Oliver glanced sideways to the other man, a bit surprised but then, not really. The gypsies lived such a free, unbound life, and he loved it so much, but they obviously made connections for life, and he loved that too. He wanted to be connected to Jean-Sal for life, after all. But so much was in the way. He sighed and looked up at the question. "I do... I've met them. I gave my DNA when I was sixteen and met the kids it produced six years later. So they were five at the time. Sweet. One had my hair... another had my eyes." He felt a sudden pang, like jealousy. Did he want a child? That was a big question and he didn't want to focus on it yet. He wanted to focus on Jean-Sal, who suddenly sounded apprehensive.

"Is something wrong...?" Oliver turned to his side and nuzzled himself against Jean-Sal's neck, breathing in his scent. "Has something happened...?"

Could he do it? Should he? He sighed and stared up at the moon, wondering how late it was. Oliver's parents would be worrying, no doubt. "Well... I have a kid." He looked over to the man, trying to read his expression. ''She was... Natural." He covered his face, thinking about the mistakes of the past.

"When I was younger... I wanted nothing more in the world than to live in a city. I wanted to have a job and a house and family, maybe be a farmer and supply the city with food... My day came when I became a man. I was left at Spritzee for a year, until my tribe came back and I could decide if I wanted to stay or go with them. It was hard. I couldn't get a job and soon I was sold into slavery. I was... Kept in a brothel." He winced, expecting Oliver to sound disgusted or tell him to stop. It must be hard for the man to imagine Jean-Sal as a prostitute, a whore working for money. ''When a year came around, I wanted to leave. I wanted to be with my family again. They wouldn't let me because I 'belonged' to them. My parents came to my rescue... They were shot dead." He went quiet and realised tears were falling. He wanted to continue, however.

"Before this... I had a baby given to me by one of my earlier clients. She didn't want it and claimed it was mine. If I left the baby, she would probably have become a slave herself... So I brought her with me when my parents got us out... I had to leave their bodies and we fled... My brother... He hated me for what had happened... And... I had to give my daughter to Goat... If they knew... Well..." He looked to Oliver. "I wish I could be there for her and be her dad, but... I guess it's too late now. She'll never understand."

Oliver was quiet for a time, close to Jean-Sal, listening. Though as it went on he wanted to tell him to stop. Wanted to shut Jean up and tell him he didn't have to keep going. But it obviously hurt to say, especially after so long kept quiet, kept in. His brother hated him for what he couldn't control? It was awful. He had no siblings but couldn't imagine someone he shared blood with absolutely hating him. He didn't realize he'd been crying until he felt the warm puddle that had formed against his shoulder where he was looking toward Jean-Sal. He breathed in after what felt like an hour, hearing the shudder in the sound.

"Oh... Jean... I..." He breathed carefully for a moment, turning to him and pulling the man to him. The tears streaked down his face broke Oliver's heart and for a moment he didn't think he had the strength to keep them upright. But Jean's solid form in his arms almost gave him more strength. "I'm sorry that happened to you... you didn't deserve it... You can't blame yourself, Jean, if you do... If you blame yourself... You don't deserve that baggage." He pulled his hand through Jean's hair, breathing in the scent, heedless of the time. His parents didn't like to bother him when he went to his room, and for once he was glad for that.

Jean-Sal was silent for what felt like a long time before he replied, sighing slightly and smiling weakly. He turned his head and kissed Oliver, sniffing slightly. "No... I never blamed myself. But I could never forgive the city of Spritzee... I haven't trusted authorities in cities ever since... That's why I got smart to that policeman this morning." No, he had never blamed himself. It was his brother who did the blaming. "Can you remember the girl who gave me that stone? She's Rose, my daughter. She has my eyes." He wondered what life would have been like if he had admitted Rose was his. Would his tribe have accepted them?

"It's really late..."

Rose. Of course he remembered Rose---she was beautiful, such a sweet little thing. He smiled absently, but paused. "I... see you in her." He muttered after a time. He had. At first Oliver hadn't said anything about it, finding similarities in various things that he never put much thought in. He sighed, closing his eyes and nodding a bit. "It is..." He muttered, releasing Jean. "I'm sorry I ran... I didn't know where I was going." He stood, pulling Jean with him and feeling his clothing. They were adequately dry, but still filthy. "... I guess I didn't care at that point."

He thought about having actually lost Jean, and went cold. He couldn't imagine that. No, didn't want to. He could imagine it and the feeling that enveloped him was so devastating he felt like a terminal illness were finally reaching up to squeeze his heart until he collapsed. He didn't want that feeling again.

"Your parents must be worried... Come, I'll walk you back to the city." Even though he wanted nothing more than to tell Oliver he had to hide in the camp and come with them the next day, he got dressed and waited for the man to follow suit. "Don't worry. Never worry about the past or the future. We are together now, and maybe... Tomorrow... Something could stop us from leaving. Or I will leave my tribe for you, Oliver. I think I know enough not to be sold as a slave again."

He hugged Oliver and didn't want to let go. After a long time, he held the man's hand and slowly walked back to the city together.

