It had been weeks since that night behind Kaiyo’s Bar—since Touya kissed him for the first time with desperation in his hands and a tremble in his chest that said more than words ever could. Since then, the world hadn’t changed… but Aldon had.

  He didn’t expect miracles. Touya hadn’t suddenly turned into someone who smiled at sunrises or answered texts with hearts. He still kept his distance, visiting less often now than he used to. Sometimes a few days would pass with only silence and the occasional vague message—usually at night.

  Aldon didn’t ask why. He knew why.

  Touya wasn’t made for this. He was chaos stitched together by fire. A ghost in a world of w. And Aldon? He was a hero. Still wore the title. Still clocked in at the agency. Still smiled at the kids in the support division when he passed their bs. He trained with Mirko twice a week, filled out reports, and kept pretending that things were normal when they weren’t.

  Their lives didn’t fit neatly together. They never had.

  But when Touya did show up—he always did the same thing.

  He’d stop at the window. Let the night linger behind him. Look at Aldon with something unreadable in his eyes. And ask. Can I kiss you?

  Maybe it was guilt from that night behind Kaiyo's Bar, when he'd pinned Aldon to a wall, kissed him like a drowning man gasping for air, desperate and reckless. Maybe he still worried he'd taken too much that night—too sudden, too fierce, and without giving Aldon a chance to react.

  But Aldon would always answer the same way. Yes.

  It became their small welcome ritual. Not dramatic. Not fshy. Just quiet, sacred. Like a thread tying them together.

  Tonight, the apartment was silent. Mr. Whiskers curled up on the windowsill, his body a loaf of fur as he snored softly. The TV pyed a documentary about sea turtles on low volume—Aldon wasn’t really watching, just letting the soft narration fill the space.

  He sat on the couch with his legs folded under him, an oversized sweater draped off one shoulder, thumbing through his phone.

  Nothing new from Touya.

  Nothing new from Hawks, either.

  His st message to Keigo was left on seen twelve hours ago. A joke about noodle soup. No reply. No little typing dots. Just silence.

  He sighed and tossed his phone onto the coffee table. It was happening more often tely. Texts left on read for hours, sometimes a full day. No calls. No rooftop lunches. Keigo was barely around the agency—always gone before Aldon arrived. Sometimes Aldon caught a glimpse of his coffee mug or the faint scent of his cologne in the hallway. But it was like chasing shadows. He was there, but not really. Present, but untouchable.

  And then there was the report for two weeks now. Best Jeanist missing.

  Tucked in the lower half of a bulletin most heroes barely gnced at. Small font. Clean wording. No official statement. No press conference. Just… missing.

  And Keigo hadn’t said a single thing.

  Not even when Aldon had bumped into him outside the agency st week. He’d smiled like nothing was wrong, made a joke about winter traffic, and vanished before Aldon could ask anything.

  Aldon stared at his phone, thumb hesitating above the screen.

  He wanted to believe it was fine. That Hawks was just busy with something.

  But his gut twisted in ways he couldn’t ignore.

  Something was wrong.

  He tapped the message bar and typed:

  He stared at the words for a moment. It looked too small. Too simple for everything he wanted to ask. But he hit send anyway.

  The message slid into the chat with a soft ping. No reply. No read receipt.

  He leaned back on the couch and let out a breath, the air in the room suddenly colder than before.

  The TV flickered through footage of a baby turtle struggling toward the waves—its tiny limbs dragging it forward across the sand, relentless despite the odds.

  Aldon watched quietly, arms tucked around his knees, the soft glow painting gentle shadows across the living room. The sound of the ocean through the speakers felt distant—like a memory more than a documentary.

  His phone remained dark.

  Still no reply.

  He gnced at it once more, then turned his eyes back to the screen.

  He wasn’t sure if he reted more to the turtle or the sea.

  Maybe both.

  Something fragile inching forward… and something vast, always waiting just ahead.

  A breath slipped from him—not a sigh, just an exhale. Slow. Quiet.

  And he leaned into the silence like it was a bnket, not an emptiness.

  Touya would come when he could.

  Keigo would answer when he was ready.

  And until then?

  He'd wait.

  Not because he had to.

  Because he wanted to.

  The next morning, Aldon woke to the soft buzz of his phone lighting up on the nightstand. Bleary-eyed, he reached for it and blinked at the screen.

