“hurry up! those hephaestus kids won’t wait for long.” luke shouts as he walks ten steps ahead of you. the guy would always leave you behind when walking just to get a reaction.

struggling to keep up with his pace, you shout back, “can you wait?” now annoyed, “or just slow down your steps.”

you can hear him chuckle, “not my fault your legs are as short as your temper,” he shrugged.

that just made your blood boil even more. “you know what? forget it, luke. i’ll get my new dagger on my own.” speeding your feet, you finally pass him. “i don’t even know why i asked for your help in the first place!” crossing your arms as you leave him behind.

hearing leaves crumble from behind, you knew he sped up to reach you. wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “look, i’m just kidding. i didn’t mean to offend you.”

“well, you did,” you say flatly, shoving his arm off.

“woah, now that’s personal,” he teased, putting his arm back on your shoulder. “c’mon, we’re almost there.”

as the trail to the hephaestus cabin comes to an end, your heart can’t help but race. it has been a week since you last saw your dagger. when you saw your sisters have those beautiful engravings on their weapons, you decided yours needed one too.

that’s what brought you and luke here, in cabin nine, where all of hephaestus’ kids are busy working around the different weapons of the campers.

“hello,” you tried calling for the attention of one of the kids, but he just looked at you and continued working. as another one passed by, “excuse me.” maybe your voice was too soft and is drowned out by metal clanking, or maybe they just don’t care. either way, no one responds.

seeing a pout sprout on your face, luke can’t help but smirk. “leo!” he called the boy.

“luke! what can i do for ya?” leo wiped off his hands with the nearest cloth and walked towards the both of you.

“can we get y/n’s dagger?”

leo looked around before pointing over to the far right corner of the cabin. “my brother’s got it, i think. that one guy over there.”

you follow his gesture and freeze. the guy standing there is broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing as he works. suddenly, you’re nervous—and not just about the dagger.

combing your hair with your fingers, you make sure that your hair falls perfectly into place. luke sees your gesture and he was confused, until you both were standing in front of the guy.

his jaw could only tighten as he watched you approach cabin nine’s counselor, theo.

“hey… leo told me that you have my dagger?” your voice came out softer than it usually does.

“oh yeah, y/n, right?” he clarified. you just nod at him with a big smile. “i got your dagger, right…” he moves forward, his body a little too close to you.

your breath hitched as you watched him—too close, reaching for the small drawer. “here.” he grabbed your dagger from inside. you can’t really see what it looks like yet as it’s wrapped in a pink silk pouch.

“sorry, we wrap them to make sure they won’t dull.” he scratched the back of his head. “and i thought you’d like the color, considering…” his eyes sparked, staring right at you.

there was a moment of silence. none of you spoke, but you felt like there was a moment.

“uh…” he shook away from his thoughts. “do you want me to help you—”

theo was about to offer you help when luke snatched the pouch. “yeah, we’re good, thanks.” he swiftly grabbed you away, not giving you any chance to say your goodbye to the boy.

halfway through the forest, you push him away. “what’s wrong with you?!” he just kept walking, not noticing that he’s on the wrong trail. “luke! give me my dagger!”

he answered without looking back, “no.”

“you’re pissing me off!” still, he didn’t stop. he was doing it on purpose, briskly walking away from you. he knew you’d struggle to keep up. “i didn’t even get to say goodbye! what’s your problem?!”

keeping his mouth shut, luke just kept adding distance between you and him.

“you always do this! “my sisters say i can’t even get a boyfriend because of you!” you exhaled.

“all of my sisters would always tell me stories about their love lives and i can’t contribute to the conversation ’cause i have none. you keep interfering!”

luke didn’t care. whatever you said went in from one ear and out the other. he is now so far above you, the steepness of the mountain adding more distance. you look up the hill to face him.

“fine! i’ll just go back to cabin nine and ask theo to make me another dagger!”

that’s what made luke stop his feet from moving.

“what?” he finally turned around, your dagger tight in his grip.

“you heard me. stop acting like a child and give me my dagger or i will walk back to that cabin and ask theo to make me one.” he looked down at you as if he doesn’t believe a single word you’re saying.

“fine! he might also wanna make me his girlfriend, so thanks. you can keep that dagger!” you turned around.

as if his face was poured with freezing cold water, luke was awakened by reality. he started to run down the hill.