He was quiet, doing as asked because he was so deep inside his head. Jean-Sal's words came to him and he simply fit into their requests. By the time he was pulled along, back the way they had come, Oliver was back in his right mind and he felt a hand in his. He breathed, drawing up the hand and caressing the back of it, then looking at Jean-Sal. "Jean." He breathed. "I... I don't want you to give up your freedom. Not for me. I would never forgive myself if I let you do it. Not after what happened to you in Spritzee. Even if it won't happen here, I could never feel right. It'd hurt worse than if I let you go but I won't... let you go alone."

He watched the trees above them. "I want to come with you. I want to come with you... so badly. And I will. I will." Oliver was repeating it several times before he realized, snapping his mouth shut. He just had to. He had to go. He didn't feel like he belonged with his family. The only one he'd miss would be his aunt, and even then he could say goodbye to her. And she would understand. He just wanted to stay with Jean-Sal. And there was no way he was forcing the man to stay with him, in the dome. It was a prison and none could escape without ridicule.

Jean-Sal kept holding onto Oliver's hand, hearing his words but not fully comprehending them. How could Oliver come with them? If he ran away with the gypsies, the police would be hunting for them, and they would be accused of kidnap. Even if Oliver tried to explain to his parents, they would lock him up thinking he was mad. By the way they had let their son be molested in public by that old man, it seemed they didn't care for their son's interests.

They skirted the camp, Jean-Sal was glad to see that the others hadn't seen the two walking past. Would they still hate Oliver even though Jean-Sal had forgiven the man? Jean-Sal wasn't sure. He walked Oliver up to the city gates, hugging him tightly again and not wanting to let go. "I'll see you tomorrow. No matter what happens," he promised, kissing Oliver's soft lips.

Oliver felt dazed, smiling slightly and staring at Jean-Sal for a moment longer than was necessary. "I promise I'll find a way to come with you. I just really hope I won't be too late..." He sighed, stepping away, reluctant to turn his back but doing so anyway. If he didn't, he'd go back and beg to come along no matter the consequences. But that would lead officials to harass other gypsies, perhaps even imprison them or sentence them to death for 'kidnapping' a prominent family's son. He sighed, barely taking the hidden alleys as he went back home, head hanging.

If he didn't love Jean-Sal so much he would have thought suicide a viable option. But how much would it hurt him? Would it hurt at all? He almost hoped so. When he arrived at home, he was met immediately by his mother, who fretted over him and his disheveled state and cursed the events that had led up to Oliver running off to 'let off steam' as she put it. She tried to get him to let one of the maids help him get cleaned up but he shrugged them all off and closed himself into his bedroom, running a bath and sinking into it with his journal poised on his knees as they lifted out of the hot water.

"I truly despise my life. I understand this is how privileged children and teenagers behave when they aren't allowed their assumed dues or are kept home when they want to go out with their friends or peers, but I have good reason. I want to leave. I never wanted this life. I hate being watched, being groomed, being forced to accompany uptight families and individuals to quiet, dreadfully boring parties that sometimes seem set up for the sole purpose of my parents trying to pawn me off to some wealthy man that will set them up for life.

I truly feel for these lonely men, but they have so many other choices that I can't help but feel more frustration than sympathy. And Adrian, being the most prominent man in the city, will most definitely have me, even if I say no. My parents will see to it, and I will never be able to see Jean-Sal again. Already I miss him and it's barely been an hour since our departure. Is this what real, unfiltered love is? Is it really so strong that simply being away from the person feels as if your soul is withering inside your body? I am terrified. I fear that when tomorrow comes I will look out my window and find that the camp is gone, and so is Jean, and I will never be able to see him again. I'm afraid to sleep, afraid to watch that little encampment outside for fear that it will raise up and depart. What if I'm too late to apologize to the rest of Jean-Sal's gypsy family? They value words, not material items. Actions, not money. While I enjoy that change, it's new to me.

I should speak to Sae..."

Oliver sighed, setting his book on the floor beside the bathtub and closing his eyes. He wouldn't sleep tonight, that was certain.

Jean-Sal stared blankly at the fire, hardly hearing any of the music that was played around him. Despite the events of that night, the gypsies were partying once again, preparing to set off the next day. He smiled distantly when others came to say hello, and barely even recognised their faces. His heart was aching as he thought about Oliver. He sighed and placed his head in his hands. It seemed the only way around this was for Jean-Sal to borrow one of the horses, run into the city and declare his love for Oliver in front of the man's parents. They would then run away together and change Oliver's appearance so he couldn't be found again.

Would it work? Jean-Sal didn't know. As he sighed again, an elderly lady sat next to him and placed a bony hand on his knee. He looked up at the camp's medicine woman, a lady called Wendy. She had a soft smile on her face, and asked him if everything was alright. He shrugged his shoulders, but then looked back at her.

"I don't know what to do. I truly love him and... I can't bare the thought of leaving him."

"Well, listen to your heart. What is it telling you to do?" Wendy tilted her head slightly. "Your friends and family are here. You know we would still love you if you decided to stay behind. You are older now, smarter. I'm sure you won't become a slave again."