  Short. Simple. Typical.

  But Aldon stared at it for a while, thumb hovering over a response. He knew Keigo well enough to read between the lines—and this message read like someone barely holding the seams together. Still, it was something. He tucked it away with a quiet nod and rolled out of bed.

  He had the day off. No patrols. No paperwork. No pretending.

  Just a cold February morning and pns to meet up with Yori.

  Downtown Musutafu was already busy despite the chill in the air—people hustling across intersections in thick coats, breath fogging in front of them, stores pying soft instrumental versions of love songs.

  Aldon tightened his scarf and tucked his gloved hands into his pockets. Yori was walking beside him, her energy already two steps ahead as she pointed out shops with glittery dispys.

  “I swear if I see one more teddy bear holding a heart, I’m going to throw it in traffic,” she grumbled, half-ughing.

  Aldon snorted. “You said that st year.”

  “And I meant it st year, it’s January and stores already promote Valentine’s Day!” Yori replied, nudging his arm. “But this year I’m stuck with you, so guess who’s in charge of romantic judgment?”

  He rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “It’s not that kind of shopping.”

  Yori raised a brow. “Says the boy who’s been staring at dispy windows like he’s picking out a diamond ring.”

  Aldon looked away, cheeks warming despite the cold.

  Yori grinned, sharp and knowing. “So. What’s the occasion?”

  He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. “...His birthday’s coming up.”

  “His, huh?” she said, dragging out the word. “You getting serious with someone and didn’t even tell your big sister? Who is he?”

  Aldon bit the inside of his cheek, eyes flitting toward a shop window where a dark, charcoal-gray hoodie was dispyed—one that looked just a little too close to something Touya would wear.

  He exhaled slowly. “It’s complicated.”

  Yori hummed. “You’ve used that line before. Usually when you were hiding something really juicy. I remember Fuyuto.”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” Aldon said, though his voice was soft now. “I just… I don’t know. It’s not official. Or defined. Or… safe.”

  That st word slipped out before he could stop it.

  Yori tilted her head, watching him carefully. “But you like him?”

  Aldon smiled faintly, almost despite himself. “Yeah. I do.”

  And that was that.

  He didn’t say more. Didn’t need to. Because it was written all over his face—the softness in his voice, the quiet ache behind his eyes, the way he lingered just a little too long in front of anything that reminded him of blue eyes.

  Yori sighed and looped her arm through his. “Alright, you disaster romantic. Let’s find him something before you explode from quiet longing.”

  Aldon ughed, the sound lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Yori.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, already pulling him toward the next store. “But if I find out he’s secretly a vilin or something, I swear to god—”

  Aldon coughed violently into his scarf.

  “…Aldon.”

  “It’s complicated,” he said again, face burning.

  Yori stared at him, jaw sck. Then: “You’re lucky I love you.”

  “I really am.”

  And with that, the shopping began.

  The next shop smelled faintly of cedarwood and worn leather—small and tucked between two louder, fshier storefronts. Yori wrinkled her nose at the scent, but Aldon lingered near the entrance, fingers brushing over a rack of handmade items.

  There were jackets stitched from rougher fabric, small engraved knives, and a dispy of minimalist bracelets—nothing fshy, nothing loud. Everything here was sharp edges and muted tones. He could practically hear Touya scoffing at the fake polished stuff two shops back.

  Yori followed him in with a raised brow. “This your vibe, or his?”

  Aldon didn’t answer. He was already drifting toward a gss case in the back. Inside sat a small collection of handmade pendants—burnished metals looped with rough leather cords or thin, dark chains. Most were geometric, pin… but one caught his eye.

  A silver pendant, shaped like a moth. Wings slightly outstretched, engraved with delicate fme patterns along the bottom edges. Not a butterfly. Not soft. But sharp and eerie and oddly elegant—like something that thrived in fire.

  He stared at it for a long moment.

  The symbolism wasn’t subtle. Moths were drawn to fme. Everyone knew that. But this one looked like it had survived the fire. Not consumed—just changed.

  Aldon swallowed thickly.

  He didn’t need to think twice. “I want that one,” he said quietly to the clerk, pointing at it.

  Yori tilted her head as the pendant was slipped into a small velvet pouch. “That for the mystery guy?”

  Aldon nodded.

  She raised a brow. “Is it… like, romantic? Or are we still pretending it’s just ‘complicated’?”

