loopholes, Your Majesty. The only thing you need to do is enjoy yourself. We've got the cake covered." I pause. "Oh, maybe there is one thing?"

"Hmm?"

"I have to get you out of the house this afternoon so Shadi can decorate, so when we get in, maybe act surprised. Shadi doesn't know I've spilled the beans to you about the party, see."

"Feign shock?" He hums breezily. "No trouble. I can gasp, I can collapse in a seat, whatever you like. Shall I fan myself?"

I give him a capital-L look. "Sure. Hey, why stop there? Clutch your heart, drop to the floor. Lie on your back and draw your legs in like a dying bug. Go the whole hog, man. It's your day."

Zevran smirks. "Be careful what you wish for, Van."

"I'll be as circumspect as I can, Toad Man. Now," I get up. "I have to go to work. On the off-chance you start looking for your presents, they're wrapped in my room, top drawer of the dresser." I hold up a finger. "Be warned, though, that evidence of tampering is very apparent in gift paper, so I'd avoid attempting to unwrap them. Poke them and hold them as much as you wish. No shaking the presents, as one of them is delicate. You got me?"

"My dear doctor," Zevran touches a hand to his heart, fixing me with the sort of melodramatic look that wouldn't be out of place in one of Mom and Baba's soap operas. "You wound me! Do I look like a gift tamperer to you?"

I stare at Zevran, and he stares right back at me. Our gazes are locked in the fiercest standoff since Shadi tried to outlast Squeaky's blinkless stare. A desertlike aridity is setting in on my sclera, but Zevran is relentlessly persistent. When it feels like my eyes are about to combust, I snatch my toast off my plate and bolt.

§

At about 10:45, I've waved Kayleigh goodbye as our monthly visit comes to a close, and I'm doing her patient notes. She's a lovely little egg, eternally sweet and courteous during our consultations even though she comes in certain she's acutely dying of some gruesome affliction. In the city, she'd probably have access to a psychologist, but those are thin on the ground out here, so we're working through it together while she sits on the mile-long waitlist.

We're making progress, though. With a little education and planning, frantic twice-weekly appointments have relaxed into a monthly visit. She has a list of emergency symptoms that she knows to call me about at any time, and the rest she notes down and monitors through the month. When the appointment comes, we go through the list together. She's smart as a whip, and with her compassion and eye for detail, I think she'd make an incredible nurse. I make a note to mention it to her next time she's in.

Well, I try to, anyway. I get as far as 'mention well suited for nu' when my phone rings. It's Mom, and I have no idea why she's calling. There's no good reason for it; she rarely calls when I'm at work.

My stomach is already plummeting. I grip the edge of my desk like it's a precipice I'm dangling from. Someone's dead. Shadi, Baba, Squeaky. Someone calling from Mom's phone because I'm an emergency contact. Mom's dead.

My phone goes off for the second time in a minute mid-consult. Hennie again. I was going to call her back after I'd finished listening to Lee's chest, but Hennie's more one for face-to-face visits than phone conversations, and I can't help wondering if there's a problem.

I smile apologetically at my patient and take my stethoscope out of my ears. "Sorry, mate, I'd better get that."

"Don't worry 'bout it darlin'," Lee assures me with his sunny, boyish smile. He waves a hand. "Got all the time in the world now I'm retired."

With a chuckle, I step over to the phone and accept the call.

"Hiya, Hennie. Everything okay, there?"

"Van, honey, you need to come quick," she says, unusually urgent in her gentleness. "There's been a bad crash on the road out of town. Georg and I are here now. He's called Tamika, but she's fifteen minutes away, at least."

I glance at the clock; it's 3:35. Mam's probably already at the house. Wouldn't be her. She'd call herself if something was wrong.

"I'll be right there," I say, making for the cupboard with the emergency bags. "Stay on the line and walk me through what's happening. Do we know who's in the car?"

Silence.

"... Hennie? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm…" Hennie sighs unsteadily. "It's your mam's car, honey."

I pry a trembling hand off the desk and take the call.

"Mom," I choke, my eyes pouring. "Are you okay? What's happening?"

Mom's soft gasp stops my breathing.

"Oh Vannie, I'm fine," she says hastily. "We're all fine. Everybody's great." She sighs. "I'm sorry, baby. Are you okay?"