“i just don’t get you, luke! you always do this—”

luke’s legs moved a little way too fast. he suddenly lost the ability to control them as he slid down. as you were about to turn to face him, his feet hit yours, sending you tripping on top of him.

it all happened way too fast. you weren’t even able to shout in surprise. well, you tried, but it seemed like your lips were sealed with something. as you slowly opened your eyes, you see luke staring right into you. his lips pressed onto yours.

struggling to get off of him, you rolled away. “oh my god!” exclaiming in disbelief as you sit up. “what did you do?!” you cried, slapping his chest, which made it harder for him to sit up.

“luke! that was my first kiss! i haven’t even kissed anyone else ever!” continuing to throw slaps on his chest.

he caught your wrist, stopping you. still in shock, luke sat up beside you. he couldn’t even process what happened, but you continued blabbering against his ear. he never wanted you to shut your mouth until this moment.

wanting some peace and silence so he could process his thoughts, he reached over your face and kissed you again, sealing your mouth shut.

eyes widening, you didn’t know whether to pull away or not. but his lips felt so soft against yours, you decided to linger for longer.

after a minute or two, he softly parted from your lips, his face still close enough to lean in for another kiss.

“some silence, finally,” he sighed.

chest heaving, you grabbed your dagger from his loosened grip, swiftly standing up. “ugh!”

his short moment of peace was interrupted by yours, as usual. smirking as he stood up, he ran after you, wrapping one arm around your shoulders as he always does. he could only hope that every moment of silence in his life would be intruded by you, and he’ll be satisfied.

By the window, you can see the planes landing. The dark tarmac, the rain falling, turning skies grey and the world blurry. Such busy places, airports. Happy ones, too, for the most part. You think about the journeys you have started in this place, the adventures you have gotten yourself into, the wonderful memories you have built.

A mother hushes her child past you, carrying the boys backpack, heading closer to the gate you were patiently waiting before as well. The boy seems excited, he must be waiting for someone, just like you are. You remain behind most of the group that has gathered in front of the large sign screaming ARRIVALS. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, or to the person you’re waiting for. You don’t want anyone to notice who you’ve been missing, who you’re about to meet again.

You check your watch, for what has to be the thousandth time. Andrew should have reached you twenty minutes ago now, but planes are rarely on time. You heave a sigh, try to ignore the giddy feeling that tickles your stomach when you think of him, of holding the man you love again, of welcoming him home.

It’s a risky business, to come pick him up at the airport and to wait at the terminal instead of the car. Anyone could recognise him, take a picture, put it on social media, and you don’t want to be included in the public part of his life. None of you want to. This, what you share together, it’s just for the two of you. That’s what makes you a safe place for him, that’s what makes him be him when you’re around, that’s what keeps you safe, too. So, you’re extra careful not to be in anybody’s way, staying a few steps away from the small crowd. No one is paying attention to you, and you’re satisfied with that. The risk is worth it, though. Andrew’s been away for three months, it’s one of the longest runs he’s done without seeing you at all, and you’re missing him so much at this point, you’ve stopped functioning properly. This long distance part of your relationship is shit, but you love him, and you know he wouldn’t be happy without music in his life. So, it’s worth it. Besides, there are very few moments as happy as your reunions. Holding him against you again makes it worth the long, lonely wait.

The last time you were here, it was to help Andrew carry his stuff when he left. You can see yourself again, walking across the hall, putting on a brave face while your heart was breaking, carrying his guitar and one of his bags while Andrew carried the rest. You remember seeing Alex and Rory from afar, they were all leaving together, but Andrew had stopped while still being a fair distance away from them. He had turned to you, a gentle smile on his lips despite his eyes turning fully green with tears.

I’ll call you when I land.

You close your eyes for a second, feeling his arms around you, the way he had held you close that morning, three months ago.

Wait for me. I love you more than anything. Let me come back to you.

He says that every time he leaves, like he expects you to move on without him. How can he be so fucking stupid? How can he be so blind as to not see that you would wait a lifetime for him if you had to.

You can almost feel his lips onto yours, the skin tickles with the memory of his stubble brushing your chin, of his hot breath on your mouth, of his fingers on your cheeks.

You hear a small boy crying out, and you notice it’s the one who has walked by you just a moment before. He rushes through the crowd to an old man wearing a tweed cap and a long blue coat. Grey hair, a grin on his lips as he bends to scoop up the boy. You smile as you watch the cute reunion, grandfather and grandson together again.