  Aldon didn’t answer right away. He took the pouch gently, holding it in his palm.

  Then, without looking up, he said, “I haven’t told him how I feel yet.”

  “But you know?” Yori asked softly.

  He smiled—quiet, certain. A little heartbroken. “Yeah. I do.”

  Yori let out a breath, draping an arm over his shoulder as they walked back out into the cold. “Well, he better be hot.”

  “He’s literally on fire most of the time,” Aldon deadpanned, cracking a small grin.

  She snorted. “Of course he is.”

  They didn’t talk more about it. Didn’t need to.

  Later that afternoon, after parting ways with Yori and grabbing a te lunch to-go, Aldon wandered back through town on his own. The streets were still bustling with post-holiday noise—couples window shopping, schoolkids rushing toward arcades, a street performer juggling on the corner.

  He tucked the velvet pouch into the inside of his coat and exhaled slowly.

  Touya’s birthday was only a few days away. He didn’t even know if he would show up. Hell, Touya probably hadn’t celebrated his own birthday in years.

  But if he did come by…

  Aldon just wanted to be ready. To show him he remembered.

  Not the vilin. Not the mask. Just Touya.

  He rubbed his hands together, the cold creeping into his sleeves, and looked up at the overcast sky.

  “Please don’t disappear again,” he murmured.

  It wasn’t a plea. Just hope. And Aldon had always been good at hope.

  The apartment smelled like rosemary and garlic by early evening—comforting, rich, and warm against the January chill seeping through the windows. The heater hummed quietly in the background, and Mr. Whiskers had cimed his usual throne on the kitchen counter, tail zily twitching as Aldon moved between the stovetop and the tiny oven.

  He’d gone for something simple: roasted potatoes, sautéed greens, and a thick, herby lentil stew. It was warm. Filling. Something that tasted like home, even if Touya would probably grumble about the ck of meat. Still, Aldon had seen the way he always cleaned his pte, even if he rolled his eyes doing it.

  A second pot sat beside the first—more broth, just in case he needed to stretch it if Touya came by hungrier than usual. He always looked like he hadn't eaten in days, and Aldon had stopped asking where he got his meals when he wasn’t here. The answers made his stomach twist.

  He turned to the oven next.

  The cake was small. Almost embarrassingly so. Just a modest two-yer vanil sponge with a dark chocote gze he’d tried to drizzle artfully over the top. It looked a little lopsided. A little uneven.

  He smiled at it anyway.

  Aldon wasn’t even sure if Touya liked cake. But… it felt right to make something.

  Just in case.

  He wiped his hands on a towel and pulled out his phone, thumb hesitating over the message screen. Touya hadn’t texted all day. Hadn’t said if he’d come by. Hadn’t said anything.

  He stared at the screen for a long moment, then slowly typed.

  He hovered over the send button. Chewed his lip. Then hit it.

  The message sent.

  No read receipt.

  No typing dots.

  Just silence.

  Aldon exhaled and set the phone down on the counter beside the cake. The little silver pendant he’d bought earlier was still in its pouch, now tucked carefully into a drawer near the front door—just in case Touya showed up.

  He lit a few candles, dimmed the overhead lights, and pted the food for two—one dish slightly fuller than the other. Mr. Whiskers meowed as if to ask who the guest was tonight.

  Aldon didn’t answer.

  He just looked at the clock. 6:24 PM.

  And then he waited.

  Hope slow-burning in his chest. Like always.

  The minutes stretched.

  6:32.

  6:45.

  7:00.

  The candles flickered, casting warm amber light across the kitchen table, glinting off the metal cutlery Aldon had set out. Two ptes sat waiting—one beginning to cool, steam no longer curling in soft trails toward the ceiling.

  Aldon sat at the table with his chin resting on one hand, phone beside him, untouched. He wasn’t staring at the screen anymore—not exactly. But every time it lit up with a notification, his heart jumped.

  Still no reply.

  He reached for his water gss, took a sip, and looked across at the second chair.

  Empty.

  It had been like this for a few weeks since that night. Nights where Touya didn’t come. No expnation, no warning. Sometimes he’d text the next day. Sometimes he wouldn’t. And Aldon never asked. He’d promised himself early on—if he was going to love Touya, he’d have to love the parts that pulled away too.

