Blackfeather Woods o thou, who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

Relief spreads over the wraith when his lover responds, and he suddenly feels childish for mentioning it. As if it should have been obvious. But it never is — not to him. It still doesn't feel real when he thinks about it for too long; he can't get past the shock, the marvelous strangeness in the concept of being loved by a boy like Phillip — no, being loved by Phillip. Because there isn't anyone exactly like him. Similar, perhaps, but Zephyr doesn't want similar. He wants the boy he's chosen, with all of his innocence and his quirks and his constant need for protection. There is nothing about him that the wraith doesn't want; and in some ways, he has a debt to repay, too.
Because at the end of the day, Phillip is the true protector in the relationship, though he may not ever know it or agree with the sentiment. Zephyr would never survive without somewhere safe to keep his fragile heart.
He closes his eyes, fighting sudden tears, and swallows. I love him too much, he realizes, perfectly content with the thought. But there's more to talk about, still. Then, um... we should have a real title for our relationship, Not mates. Not again. What about — A slight pause, thinking, recalling the different types of relationships he's encountered. We could be... life partners. I think that sounds accurate for what we both want. He smiles, leaning into Phillip's touch. I like the idea of it, at least. To me, it sounds like — like we're a team, and our lives are each other's lives too, and we'll face everything together. That's what I want with you.