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He went into his stateroom by himself, frowning at the empty bed in distaste. Well, it was temporary; he’d sneak into Sebastian’s room after Dr. Wright finally left.

But when Wesley cracked his door a couple of hours later, Dr. Wright was still there.

* * *

Wake up, de Leon, this isn’t your tropical paradise—

Sebastian’s eyes flew open. For a moment, he had no idea where he was—on a mattress, in the dark, it was cold and his room was small and empty—

The bed shifted under him, the familiar comfort of a rolling ocean wave. The present came sweeping back to him: he was on a ship.

Sebastian’s breath left him in a rush. His hands flew to his face, shaking where they pressed again sweat-drenched skin.

He was in a stateroom onboard the Gaston , sailing to Southampton. Alone, because he and Wesley had been watched. And he hadn’t had a blood terror; this was just a nightmare, and he could move, and wasn’t trapped. But the dream was still there, a memory as bright as if he were living it again.

Wake up, de Leon—

He clenched his jaw before a sound could escape.

Had he been loud already, in the throes of the dream?

Enough to wake other passengers? Had he panicked because his mind thought it was having another blood terror, the small space too reminiscent of the quarters he’d had when he’d been under blood magic in Germany—

He had to get some air.

He scrambled out from under the covers, sticking his feet into his shoes and pulling his overcoat over his T-shirt as he inched open the door.

The hall was empty and completely silent.

Sebastian slipped along the corridor and out to the grand staircase’s landing, which was deserted.

A large clock on a pedestal read four a.m., though whether that was New York time, London time, or some other time in the middle of the sea, Sebastian didn’t know.

He climbed three floors and stepped out onto the boat deck.

It was freezing, the stinging wind cutting across the ship with knife edges.

Sebastian pulled his coat more tightly closed and crossed over to the railing.

He leaned on it, resting his head on his folded arms and taking deep breaths of cold, wet ocean air at the top of the ship.

Even as a non-paranormal, he was a disaster. Other people without magic could make it through a night in a bed alone and he couldn’t even manage that—

A familiar voice broke through his thoughts. “I’m going to hold a grudge like you wouldn’t believe against Dr. Wright for this.”

“ Wesley? ” Sebastian startled, turning his head just as Wesley joined him at the railing, wearing his long green robe over his striped silk pajamas. “How are you here?”

“I ask myself that frequently these days.” Wesley leaned on the railing. “I had been waiting for the doctor to finally leave so I could sneak over to your room. He was there a bloody long time. I dozed for a bit, then when I woke and opened the door, I saw you darting down the hall and I followed.”

Sebastian furrowed his brow. “So you woke up again exactly when I woke up?”

“Seems like it,” Wesley said. “I’d say that seems like quite a coincidence, but I was sleeping light and may have heard your door. Though I hope you’ll notice I wasn’t the one who went running out onto the icy boat deck. Although I did follow, so perhaps I haven’t got the high ground here.”

A surprised laugh left Sebastian, and despite the dark of the night, and the dream, and his thoughts, a smile curled on his lips.

He glanced each way down the deck, but they were completely alone, standing together at the railing in the freezing night, and so he turned his head to press his forehead into Wesley’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“None of that.” To his surprise, Wesley’s hand touched his on the railing, and then slid over it until he had wrapped his hand around Sebastian’s wrist, over the tattoo. “You know you never have to be sorry with me.”

They stood like that together for a long moment, Sebastian finally able to push his thoughts away and focus on the physical sensations surrounding him—the velvet of Wesley’s robe soft against his face, the pitch of the ship on the waves under his feet, the hum of the engines many decks below vibrating in his chest.

Wesley’s voice floated on the wind above him. “Was it a blood terror? Or a regular nightmare? Not that nightmares aren’t shit in their own right.”

“Just a nightmare.” Sebastian’s voice was muffled by Wesley’s coat. “But it was the same memories as the terrors, and it—it’s not a place I want to be again.”

Wesley’s fingers tightened around his wrist. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“All right,” Wesley said. “But I will always be here, if you need to talk, if you think it could ever help. You know you can’t shock me.”

He slid his thumb under Sebastian’s wrist so that it brushed along the tattoo.

The gesture had felt different ever since the loss of the magic—but different didn’t mean less or lacking.

The sparks were just as bright, just as intimate.

Possibly even more so, because every touch was a reminder that he hadn’t lost Wesley.

He lifted his head from Wesley’s coat to look into his eyes. “It’s four a.m.”

“I’m quite aware, yes,” Wesley said, but he didn’t sound mad, and there was something soft in the set of his mouth.

Sebastian made a face. “I think you were right.”

“About what?”

“I really am a pain in the ass.”

This time Wesley was the one to laugh, quiet and low. “Such a pain,” he said, smile lingering. “But I didn’t have nearly enough trouble in my life before you.”

Below them and beyond them, the ocean was lost to a pitch-black darkness.

But above their heads, the stars stretched out in endless points of light behind scattered wisps of clouds.

“What if I’m like this forever?” Sebastian said, before he meant to.

“I lost my magic, and the dreams still can’t leave me alone? ”

“I’m afraid people don’t need magic to be haunted by their pasts,” Wesley said.

“But how could it ever be fair to you if I can’t sleep alone?”

“Fair?” Wesley repeated. “Life is never fair. If it were, it never would have given an angel like you to a devil like me.” He brushed his thumb over the tattoo again, sending sparks across Sebastian’s skin like the bright starlight above.

“Everyone has their battles. If your past won’t let you sleep alone, then we’ll deal with that, and I will count myself as immensely fortunate that I am the one who gets to be at your side and fight your demons with you. ”

Sebastian’s words stuck in his throat, overcome by the feeling in his chest—the sudden realization of his heart, which now knew, or maybe had known for a while, what he’d found in Wesley.

“I’m not going to be an arse and suggest you could somehow go back to sleep after terrible dreams,” Wesley said.

“There’s a night staff; I bet with a large enough tip, one of them will go get us hot drinks.

We can warm up by the fireplace in the drawing room and watch the sunrise. You love sunrises.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly. “Yes,” he said, with a small, rueful smile. “I do love them.”