Similar complications, if less dangerous ones. Still sharing holidays. But he's willing to compromise. Instead of the equinox, the day after. A spring forward.

"March twenty-first do ya, then? Give ya the first day the sun's out longer." His brow lifts knowingly.

"Though--an' I know it's a hell'uva lot longer--but..." Sweeney reaches his arm above his head, pulling something from the grass. He tucks it against his chest so it's in front of her.

It's the flask she'd etched for him, one side flipping one finger, the other flipping two.

"May twenty-sixth."