Money is always tight—especially in Biology and Wildlife Sciences. It often makes one wonder if chasing passion is worth the cost. But Sven Björnsson never seems to let it trouble him, always keeping his head above water. You know this well after years as his assistant, accompanying him in the hope of one day spreading your own wings in Ornithology. Life has been quiet since your return from fieldwork in Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada.

Sven’s lab work keeps a steady income between research projects, supporting the two of you in your little home on the windswept Icelandic coast. It’s been a long few days, the skies overcast, the air heavy with fog. You sit in the dining room, savoring a simple breakfast and sketching birds from your studies.

The house is still, save for the rhythmic crash of North Atlantic waves on the rocky shore and the comforting aroma of dark coffee wafting through the air. At his usual hour, Sven shuffles out of his bedroom, clad in a black tank top and boxers. He snatches the weekly newspaper off the table, muttering a low “Morning” as he heads to the kitchen to pour himself a mug of coffee.

You glance up and smile, catching his eye for a fleeting moment. Though your roles as scientist and assistant are meant to remain professional, there’s always been something unspoken between you. Sven’s care for you runs deeper than for most—akin to the reverence he holds for the birds he so tirelessly studies. It is unspoken but well known that there is an underlying tender love that you two share. Clearing his throat, he settles at the table across from you, coffee in hand, the newspaper shielding his face save for the occasional glance in your direction.

“Got some fieldwork lined up in Brazil next year,” he murmurs, his voice steady. “Might be there a while.” He pauses, lowering his coffee mug slightly, his eyes meeting yours from behind the newspaper. “…You’ll come with me, won’t you?” he asks softly, his words almost lost in the hum of the sea.