  He gnced toward the cake. The gze had settled nicely. A little cracked on one edge, but not bad.

  Just in case, he told himself again.

  He stood, pulled pstic wrap over the ptes, and gently pced the cake inside the fridge. Mr. Whiskers hopped down from the counter and padded over to rub against his legs, mewing softly.

  “I know,” Aldon murmured, crouching to scratch behind his ears. “You’d never make me wait, huh?”

  The cat purred louder, as if proud of the fact.

  The sky outside was already dark, stars barely visible beyond the faint cloud cover and city haze. Aldon moved to the window, resting his arms on the sill. The air was crisp. Streetlights cast soft yellow glows along the sidewalks below.

  He wondered where Touya was.

  If he was safe. If he’d eaten. If he’d gotten the message and just didn’t know what to say.

  Aldon shut the window gently, drawing the curtain halfway. He didn’t want to keep checking. Didn’t want to pace.

  Instead, he grabbed his notepad off the bookshelf, curled up on the couch in his oversized sweater, and began to write.

  By 8:12, his phone buzzed.

  He stared at it, heart skipping. It was him.

  Aldon’s breath left him in a rush—relief, disbelief, and something far too warm to name.

  His thumbs moved fast.

  And then he stood. Moved quickly, smoothing his hair with one hand as he passed the mirror, flicking the lights a little lower, adjusting the ptes on the counter.

  A breeze curled through the hallway.

  A faint sound—like boots nding softly on hardwood.

  And then… “Aldon.”

  That voice. Rough. Low. Familiar.

  Aldon turned.

  There he was. Smoke-smudged, tired-eyed, pale beneath the city grime—but here. Touya stood in there with his hands in his coat pockets and something unreadable in his gaze.

  Aldon smiled, slow and gentle.

  “Hey,” he said softly.

  Touya didn’t speak at first. Just looked at him for a long, long moment.

  Then… “…Can I kiss you?”

  Aldon’s heart fluttered. The ritual. The constant. The one thing Touya always asked, even if his hands shook while doing it.

  He nodded, stepping forward. “Yes.”

  Touya closed the distance in two long strides, the usual caution in his steps melted by exhaustion and something quieter—something close to need. His hand rose slowly, hesitating just before it touched Aldon’s cheek, like he was still afraid of breaking something fragile.

  But Aldon leaned into it, warm and steady.

  The kiss was soft.

  Not like the first—desperate and wild.

  Not like the second—shy and unsure.

  This one was slower. Grounded. The kind that said I made it. I’m here. A quiet exhale between two people who had no idea how to be in love but were doing it anyway.

  When they pulled apart, Touya didn’t speak. Just rested his forehead against Aldon’s for a second, eyes shut, breath mingling in the space between them.

  “You okay?” Aldon whispered.

  Touya didn’t answer right away. His jaw twitched, eyes still closed. Then—

  “…Cold,” he muttered, and it was such a simple answer, so him, that Aldon nearly ughed.

  “Dinner’s cold too,” Aldon replied, brushing a few strands of windblown hair from Touya’s face. “But we can fix that.”

  He took his hand and gently tugged him toward the kitchen.

  Aldon moved with practiced ease, unwrapping the ptes and pcing them in the oven for a quick reheat.

  “You made all this?” Touya asked behind him, voice low, uncertain.

  “Mhm.” Aldon gnced back with a small smile. “Even baked a cake.”

  Touya blinked. “Huh?”

  “It’s not for me.”

  That earned a pause. Something flickered in Dabi’s expression—disbelief, maybe. Guilt. Wonder. A mix of all three.

  “…Why?”

  Aldon didn’t turn around as he answered. “Because I remembered your birthday is in a few days. And because I wanted to.”

  Touya didn’t speak.

  Not when Aldon pted the reheated food.

  Not when he poured water into mismatched cups.

  Not even when they sat at the table, forks clinking quietly as they ate in a silence that felt more like a conversation than most words could manage.

  But halfway through the meal, Touya looked up, his voice barely a rasp.

  “You really remembered that?”

  Aldon met his gaze and nodded. “Of course I did.”

  For a moment, Touya looked like he might say something else—like he might unravel a thread that had been tied too tightly for too long.

  But instead, he just reached for his cup.

  “Dinner’s good,” he said softly.

  Aldon smiled, letting the moment settle between them.

