Page 13 of Triadic

"Kuss," I requested.

He leaned in and smooched my lips. "Kuss."

"I love you." I whispered those precious, forbidden words against his lips.

Corbi touched his forehead to mine, and I closed my eyes. "Ich liebe dich, Marit.Du bist mein Herz."

You are my heart.

My chest ached with longing, but just then Peter gave a groan, the urgent tone of which we knew all too well.

We rushed forward and got him out from under the blankets so the shining angel, gaunt and wrung out, could empty himself for the hundredth time while we soothed him. I couldn't shake the feeling that something magical was going on with him, and that he wasn't fully human. It would be just like an angel who had gotten stuck in a magical pocket in the forest to take human form temporarily as an unknown mechanism to get themselves out of the mess. Though my heart tugged at Peter's suffering, I tried and failed to hold myself at bay with him, because if he were some supernatural being, he could disappear without notice and leave nothing but a pile of clothes behind.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Tut mir leid, I'm so sorry."

"Nein, Schatz," said Corbi, whodidn't notice the look I shot him at his use of an endearment. "Here. Take this and rinse out your mouth."

Peter did so, then gratefully took the mint leaves we gave him, something he'd explained he found familiar since he'd used them in the forest.

I sat next to him with my arm around him, supporting his back, while Corbi knelt in front of us and mixed the next bout of medicinal tea. Peter looked over at me, and I froze, transfixed.

"When I'm done being a vomit monster," said Peter, "I want to be your friend."

"I'm not usually in the habit of befriending vomit monsters," I said with a heavy seriousness, "but in your case, I am willing to make an exception."

He smirked at my sass and turned to Corbi. "You too, doc."

"You are already our friend," Corbi answered, and I nodded.

"I'm sorry you guys are having to sleep in here just to care for me," he said.

"Nein," Corbi and I both answered at once, then chuckled at our synchronicity.

I met my partner's eyes and saw the same determination I felt. We were doing this for Peter, first and foremost, but it wasn't lost on us that we had done the same thing for Wren almost exactly ten years ago. Wren, who'd thrown himself full force into spiritual and magical practices, had at the very young age of seventeen managed to invoke his highersoul into his body during one of the monastery's seasonal celebrations.

What had followed was a frightening ordeal because under reasonable circumstances one should never try to force such a massive undertaking, but rather allow the ripening of the connection between the lower and higher souls to happen at its own pace. Likely due to ardent practices over his past lives, Wren's invocation had succeeded in a way that was too dangerous to happen all at once, and thus had been very reckless, though potentially it had been out of his control.

His subtle bodies had been so stressed that the strain risked killing his physical body, and Wren's soul had gone wandering in the Otherworld.

I still remembered the instructors shouting and rushing him to the medical wing. Corbi and I were ordered to spoon around him and balance him with our own etheric bodies, to keep calm despite the urgency around us, and thus hopefully calm Wren's physical form. Awariye, the young bard in training, had been pulled in and told to sing the legends, to sing everything he had committed to memory thus far, hopefully to lure Wren's soul back. And then the old and honored instructors, who themselves in the years since had moved into the world beyond, had stood with their hands on Wren and sent their consciousness into the Otherworld to look for Wren's wandering soul and bring him back.

That very close call had brought the three of us much closer; we had already been best friends before that. It wasthis ordeal that had secured us as partners by the time we'd turned twenty and entered adulthood.

"We are happy to be here for you, Peter," said Corbi, "if you're okay with us staying with you overnight. It helps to be nearby if you get sick, and also, the closeness stabilizes your temperature and subtle bodies."

He nodded because indeed we had explained this to him before, though he was often half asleep. "Danke. Thank you for staying here with me."

"No place we'd rather be," I replied.

Chapter Seven: Peter

Days passed, full of fever, restless sleep, and constant illness. Marit and Corbi—I finally remembered their names—helped me to the washroom across the hall and emptied the bin when I was sick while in bed. They touched me with such gentle hands. I had never been treated with such kindness, not since I was a baby and hadn't disappointed my parents yet.

Whenever Corbi and Marit weren't with me, a monk in his thirties by the name of Ceridor asked me about my hometown, offering to go there on my behalf if I wanted, though in my case I only desired confirmation that Genevieve was okay. I told him my story, all the events that led to me charging into the forest and forsaking my former life: my 'boyfriend' Yusef cheating on me and getting a girl pregnant, my best friend Genevieve's sadness at being forcibly betrothed to me by our parents rather than lettingher be with the man she loved and who loved her, and all because Henri was a peasant farmer and therefore very poor. Not to mention my parents would never accept me as gay, and the rest of the town also.

I recounted my story several times, possibly due to my being so delirious I might not have stated my story accurately. Finally the bard smiled and patted my shoulder, promising he'd return with news from Genevieve and telling me to hang in there until he came back. I thanked him and passed out again.

I gasped for air as my stomach heaved and I vomited into the pot by the bed. Kind hands pressed a cool rag to my forehead and cheeks, then thankfully wiped my mouth. I had no idea how many days or maybe even weeks it had been, but my body was so wrung out, I couldn't take it anymore.