I bite down hard on my lips and swallow back a sob. And I nod, despite the fact she can't see me, because I'm bright like that.

"Vannie? Do you need me to come out there? I'll come, baby–"

"No, no," I creak, and force a chuckle through my half kinked-off throat. "Thanks, Mom, I'm fine." I straighten up and steady myself with a deep breath. "Got a birthday party today."

"I know!" she coos excitedly, always quick to seize on a pleasant distraction. "That's why I'm calling! I saw Shadi making a cake, and they told me you've got a friend staying with you! It's his birthday, right?"

"Mm-hmm. Twenty-six today. Inshallah you'll meet him when you come out next week."

"Inshallah," she echoes. "So what's he like? What's his name? Shadi wouldn't tell me anything, said they were busy focusing on the cake. Focusing, my ass."

I snort. "Not a shred of information given, huh?"

"Not one! I don't know what the problem is if we're meetin' him in a few days." Mom's voice drops to an urgent near-whisper. "Vannie."

"Yeah?"

"Is it all hush-hush because he's special? You know… a Nice Boy?" I'm about ninety-four percent sure she is winking madly into the phone as she says 'Nice Boy.' "You can tell your Momma, baby, and I'll never say a word."

"Except to Baba," I point out.

She tsks. "Baba doesn't count. He's your father!"

I'm about to cry again, but this time from trying and failing to hold in a laugh. 'Baba doesn't count.'

"Baby, if you don't wanna say anything, you gotta tell me now," Mom says urgently. "I can hear you gigglin'! I'm about to lose my mind here!"

I drag in a breath and wipe my eyes. "Mom, I love you dearly, but with all due respect, you can't lose what you never had."

"I–!" She stops and sighs. "Actually, that's a fair thing to say. All right, you keep your secrets, then. But I want you to call me if you need dating advice! Or if you call Baba, make him put it on speaker phone."

I scoff. "And provide free entertainment for the neighbours? No, if Bob and Edna want trashy life news, they can pay for a subscription to the Luz Observer like the rest of us." I chuckle as Mom lets out a theatrically mournful groan. "And I'll put you out of your misery for now: Carlos and I are completely platonic."

Just like that, our game ends; Mom calms down immediately. "Okay, baby," she says. "Carlos, is it? Well, you have fun at the party and wish your Carlos a happy birthday from us! Send me or Baba a little message before you go to sleep so I know you're home safe."

Mom and Baba were pretty relaxed before the accident– as far as most families around here go. They'd keep their phones on loud if one of us was out late, or away, and would sleep until we either came home or got in touch. Now, though, I know for a fact that neither Mom nor Baba come close to relaxing until they know Shadi and I are both home in one piece.

I smile weakly. "I will, Mom. I'll send a picture of me in a party hat. I love you."

"Love you, too, Vannie." The phone line squeaks as she makes a kiss into the phone, and she hangs up.

I smack my lips thoughtfully and call Shadi.

"Beloved," I say as they pick up, "Momther dearest advised that you refused to tell her anything about the birthday boy."

"Oh gawd, was she…?"

"Asking if he was a Nice Boy? Yes. Yes, baby, she was."

Shadi groans. "Sorry. I just– well, I forgot his pseudonym. He said something about Carl–something but I just–" they pause to give a very harried-sounding sigh. "I just didn't want to get it wrong and I panicked!"

I blink. "... Right, well–"

"I mean! What if I got it wrong and they started calling him Carlos all night when his name was Carlo or Charlie? God, it'd be like– gawd! When Mam kept calling Edna 'Hettie' and not even Edna corrected her for three years and– GAWD! I'd die of embarrassment. I couldn't. I just couldn't!"

"You know, I was just talking about Edna and Bob to Mom. What a coincidence. Anyway, Didi, I need to hang up now so I can laugh at you–"

"RUDE–"

"But tell me where you are first. Are you on the way?"

"Ugh. Yeah, I'm driving now. I just passed the pub."

I cluck my tongue. "My love, there are three pubs in eastern Luz alone. You'll need to be more specific."

Shadi tsks. Loudly. "The last one you pass on the way out. With the Christmas lights still up from last year."

"The latter of these details is not as specific as you think," I point out, "but I know the one. Drop me a line when you're forty-five minutes out and I'll go get the Zevvo, all right?"

"Yeah. And Van?"