That means your man should come out soon, too. Usually, Andrew lingers at the back of the groups of passengers, waiting for most people to be gone or too busy with their loved ones to pay any attention to him. So, you’re surprised when you see him towering above the crowd, a red cap on his head, his hair tied in a messy bun. He’s wearing a simple brown blazer, some blue jeans, an old black hoodie. At least three layers of clothing. Your eyes water at the sight, you can’t help the wave of fondness that washes over your heart. Him and his bloody layers…

You wave at him, trying to be discreet, but that’s enough for him to spot you, his eyes scanning the crowd until they find yours. You’re surprised again when he makes a bee line to you, moving awkwardly across the crowd, head down and apologies stumbling again and again from his lips. He’s not being discreet at all, but you don’t mind, because that means he’s almost reached you now. You don’t spot Alex, nor Rory behind him, and to be honest you don’t care at all about them. You guess they’re waiting patiently for the crowd to dissipate, but Andrew hasn’t. He’s almost running now, his long legs devouring the metres that still separate the two of you, and you move towards him as well. You catch his gaze with yours and see the same relief, the same haste, the same desperation in his eyes as the feelings you recognise in your own heart. You’re going to cry, any second now, but you don’t mind…

He lets his bags drop at his feet, his guitar case strapped to his back, and then his arms are wrapped around you, capturing you in a tight embrace, one that makes it hard to breathe, but you don’t mind. The mere sight of him has knocked all the air out of your lungs anyway, and you hold him with the same desperation.

You break when you breathe in his cologne, something woody and filled with rain, something so familiar, something that screams home to you…

“Christ…”

His voice is weak and shaking, deeper than usual, you know he’s crying too. Happy tears though. Your tears are happy and relieved. He tries to move away but you cling onto him, making him chuckle as he holds you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers in your ear, the arm around your waist helping you keep your balance while you’re on your tiptoes and he’s bent down to bury his face in your hair. “Jesus… I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

You can hear the tears in his voice, the way his throat has tightened, but you’re no better, so you can’t tease him about being a sap…

“I’ve missed you too. I’m so glad you’re home, baby…”

He relaxes in your arms as he hears the pet name. Your embrace is his true home, your sweet perfume numbs his senses and tells him he’s right where he belongs. Three months without you was too long, he’ll never make another run so long again, he can’t function properly anymore, and he would be lying, were he to pretend that he took care of himself. He knows that when you’re home you’ll worry when you help him out of his clothes, between kisses you’ll run your fingers down his chest and frown at the traces of his ribs under his skin. You won’t say anything, you’d never make a comment about his weight, but he knows what your frown will mean. That you’re noticing he’s lost some weight, and you’ll worry he’s not eating enough on the road, that he’s not taking care of himself. You’ll serve him an extra portion of pasta at lunch, a few hours later, after you’ve taken a shower together and spent a few hours catching up on the intimacy and pleasure you’ve missed on these past months. He’ll say nothing, and eat everything, and he won’t say it but he’ll feel that warm feeling, that radiant fondness he has only for you, because you take care of him… because you love him…

He's waited so long to hold you, it feels like a lifetime ago since he left. Touring is hectic and generally makes him lose track of time, but this time around he was away from you for too long. He had been counting down the days till he would be home for the past month. He’s never staying away for so long again… never again…

You move your head to kiss him, he knows that’s what your hand in his hair means, and he meets you halfway, turns to kiss you, at long last. He’s waited so long for this, and he doesn’t know how you do it. How kissing you, even after years of relationship, is still as exciting as your very first kiss. How he still has the same butterflies, the same warmth in his chest, the same stammering of his heart. Although, he’s wrong, it’s not quite the same, he realises it now. It’s better, thanks to all the time you have spent together, all the love you have nurtured for each other along the years.

When he pulls away, he holds your face in the palm of his hand to look at you, to study your face, committing each detail to memory, even if he already knows every millimetre of your face, of your entire body. He dries your cheek with his thumb, gives you an emotional yet bright grin.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, making you smile.

“Hey, handsome,” you answer, making him stupidly giggle.

He feels giddy, like a schoolboy, euphoric even.

And you feel the same. You straighten his cap on his head, you’ve messed it up when you kissed him and got a little carried away. You have a million things to say, a thousand stories to tell him despite talking with him on the phones almost daily, a billion kisses to shower him with and all you can think now that you stare at his handsome features is the bed you share together and the feeling of his skin against yours, how you long to feel it again.

