Month 12. Night 364. 11:59pm.

One more night.

Est stood at his window. Cherry and sweet cream was calm tonight. No fever. No ache. Just anticipation so thick it hurt. He held William’s last shirt to his chest. The fabric was thin now from use.

He wrote one last letter. Didn’t send it. He’d hand it to him tomorrow.

Tomorrow we’re allowed. Tomorrow I stop being your husband on paper and start being yours. I’m scared. I’m greedy. I want all of you. I’ve spent a year learning your scent. Tomorrow I learn you. Don’t make me wait longer than midnight. Please. - E

He folded it. Tucked it in the pocket of the shirt he’d wear tomorrow. The one he hadn’t washed. So William could smell him first.

Across the estate, William did the same. Vanilla + espresso was low and steady. Controlled. But his hands shook as he wrote.

Tomorrow I get to touch you. Tomorrow I get to call you mine out loud. I’ve whispered it every night for a year. Tomorrow I won’t have to whisper. I’ve saved all of me for you, Est. Every rut. Every thought. All mine. All yours. - W

He set the letter on his nightstand. Next to Est’s old scarf. Next to the promise.

Midnight hit.

Both of them, in separate wings, whispered the same word at the same time:

“Est.”

“William.”

The year was over. The custom was done.

Tomorrow, they would finally meet. Not as fiancées. Not as strangers in a marriage. As husband and husband.

Est changed into the unwashed shirt. Let cherry fill the room.

William did the same. Let vanilla and espresso spill out.

No more letters. No more cloths.

Tomorrow, skin. Tomorrow, breath. Tomorrow, the year of waiting.

Est lay down. Stared at the ceiling. Heart hammering.

William did the same.

Both of them thinking:

He’s mine.

Finally.

Mine.

The sun would rise soon.

And this is where I stop, so you can write their first night together.