I turn back to my patient notes. "Hmm?"

"I brought the dominoes."

I'm halfway through a 'fuck you and the horse you rode in on' when they cackle wickedly and hang up. Fucking Shadi.

§

When I pull up out the front of the house, Zevran is waiting for me. He's sprawled over the front steps in his finest jeans and sweater, half basking lizard, half centrefold model, with the sunglasses I pilfered from Shadi. As I step out of the car, he slides the stolen specs halfway down his nose and gives me the eyebrow waggle to end all eyebrow waggles.

I put my hands on my hips. "Well, well! Don't you look pleased with yourself."

Zevran smirks. "Correction, my lovely doctor," he croons. "I am looking very pleased with your self."

"Hmm! You like people covered in germs, do you? Well, it takes all sorts." I point a finger at the front door. "Let me quickly wash and change, and we'll go, hey?"

In five minutes, Zevran and I (and my shaggy, wet mop) are in the car again, but when we leave the track to my house and hit the road, we go to the left instead of the usual right turn.

"This direction here will still take us into town," I nod at the road, "but it'll take longer. Keep your eyes out to the left if you want a gorgeous view."

I can hear his wicked grin as he looks at me and says, "Oh, but if I turn this way, I get to look at you."

"My god, listen to you! You haven't even opened your presents yet. Ah! Speaking of, did you work out what tjey are? Or did you spend the day doing something else?"

Zevran hisses through his teeth in a thoroughly, comically aggrieved manner. "Still I am accused of gift crimes. All day, no less!"

"... Right. So what I'm hearing is no, you didn't find out what they were."

"I did not," he sniffs. "But it may interest you to know that I spent the day reading about transport and ah! My lovely Van, did you know you have a car named after you?"

I smirk. "How do you know I wasn't named after the car, huh?"

Zevran chuckles. "You have a point, there. Are the cars also called Evangelines in full?"

"Hmm. I have my doubts that they are, and I find that strangely comforting. What's your name mean, then?"

In the corner of my eye, Zevran shrugs. "I have no idea. It's elven, I know that much, and my mother chose it." He hums thoughtfully. "She was Dalish, so it could well be a Dalish name. I never met anyone else called Zevran."

He sighs softly, and it really hits home just how much I've uprooted Zevran by summoning him. I doubt he'll ever find out the meaning of his name here. There's nobody to ask about his mother here, no-one who can chuckle with him over memories of home. He's the sole artefact of his culture here, and I can't begin to imagine how lonely that must be.

My struggle to find something thoughtful to say is interrupted as we come around the bend and reach the lookout point.

"Hey," I jerk my head at the salt-crusted wooden gazebo off the side of the road. "Up here's a little spot where you can see the whole of the bay. Should we stop for a look, or would you rather keep driving?"

Zevran draws his shoulders up in what I recognise to be an attempt at not having an opinion. "We can stop and see it, whatever you like."

That's a yes. I pull into the two-space parking lot and we wander over the road. The tiny breeze is much warmer today, no cold bite to it at all, and the sunshine stings sweetly. At this time of the day, the sea's flat as a sheet of glass, and the afternoon swell won't start for a while yet.

The birthday boy leans on the wooden balustrade, tips his head back, and his eyes fall shut for a moment. He sighs again, but this time it lacks the stifled choke of homesickness.

"You know," he says, a wicked grin starting up on his face, "this would be the perfect place for a little naked cliff-diving. Don't you think?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Zevran, if you think you can exploit my being a doctor just to have a professional on hand if your mad stunts go wrong…"

He's smiling so sweetly, so winningly, with his biggest eyes. Damn him.

"Ugh, then you'd be absolutely right." I slap a hand to my forehead and admit defeat with a groan.

Zevran chortles. "So that's a yes, is it?"

"You evil toad of a man."

"I didn't hear a no!"

§

We stay at the lookout, bickering over the safety issues of cliff-diving in the nude (and clothed, for that matter) for far longer than anyone should readily admit. We do a lap of town, constantly waving at people as they spot us, or we spot them. Flower Doug, strolling down the main drag with coffee and lunch in hand, sees Zevran and flags us down. I put in a delivery order for Mam's flowers today, casually dropping that it's Mr. Right-Beside-Me's birthday, and Doug goes bananas. Zevran leaves the shop with an armful of buttery sunflowers, and Doug insists he take a stuffed animal as well. Zevran chooses a hot pink flamingo and names her Linda.