You’re about to tell him that you should go home. He’s going to nod, and kiss you again before grabbing his things and heading out of the airport without waiting for Alex and Rory. He’s told them goodbye when they picked up their luggage, and he won’t even think about them when you hold onto his arm and pull him towards the exit. He’s going to let you drive because he’s tired after his flight, and it’s your car anyway. You’ll chat, and he’ll call you a goddess for having a thermos of black coffee waiting for him on the passenger seat. You’ll head home and spend the day together, and the week together, and the month together, as much time as you can, before he has to leave again.

But for now, there is something important that you must remind him of, the most important thing in your life. He too has something important to say, and you giggle when you both realise you’re saying the same thing at the same time.

Sometimes there was an opportunity that would prevent itself to talk about it at the beginning of your relationship, and other times you might hide it for as long as you can or hopefully or pretend your way through it, especially if you knew from the jump you weren’t going to be spending any memorable time with them.

But Terry was your maybe forever guy. You could feel it in your toes all the way to the tips of your ears. 

It’s barely been a month, but you want him around as long as possible. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” He hummed rich and lowly at you. His stormy multicolored eyes swirled into dark hues of grey as he regarded you.

There was only so much time. 

You both were secluded to the semi private corner of shade in your best friend's backyard, Hiding from the cruel unbearing judgment  of the sun as  its invisible heat carried out its silent punishment. The evidence of it was making your clothes stick to your skin, and the dark ring of perspiration that steadily grew on Terry’s shirt around his neck, trickling down his chest as the heat urged to swallow you in the guilt of your malfeasance. 

You clenched your thighs together and suppressed a moan from bubbling its way up your throat, fighting to stay still and quiet, desperate to be good. 

You didn’t know which was worse, the absolute damning way he was looking at you or the sight of his long thick dick in his equally large hands. 

“Ye–”

“I didn’t say you could speak.”

Your tongue darted along your parted lips, the heat was heavy on  your pores. Beads of sweat trickled down your brow, you could feel a drop threatening to fall into your eyes. 

You wanted to wipe a hand across your forehead, but you were frozen. 

Who’s wrath would you succumb to first, the sun’s or Terry’s?

“I’m kidding.” He smirked, flashing his teeth in a  big gummy smile. The action flooded you with a scorching desire, adding to the heat  in the air that willed consume you. What smile that used to fill you with a comforting warmth, now fanned the flames of the unbearable heat that seared every fiber of your mortal being. 

“Come here,” he murmured, sliding his hand to the back of your neck, but you were ahead of him, already moving. 

Fighting back against your nerves, the unbearable heat, Terry’s gaze, you flatten your tongue, taking as much of him as you can in your mouth. You let your hand wrap around the rest, slowly pumping him up and down as you lathe your tongue at the underside of his dick before hollowing your cheeks.

Your glasses fogged, a travesty. 

He was thick and pretty, and you wanted to see all of it.

You bobbed your head slowly, trying to find a way to temper the heat between you, but between how hot his dick was and the heat of your own mouth adding to the budding flame you both were igiting, they fogged worse. 

“Fuck, baby.” His grip on you slackened and he slumped in his seat, causing the tip to hit the back of your throat. 

You made a muffled throaty sound, and he moaned.

You moved your head back, attempting to slide off after the shock, but Terry’s hand tightened on your neck. 

When did he put his hand back on your neck?

“No,” it was a mix between a demand and a plea, “keep goin’.”

Breathing through your nose, you sucked more of him in, so his tip could hit the back of your throat. You bobbed your head slowly. His dick felt heavenly as it slid up and down your throat. Drool, pooled in your mouth, sliding past your lips and down your face, getting all over his dick, his precum not too far behind, putting up quite the competition with your spit.

The sounds of your mouth on his dick grew sloppy and sloppier, but you didn't stop.

“Ah ah. . .” Terry Hissed, “fuck, wait. . .”

You slid off of him with a drawn out slip, unintentional, but he was in too much of a trance to notice. 

“Why’d you stop?” he attempted to scold you, but it came off petulant. 

One hand was strewn across his chest, the other hanging lazily off the edge of the porch chair he was sitting in. His dicked bobbed against hislowly belly, leaking with precum and tinged an angry desperate red. 

You put your glasses on your forehead.

“I couldn't see how pretty you are.”

He rolled his jaw before tightening it and smacking his teeth.

He muttered. It was too low for you to understand. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” you leaned in closer, batting your lashes at him innocently as you let your words brush against the sensitive sin of his dick. It bobbed underneath your ministrations.