  The rhythm of clinks and soft chewing filled the space between them. Warm, familiar. Not perfect. But real.

  When they finished, Aldon stood and began clearing the ptes. Touya moved to help, but Aldon shook his head.

  “Sit. You’re the guest.”

  Touya raised an eyebrow. “I thought I wasn’t a guest anymore.”

  Aldon’s lips twitched. “Okay, roommate privileges revoked if you start stacking dirty dishes on the windowsill.”

  A ghost of a grin touched Touya’s face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He leaned back in the chair, watching Aldon move around the kitchen. Efficient. Calm. Like this wasn’t a rare night with a wanted vilin sitting at his kitchen table.

  He didn’t get it. Didn’t get him.

  “You’re not off the hook yet,” Aldon said lightly, opening the door. “Birthday cake time.”

  Touya groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You seriously made a cake?”

  “I said I made a cake.”

  “I thought that was, like, a metaphor.”

  “Why would I metaphorically bake a cake?”

  “…I dunno. You’re weird.”

  Aldon smirked and pulled out the small round cake from the fridge. It was humble, slightly lopsided, with messy white frosting and a few streaks of blue food coloring swirling across the top.

  He pced it down in front of Touya.

  “You don’t have to eat it,” Aldon said, grabbing two forks. “But you are going to look at it for at least ten seconds while I feel proud of myself.”

  Touya blinked at the cake like it was a bomb.

  Then, slowly—so slowly—he reached for the fork.

  “I’ve never had a birthday cake,” he said, not looking at Aldon. Just the frosting.

  Aldon paused, fork halfway to his mouth. His voice softened.

  “Never?”

  Touya shook his head once.

  Aldon stared for a second, then quietly sliced a piece and pced it on Touya’s pte.

  “Well. Now you have.”

  Touya didn’t say anything at first.

  Then he took a bite.

  It wasn’t fancy. The frosting was a little too sweet, and the sponge was uneven. But when he looked up, something in his chest pulled tight—because Aldon was just watching him.

  Not judging. Not expecting anything.

  Just there.

  Holding space for something Touya had never had. A moment that was just for him.

  “…It’s good,” he muttered, voice a bit hoarse.

  Aldon smiled. “Liar.”

  Touya set his fork down and leaned back, arms crossed, eyes on the pte. His voice dropped—quieter now.

  “You didn’t have to do this.”

  “I know,” Aldon replied. “But I wanted to.”

  And somehow, that made it worse.

  Made Touya want to crawl out of his skin and into Aldon’s arms and vanish at the same time.

  He closed his eyes for a beat. Exhaled.

  “…Thanks.”

  Aldon nodded, his smile softer now. “Happy early birthday, Touya.”

  The sound of his name—his real name—made Touya flinch once again. Not out of pain. Out of habit.

  But it didn’t feel wrong coming from Aldon. It never did.

  They finished the cake in companionable silence. A quiet kind of peace neither of them had ever known how to ask for.

  When Aldon stood to clean up again, Touya followed.

  This time, he didn’t let himself be stopped.

  They washed the dishes side by side—quiet, steady, a rhythm that needed no words. Touya kept sneaking gnces at Aldon as he rinsed soap suds off a pte, sleeves pushed up past his elbows, a damp curl of hair falling over his forehead. It was stupid how domestic this all felt. Stupid, and dangerous, and far too easy to want.

  And yet… he didn’t move away.

  Once the kitchen was clean and the lights had dimmed to a soft amber glow, Aldon disappeared for a second into the hallway closet. Touya leaned against the counter, about to ask what he was doing—when Aldon returned with something small.

  He held it out.

  “What’s that?” Touya asked, voice low.

  “A gift.”

  Touya stared at it like it might explode. “You already gave me cake.”

  “And now I’m giving you this,” Aldon said, stepping forward and pcing the package in Touya’s hands before he could protest. “Don’t argue.”

  Touya’s mouth opened, then shut. His hands closed around the gift reluctantly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take it. He held the pouch like it was heavier than it looked. He opened it slowly and let the pendant slide into his palm.

  The silver moth caught the light—its delicate wing engravings glinting, subtle and fierce all at once. A fme pattern curled at the tips, almost invisible unless you looked closely. Touya turned it over in his hand, thumb brushing over the detailing.