"I know Wendy... It's just... He wants to come with us... Maybe if I talk to his parents? Promise to take good care of their son... I can offer... To let them adopt... Rose...."

"Would you do that?"

"I don't know, Wendy... I just..." He rubbed his eyes and stood up. "I'm just going to go to sleep. Maybe my dreams will inspire me." He left the old lady and the music behind him, going to his tent and flopping down on his bed. His thoughts raced in his mind and he realised there was no way he would be able to sleep that night.

It was more than an hour before his parents and aunt were to wake, but Oliver had been up all night. He had spent most of said night staring hard across the dome, watching the camp, watching the fire dim, watching... hoping to see some outline that looked familiar. That outline being Jean-Sal. His Jean. He sat on his knees like a fool obsessed, which he supposed he was. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man, seeing him when he closed his eyes. Was this love, or obsession? It was a question most would dwell on, but Oliver knew what it was. Love. He’d never felt it before, so it was pure, real, full. It made his heart ache. So when the light of dawn just barely began to bring about a grayish dawn, he slid out of his bedroom and crept his way down the hall to his aunt’s room. He didn’t knock, but sidled in and closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief as he carefully approached her bed and put a hand on her foot.

She startled, gasping awake, then calming immediately when she saw her nephew. “Oh Oliver you gave me such a fright! I was having a rather surreal nightmare...”

“I’m sorry, auntie... I... I just... need to speak with you. Please...” Oliver had steeled himself before coming down the hall to his aunt’s room, but now that resolve was crumbling and he was beginning to shake. His aunt sat up, looking at him with concern.

“What’s wrong, hon?” Sae put her hand on his shoulder, getting him to look at her.

“I...” He bit his lip, but decided that it was best to simply spill everything without thinking. “I’m in love with the gypsy that stood up to Adrian the night of the party and I know how dreadfully foolish that sounds, but I’ve been sneaking outside the dome and was swept up by him one evening and simply became infatuated with him. But I know it’s not a whirlwind lust because I have actual feelings for this man, Auntie, I can’t breathe without him near, I fear for his wellbeing and wonder what he may be doing now, I fear the moment he leaves I’ll never see him again and I simply can’t deal with that. You’ve met him, Auntie, he danced with you in the square, you know him.” He gave his aunt a pleading look, and was rewarded with a soft expression. He wasn’t sure if it was pity or understanding, but he wasn’t getting his hopes up.

Jean-Sal didn't sleep at all that night, and dread and sorrow gripped at his stomach as the rooster's cry woke the camp. They were getting ready to leave, herding up their cattle and sheep and tying down anything that could fall off once their camp stood up. He got dressed quickly, not even thinking about what he was wearing, and left his tent. What could he do? A million thoughts were flying around in his head as he grabbed a white horse nearby.

"What are you doing?" The voice belonged to Goat, who was watching Jean-Sal from a distance, a concerned look on his face.

"I have to go get him, Goat. I can't leave him," Jean-Sal climbed onto the back of the horse as he spoke, looking down at his best friend. "I'll do anything to have him. I am totally in love with him." Goat shook his head.

"I'll try to keep them here until you come back," he said with a slight smile. "Now go get him, Sally." Jean-Sal thanked his friend, leading the horse into a gallop towards the city. He ignored the guards at the gate asking for him to stop and continued up the streets towards the rich side. He had no idea where Oliver lived, but he knew he would find him. It was destiny that the two would be together.

His aunt's words were cold to him. Oliver shook his head slowly as they began to register.

"You have to speak to your parents. Sweetheart, I understand you may think---"

"Think I love him?" Oliver's voice broke. "Auntie... I do. I do. I can't stress how much I adore that gypsy. I've dedicated the past several days to thinking about him, spending as much time as I could with him, writing and drawing and painting him. I cannot see it as... momentary infatuation..."

"How long has it been?" Sae tilted her head curiously.

"Perhaps a week..."

"And a week is enough to wish to throw your whole current life away?"

"I never liked this life. I never wanted to be married off to someone that will try to snuff the fire in me. I want to live out there. I hate this life. I hate this... 'utopia' in which nothing is right. I see homelessness and strife every day and I have to come here and live a perfect life and pretend no one is suffering, pretend I don't know that out there in the world are people that are living free, dangerous, with each day bringing new and unpredictable things. And I want that so badly... Have you never felt your heart inexplicably twine with a soul so like yours that you can see yourself in them without even trying? That they bring your free spirit out so flawlessly, as if you never had to hide it?"

He watched his aunt's eyes mist over, then a smile come over her face. "Oh, hon... You're so poetic when you feel so strongly... But you must tell your parents."

Oliver had been afraid of that. Of course he had to tell his parents. Why wouldn't he? If he didn't, they would assume he had been kidnapped or stolen away and send so many officials after him, and his supposed kidnappers. He sighed, and nodded. "Good." Sae stood and, with a long stretch, ushered Oliver out of the room. "Go get dressed, then, sweetie. We'll speak to them afterward.