His gaze didn't change, but you noticed how he dragged a tongue across his lips and swallowed. 

“Put them back on,” he leaned forward, brushing his hand against your cheek, caressing your skin softly with his thumb.

He placed his hand underneath your chin, squeezing hard to make his point. 

Your chest rose and fell heavily as you brought your hands to the handles of your frames and slipped them back onto your face.

“Now, open that mouth back up.” He grabbed himself at the base and tapped the side of your face with it.

You were already opening your mouth for him, but apparently that  wasn’t enough for him. He tightened his grip on your jaw even more as he pushed himself past your lips, pulling your face against him until your nose tickled the hair at the base of his dick. 

He set a rigid pace as he fucked your face. 

“Why’d you go and have to make things hard?” he chided lowly. 

You looked up, whining around his dick because you couldn’t see his face. You couldn’t get a glimpse of his eyes as they surged through a storm of different colors, clouded with the heat of his desire. 

“You pretend to be a brat , but you couldn’t be more of the opposite.” he hummed.

You moaned, breathing through your nose as he wouldn't let up.

“You take. me. so. Well.” he punctuated his words with a harsh thrust into your throat. You squeezed around him, lightly gagging with each one.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

He pulled off, The sound was loud and wet as he dragged himself out of your throat and back to whatever could fit in your mouth. 

With one low drone out moan, he was spilling into your mouth. 

Burning, hot, thick, and wet.

“You did so good for me. You're amazing. Such a good girl.” Terry washed you with praise, but you couldn’t really hear him. 

Too confused on what to do with the cum in your mouth, the sun overwhelming, and the taste on your tongue foreign. 

You were at the housewarming of your bestfriend and her husband. Not, her boo thang as he was once formerly dubbed. 

With a quick thought, you  stretched your body over the edge of the porch and let the hot sticky substance fall from your mouth, spitting out as much as you could,

You rolled your tongue around your mouth, fighting down the taste of the rest of it that lingered in your mouth.

Maybe you’ll get used to it, but today was not one of those days. 

Taking off your glasses, you attempted to clean them with your shirt with the parts that weren’t damp from the heat.

Now clean you turned your attention back to Terry who was suspiciously quiet. 

His usual confident swagger was nowhere to be found.

His eyebrows were wound tight on his forehead, his bottom lip poking out at a dangerously pouty level, his eyes a green and wide with shock that border line horror.

“Is there something wrong with it? Do I need to go see a doctor?” He started worriedly, “does it taste weird?”

“Oh, Terry!” You rushed up to sit beside him. “No. . . no. . ., No,” you paused searching for the right words, but the longer you sat in silence the more he seemed to freak out.”

You wanted to avoid this conversation for as long as possible, so you’d know what to say once the time comes, but the truth is you were never going to figure out what to say. 

“I just. . don’t really. . do that.”

“You mean swallow?!” He looked at you incredulously.

You cringed at hearing him say it out loud.

You exhaled. “I haven't done this for that many guys and a few times I can spit it out without them looking, and then the other’s didn’t really care. Those relationships didn’t last that long either, so its not something that’t high on the list of things to change or get over or whatever the fuck.” You sighed again, “it's not a big deal.”

“Well. . .” Terry started in his low velvet tone, “it's important to me.” he ended surely, looking you in the eye.

“It's important?!” 

“Yes, it is.” he said seriously, not at all put off by your outburst as he apparently opened up to you about something important to him and how you were being somewhat dismissive of his vulnerability.

“He pulled a handkerchief out of long forgotten and  since thrown off, linen suit jacket and wiped at your face, occasionally dipping it into a glass of water as he cleaned you up.

“I respect your. . .feelings and. . . experience,” He said tactfully, but there are better ways to bring it up than to spit it out in front of me like you did.” he sighed and adjusted your glasses back properly once your face was clean, “ir hurts my feelings.”

You closed your eyes. 

This could not be real.

“I’m. . sorry if I hurt your feelings.” you opened our eyes, ignoring the anxious urge to roll them and make a joke because it wouldn’t get rid of the tension in any way and just make things worse.

You mutter under your breath how it's usually a dark room in your room for the  first time and he probably never would have noticed if he would have just waited until you were both home. 

Terry narrowed his eyes, letting the comment slide. 

“Look, it's fine.” He said with finality, giving you pause.

You look at him, really look at him.