  “It’s a moth. Drawn to fire. Like it doesn’t care if it burns. But it’s still alive. Still flying.” Aldon said softly.

  Touya looked at him, and for a second—just a breath—he looked like he might cry.

  “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  “I wanted to,” Aldon said.

  Touya stared at the pendant a moment longer. Then, without a word, he slipped the chain over his head and tucked it beneath his shirt.

  “It’s fireproof,” Aldon added. “And the chain won’t break if it gets caught.”

  Touya nodded. “You think of everything.”

  Aldon just smiled.

  And maybe Touya didn’t say thank you—not directly. But the way he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Aldon’s mouth, said enough.

  Later, they ended up in the bedroom. Mr. Whiskers was curled in his usual spot at the foot of the bed, tail flicking zily, blissfully unaware of the tangled emotions filling the room.

  The lights were dim. The room bathed in soft shadows and muted gold from the single mp Aldon had left on. The air between them felt thick—not uncomfortable, just full. Full of things unsaid, of memories pressed too tightly to ribs, of the weight of a birthday neither of them could celebrate the way normal people did.

  Aldon pulled back the covers and slipped beneath them with a soft sigh. The sheets were cool against his skin, the kind of clean cotton that always smelled faintly like vender and home. Touya followed—slower, quieter. He moved like someone still unsure if they belonged here, like the bed might vanish if he id in it wrong.

  He y on his side, facing Aldon. One arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other hovering—hesitating—before finally reaching across the small space between them.

  Their hands met beneath the bnkets. Fingers brushing first. Then linking. Curling together like they’d done this a thousand times, even though they both knew it hadn’t been nearly that many.

  Their legs tangled. Knees brushing.

  They just y there for a while, breathing in sync, watching each other in the dimness. Aldon’s eyes glinted in the soft light—calm and warm, like low embers glowing in a hearth. Dabi’s gaze, in contrast, was stormy. Unsteady. But no longer hiding.

  Then Touya whispered, voice barely audible, like the words might crack if he said them too loud:

  “…You’re the only one who’s ever done this. Any of this.”

  Aldon’s heart clenched in his chest. He squeezed his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles into Touya’s knuckles. “And I’ll keep doing it,” he said gently. “If you’ll let me.”

  Touya swallowed, eyes darting down like he couldn’t hold Aldon’s gaze too long without unraveling. Then, after a second, he leaned in. Pressed his forehead to Aldon’s—soft, grounding. Their noses brushed. Their breath mixed.

  The silence hummed with something sacred.

  They didn’t kiss right away. They didn’t need to.

  Aldon reached up instead, slow and careful, brushing fingertips along Touya’s cheekbone. Then higher. Across the edge of a scar. Down the jagged seam near his jaw where ruined flesh met skin that still remembered how to feel. He traced the staple lines like consteltions—mapping them with reverence, not fear.

  Touya twitched once beneath his touch, like he might pull away.

  But he didn’t.

  He let Aldon touch him. Let him see him.

  Aldon leaned in, brushing his lips over the corner of Touya’s mouth—barely a kiss. Just a promise. Then another, higher along his cheek. Then one more, softer than breath, to the bridge of his nose.

  Touya’s eyes fluttered shut.

  Aldon kissed his eyelid.

  And only then did Touya breathe it out—so quietly it almost wasn’t a sound at all:

  “Please… don’t leave.”

  Aldon didn’t answer with words.

  Instead, he tilted his head and kissed him—slowly. This kiss was soft. Patient. The kind of kiss you give when you know the person in front of you has been waiting their whole life to be treated like they matter.

  Their mouths moved gently. Opened and closed in rhythm, like waves pping against shore. Dabi’s hand came up to cradle the side of Aldon’s neck, fingertips trembling. Aldon’s fingers threaded through his hair, carding softly near the nape.

  When they broke apart, their lips hovered close—still brushing as they breathed.

  Aldon whispered against him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Touya didn’t speak again. Just closed the distance, burying his face into the curve of Aldon’s neck like he was hiding from the world and finding it all at once.

  Aldon wrapped both arms around him. Held him tightly. Gently. Like a lifeline. Like a promise.

  In that small bedroom—under soft sheets, beside a purring cat and the flicker of a bedside mp—Touya let himself be held.

  No fire.

  No walls.

  Just love.

  And sleep came slowly, sweetly, with their fingers still intertwined beneath the bnkets.