My traitorous stomach growls before we can get back into the car and Zevran, exercising his divine birthday right to the fullest extent, frogmarches me into Doug's , declaring that we will be having a snack. While browsing the ready-to-eat section, my phone goes off with a notification from Shadi advising that the setup is ready and we are to return to the house forthwith.

I mumble to Zevran that it's time to go home and buy the four fruit kebabs Zevran's put into my hands. Zevran's hungrier than he lets on, polishing both of his off before we reach the car. I only get through one of mine, and ask him to hold my last one for me as we drive back home. He won't take a bite of it even though I tell him he should help me eat it, the bugger.

"Okay, now remember," I say as we pull up in the driveway, "act surprised. You weren't expecting a thing, all right?"

Zevran gives me a gleaming smile and hands my fruit skewer back. "But of course," he purrs. "I had no idea."

We ascend the stairs to the front verandah and I unlock the door. When we step inside, the kitchen light comes on and Shadi bursts out of the shadows, going for broke on one of those obnoxious little party tooters and throwing confetti every-fucking-where.

Zevran, entirely in keeping with his word, clutches his flowers and Linda the flamingo to his chest and lets out a shrill, nerve-jangling scream. Shadi, endowed with the worst startle reflex in existence, shriek-blows the tooter across the room and into the third tier of a gorgeous, yellow-frosted layer cake. And me, well. A stream of panicked obscenities floods from my mouth like a dam bursting its banks, and God help me, now I've dropped my fruit kebab.

Shadi gapes at the cake. I gape at Zevran. Zevran beams at the both of us, me especially, and shrugs.

"I'm terribly sorry," he says innocently. "I got the shock of my life!"

I shakily bend down and pick up my snack, now long past the three-second rule for floor-touched goods.

"Well," I say after a moment. "That's quite a set of pipes you've got there, Zevvo. Um… happy birthday."

The magic words snap Shadi out of their paralysed state. They straighten up like someone's tugging on their strings.

"Yeah!" They sweep a hand into the kitchen, and it's only now I see all the decorations. They used all the stuff I stashed away in my drawers, but brought some things over from Luz, too. Mom's homemade rainbow bunting is strung up over every doorway and window, balloons sit in clusters in the corners. The table, complete with the family's ancient gingham PVC tablecloth reserved for birthdays only, is groaning with snacks and drinks and party knick-knacks. In front of it is the laundry basket we keep unfolded clean clothes in– long doubly purposed by the mothers and Baba as the present basket for us kids, and piled high with gifts from Shadi and me. "Happy birthday, honey!"

The festivities begin. Zevran's cheeky, butter-wouldn't-melt grin morphs into muted horror as we relieve him of his flowers and flamingo, march him into the living room, and embarrass the shit out of him by singing the birthday song at the top of our lungs– with Shadi on the piano and me on the upturned wastepaper basket-now-hand drum.

When Zevran's sufficiently charmed by our dulcet tones, it's back into the kitchen. I clear away the carcass of my fruit kebab while Shadi announces to Zevran that the gifts will now be opened.

There's two kinds of people when it comes to opening presents: the ones who descend into a barely-controlled frenzy and rip the gift wrap to shreds, and the ones who try to preserve it with the painstaking care of a neurosurgeon. Zevran is the latter of these, and Shadi is dying to say something that will incite him into gift wrap violence . They open and close their mouth like a fish out of water, going to speak but then stopping themselves. There's silence except for the slow, agonising tssss of stickytape being peeled away at the speed ice melts.

Before Shadi goes the way of the party tooter and blasts themselves across the room, I put a hand on Zevran's shoulder; he pauses and looks at me.

"You don't have to be careful with the paper, Zev, just so you know," I say gently. "It's made to be torn. You can go slow if you want, but we don't normally reuse this paper, so don't worry about trying to save it if that's what you're doing."

He acknowledges with a nod and carefully, carefully tears around the stickytape. I suppose there's only so much you can change a person. At least Shadi doesn't look like they're going to stroke out any more.