He brought a hand to your face, caressing your cheek randomly, letting his thumb nick at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll get you to do it one day.” he said wistfully, his eyes swirling into hues of a blue grey as he looked at you, but not really at you. 

“Terry?” you squinted, blinking. 

He sensed you the second your foot landed on the small metal beam outside his window.

With the window wide open, you could have killed him. But there was no such intent. Just a shadow of something familiar. Something warm. Something…lost

“…Y/n?”, Naruto called out, voice low, tired.

You were there, crouched in the moonlight, hair longer now, eyes still Uchiha-dark, a cloak clinging to your form. The same chakra signature that once danced beside him on missions now pressed against the threshold of his window

“I’m here,” you murmured.

“..is this real?.”

That made your lips turn up, not in a full smile but something of the sort.

You didn’t utter the words of ‘sorry for the intrusion’.

You simply slipped inside.

He sat up cross-legged on his bed, hair messy from sleep. You observed his room; scrolls were scattered around him, a half-eaten cup of instant Ramen forgotten on the floor as he watched you move

“You always were a slob.”

“You always left before you had to help clean up,” he shot back, but it lacked heat.

…

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He stood slowly, uncertain, as if blinking might make you disappear again.

Your eyes met.

You both said nothing for a long time.

He didn’t ask about Sasuke. He didn’t ask what you’d seen on the other side of loyalty, or how many scars you were hiding under that cloak. You didn’t ask why he still waited.

Because none of that mattered, not tonight.

“I had to see you,” you spoke softly.

Naruto swallowed. “You’re seeing me.”

You stepped closer.

“I needed to.. really, see you.”

The silence between you vibrated, aching and fragile.

“…for how long?” he whispered.

“Til dawn.”

You expected him to break then. To be angry with you. To ask why you only came when you were ready to vanish once you had your fill. But he just nodded—quietly, like a boy who had learned how to live with your reasoning and accept the heartbreak.

His hand reached for yours before his words could.

Your fingers brushed and curled, and it felt like stepping into a memory, into something half-alive and burning beneath your skin.

You sat down beside him, your knees touching, breathing slow.

“Tell me something real,” he said.

You looked away.

Then: “I dream of home sometimes. Not Konoha. Just… the smell of roasted sweet potatoes. Your stupid jokes. The way the sunlight looked shining through the window and the way it made you look when we shared your bed. You made me feel all sorts of things.”

He stared at you like the past was standing in front of him.

You continued. “I hate myself for leaving. Not because I regret it. But because… you’ve waited, all this time”

He shook his head. “it was worth it.”

“what was?”

“you.”

You leaned in first.

He barely flinched.

Your lips brushed against his as if speaking an apology.

Like a thank you.

Like a goodbye.

All in one.

But when you kissed him again, it wasn’t soft.

It was three years of silence crashing into one impossible moment. Teeth. Tongues. Shaky breaths. His fingers slid through your dark hair as his other held your waist, your own fingers clutching at his jacket, and every press of his mouth against yours felt like a desperate prayer to a god neither of you believed in.

He tasted like Ramen and loss and everything you should have forced yourself to stay away from.

But you didn’t stop.

Not when he crawled on top of you, gently pushing you back so you were now laid on top of the white sheets of his small bed.

Not when your hands slid under his shirt, caressing the new muscles that formed over the years.

Not when he moaned your name into your mouth, low and broken.

“Please,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Don’t leave me again.”

You did stop then.

Breathing hard, heart wild, your hand coming up to press itself against his chest to stop him. to stop yourself.

“Don’t ask me that.”

He trembled, brows furrowing. “Why not?”

“Because if you do…” Your voice cracked slightly. “I might say yes.”

His hand found yours again, his grip tight. “So say it.”

“I can’t.” And then a quieter: “Not yet.”

The heat didn’t fade, but it cooled—settling into something sad and bittersweet.

You crawled into bed beside him, still clothed, back against his chest as his arm wrapped around your waist. He didn’t sleep. Neither did you.

You just stayed.

Breathed.

Remembered what it was like to be whole.

It was then when both your breaths leveled, you both allowed yourselves a few hours of peace

—

When the light cracked through the window, you sat up quietly.

He did too.

“There’s no convincing you to stay.”

You smiled, and this time it broke something in you.

“Until next time.”

You stood up to move yourself in between his legs, cupping his face delicately before kissing him once more, slow, soft, like sealing a memory and a promise all in one.

Then, without another word, you were gone.

The scent of of you remained on his pillow

The ache in his chest still lingered while the world moved around outside.