The first presents are from Shadi. Clever storage boxes with hidden compartments; a selection of exciting socks (he puts on a pair with dolphins straight away); two multi-tools, one of which has the same dimensions as a bank card; and a fancy boar-bristle hairbrush. Zevran's beaming and chuckling like a fool, and his face is flushed so dark by the end that if any more blood is redirected to his head, we'll have to scrape him up off the floor.

Squeaky apparently also got Zevran a present. It's wrapped in gift paper with– of course– cats and fish bones on it: a carry case for his new laptop, also boasting a number of secret pockets and other nifty anti-theft properties.

From me, he gets a handmade leather jacket. Tan colour, bomber style cut. I ordered half a size bigger than necessary, to make room for layers underneath– or, hopefully, if he puts on some weight now that he's eating enough. The jacket's on in a flash, and he buries his nose into the sleeve, taking a huge drag of a breath, then another, and sighing with relish. In a smaller box ("this is why I told you not to shake the presents!" I say with a cackle) he opens up a gold wristwatch with subdials for the day, the phases of the moon, and one for a stopwatch. The third, biggest box is crammed full of his favourite snacks, most of which are chocolate-covered anythings or fruit-flavoured; a fourth contains fifty packets of instant film for the camera, and the last thing, inside a birthday card, is a thousand-dollar gift voucher for Forte, the well-stocked instrument shop in Luz.

"I, uh… forgot the name of the instrument you said you played, Zevvo, sorry," I chuckle awkwardly. "You only said it in passing over breakfast. Couldn't remember if it was a mandola or a mandolin, and I didn't want to make you suspicious by asking. But this card is like money specifically for this instrument shop, and they've got everything."

Zevran, who looks like he might actually die from acute birthday present exposure, huffs a breathless laugh and shakes his head.

"No problem there," he says softly. A small grin comes to him now. "Does this mean we will take another trip to Luz soon?"

Shadi nods. "You just say the word, honey" they confirm, and hold up a finger. "You have to come by the house and say hi to Squeaky again, though. Not just shopping all day."

Zevran's shoulders untense like he's letting a held breath out. "Oh, I must thank her in person for my lovely laptop bag," he purrs. After a moment, he indicates the pile of gifts– and sets the last piece of paper on top of a second mountain consisting of used gift wrap.

"Thank you," he says softly, genuinely, eyes on his socks and his fingers twiddling the buckle of his leather jacket. "No-one has ever– that is to say, in the Crows, gifts were not…"

I grin and sling an arm around him. "Happy birthday, Zevvo. King for a day, long may you reign, et cetera et cetera!"

"Et cetera et cetera!" Shadi echoes with vigour.

Zevran chuckles, almost shy now, and his head tips onto my shoulder. Shadi lets out a shriek of delight at this uncharacteristic bashfulness and then attempts to sneak away to perform an emergency tooterectomy on the birthday cake.

"Ah, Shadi!" Zevran leaps to his feet. "Wait. I must take a picture of the cake like this!" He shoots out of the room like a champagne cork.

"Gawd, really?" They swipe an errant lock off their darkening face and utter, mostly to me, "I didn't know my lungs were that good. That's a good two metres that damn thing flew."

Zevran's back in the kitchen a moment later, camera in hand and reaching for the film refills. "This cake is exceptional. I think the squeaker lodged in the side makes it even more exciting, no?" Click goes the camera; he lines himself up again for a second, and then a third photo, and then gestures at the layers. "It even hit at just the right place, see? 'Happy…' 'Birthday…' and then the squeaker in my name."

I peer over his shoulder, and he's right. The first three letters of his name have been all but eradicated by the errant tooter.

"'Happy Birthday Squeakran,' I guess it says," I remark with a shrug. Shadi cackles wickedly from behind me, and I put a hand on Zevran's shoulders. "You'd better pray that doesn't stick. People around here have a habit of assigning nicknames that end up so ingrained you'll forget your first name."

Shadi makes a groan of assent. "It's true. I went into the bakery once with sparkly stockings on and left with the name Shazzamatazz. Jesus, this godforsaken fuckin' town..."

Zevran slowly turns around and eyes Shadi with the closest thing to awe I've seen in him.

"Oh, Shadi," he says in a hush. "What I would not have given to be a fly on the wall for that."

Shazzamatazz tsks and waves a hand. "That's quite enough out of you, thank you. Are you ready to light your sparklers? Or do you want to take more pictures?"

Zevran blinks. "Ah… sparklers?"

I point at the small array of spikes poking out of his cake. "When these are lit, they make little crackles and sparks. Gram told us once that people used to use candles, believe it or not, and the birthday-haver would blow them out."

Shadi shudders. "God. Disgusting, blowing all over your damn cake." I don't mention their spitty tooter that's jutting out of the cake, lest they kill me.

They pull a lighter out of their back pocket and, with a flick of the thumb, a tonguelet of fire flutters to life.

"Hey," I raise a bastardly eyebrow. "What are you doing with a lighter, huh? You got a licence to use that thing?"

My best friend scoffs loudly. "You got a licence to kiss my ass?"

I snort and turn to a bemused Zevran. "Sorry, Zevvo. What do you think? We can wait as long as you like."

"No, no," he smiles and shakes his head. "I am quite ready to see the sparklers."

I don't think he was ready, given the way he takes a hasty step back when the first sparkler, a star-shaped one, begins fizzling and crackling when lit. He hums in fascination, tilts his head this way and that, snaps a few pictures, and then, when all the sparklers are nothing more than char, he's grinning like a fool.

"Quick guide," Shadi points the knife at the cake. "Top layer is caramel and white chocolate. Middle layer is lemon and coconut, and bottom layer is your bog-standard mud cake."

Zevran comes as close to freezing as 'damn it' is to swearing, but the smirk on his face is wicked. "That last one sounds exotic," he croons. "What sort of earth is in this cake, my dear Shadi, hmm?"

I snort as Shadi waves their hands and begins on a 'no-no-no'. "Dense chocolate cake, Zevvo," I assure him calmly. "Free of dirt unless you drop it on the ground."

Well, he gets some peace from that. He takes some of every layer and works Shadi into an incoherent lather with the litany of compliments that issue after every bite. I can't say I blame him; it's great cake, after all, but at this point, if I try any of that lavish praise business, Shadi'll either murder me or die. I compromise and make the occasional nod in agreement.

The rest of Zevran's birthday party is, simply put, the most fascinating one I've ever attended. The party games are the first time I really get to see how absurdly honed Zevran's senses and fighting skills are. Pinning the tail on the donkey is a breeze for this guy, even after we've spun him blindfolded twenty times. Never misses the right spot. Egg and spoon race? He's running laps around us. By the time we get to musical chairs, he's laughing and winning.

And my god, the poor piñata. Zevran advises us, after having severed the string connecting the papier-mâché llama with a deadly swing of the broom handle, that he aimed for said string because if he went 'all out' as we jokingly encouraged, the game would be over in one hit. When we assured him there would be no repercussions however soon the game ended, we strung it back up for him and the game was over by the second hit. I believe some of the boiled sweeties may have ended up on the roof. They'll come down with the rain.

Shadi wasn't kidding when they said they'd brought the dominoes. Bastard. This time, though, they've upped the stakes: first prize is a bag of potatoes and a little plastic gun whose nozzle you can bury into a potato and shoot little spud pellets with. Shadi and I play like shit on purpose. Zevran knows this and takes it with his usual good humour, not least because he's captivated by the concept of a spud gun. We spend well over half an hour watching Zevran ooh and ahh and play with the mechanisms– and are barraged by cotton tip-sized potato bullets throughout. We manage to get a few photos during the afternoon- not many, but enough for proof that a birthday was had.

By the time there's an hour and a bit of sunlight left, Shadi bows out. Work starts early for them tomorrow, and it's better to drive on the country roads when it's bright out– not least because most of the way back to Luz (still) isn't lit.

Zevran and I follow them out to their car and stick their stuff on the back seat floor. I give them the usual hug goodbye and whisper a quick thank you for their help. With a wink at me, they turn to Zevran.

"Well, thank you for unknowingly inviting me," they say warmly. "Enjoy the rest of your day, birthday king!" As they grin and reach out in what I understand is a move to clap Zevran's shoulder, Zevran steps forward and wraps his arms around them.

For a split-second, Shadi looks like they've swallowed a moth, but they quickly follow suit before Zevran can clock their surprise. They're a good two heads taller than Zevran, so they have to dip down a little so their arms don't simply crush Zevran's head into their ribcage. Shadi gives good hugs. Tight ones that, owing to their height and broad, muscular physique, envelop you from most angles. Zevran receives one of these, and Shadi, who quickly ends up a mite tearful, keeps it light by chuckling (albeit a little wetly) and swaying him from side to side.

The hug breaks soon enough, and Shadi's off in their car and away down the dirt track. With that, Zevran and I are alone again.

"Got any plans for the evening, then, Your Majesty?" I enquire, bowing with a small flourish.

Zevran turns away from the dust cloud left in my– well our friend's wake, and his weak smile snaps into something wicked.

"Mmm!" He links arms with me and strolls us back into the house. "Making dinner, for a start–"

"Hey now, what was the rule about no work on your birthday, huh?" I chuckle. "We've got that packet of tortellini in the fridge, and you froze some Llomerryn red sauce the other day. Let me heat that up."

He looks into the living room and then back at me, a hopeful smile all over his face. "We can make it together, then? I do not mind working on my birthday. I will make it fun, I promise."

I can't say no to that face. We make the food together– no, I tell a lie. It's mostly him while I stand beside him like a fool and watch, and he seems to love it that way. Zevran's phone (he ended up getting precisely the phone I threatened him with, in green and orange, no less) has a radio app that plays easy rock over the speakers as we cook. It's turned up just loud enough to compete with the breaking waves outside, but nowhere near enough that we can't hear each other when we speak, intermittent though our conversation is.

Once we've finished eating and the cake's been stored in the fridge, we spend the rest of the evening glued to the futon, flicking through the TV channels and swapping gory body stories. Doctors and assassins, as it happens, have quite a lot in common– it's only the end goals where we really differ. At one minute to midnight, I stop everything and dial Shadi on speaker phone.

Zevran stares at me blankly as the phone rings. I grin.

"You'll see in a second, don't worry– Shadi, you there?"

They tsk. "Of course I'm here. Where else would I be? I thought I was going to have to call you. It's twenty-five seconds to on the clock here, so let's start the countdown. Have you explained to Zevran what's happening?"

"She has not," Zevran replies, arching a brow at me.

I chuckle. "Your birthday's almost over, Zevvo. New day starts at midnight, so we want to wish you one last happy birthday before–"

"Okay, here we go! Five, four, three, two…"

"Right." I put an arm around Zevran as Shadi and I say in unison, "Happy birthday, Zevran!"

Shadi chuckles, wishes us goodnight, and that's that.

I release Zevran, whose face is flushed dark as can be once again, and sigh cheerfully.

"Well, that's your birthday over for this year, Zevvo," I say quietly, nudging him with my shoulder. "Birthday regency officially revoked for three hundred and sixty-four days. Will ya cope?"

He waggles his eyebrows. "Oh, I am sure I will manage somehow. I have received enough gifts today to last the rest of my natural life, I do believe."

I snort. "You've got a shock coming to you on your birthday next year, then." I pause and shrug with an offhandedness we both know is completely fabricated. "So long as you want that, anyway."

Autopilot takes over, and I'm on my feet in an instant. "Well, sure, I'd better head to bed myself." I gesture weakly in the direction of the stairs. "Early start tomorrow, you know?"

"Yes, of course." Zevran's up now, too, shifting ever-so-lightly from foot to foot. "Van, I wonder if I might… ah…?" He trails off, his hands inching out toward me, and scans my face intently.

I smile. "Don't even have to ask, darlin'. One hug, coming up."

I put my arms around him and after a moment, his arms loop around me, too. At first, the touch is as light on my skin as a t-shirt, but it's not long before he's clutching me to him as though it's the last shred of contact he's ever going to get with another person. I doubt I'm especially comfortable to be so close with, given how bony I am, but you wouldn't know it from how he's leaning into me. A knot forms in my throat; I hold him a little closer, and he responds by snuggling into the crook of my neck, hugging my head between his own head and his shoulder.

For the longest time, I thought he'd never get here. There was always the lurking suspicion that my plan would bite me in the arse halfway through and the summoning would fail. Impulsive, arrogant fifteen-year-old Van, scrambling to finish summoning Zevran before Shadi had even come halfway through the game. Raging for him, worrying about him, loving him with the ardent, single-minded devotion teenagers have. Even for the friends they've never met.

But it worked, and now he's here, this marvellous man, stepping into the new beginning I set in motion ten long years ago, and I think we're getting closer to happiness.

God, I hope we're getting closer to it.