The laughter echoed in the hallway long after they were gone. It felt like he was going mad.
Charles remained seated. The chair was stiff, the kind nurses had pushed in for him hours ago, but he didn't move. The bed in front of him was empty now — freshly made, the sheets crisp and tucked — as if Caelum hadn't just spent weeks lying in it, slipping in and out of death. As if he didn't cling onto him the few moments he woke up. As if he didn't care.
His hands were clenched in his lap, white-knuckled.
He had held that hand.
He had whispered stories.
He had begged.
He had waited.
But when Caelum opened his eyes… he hadn't asked for Charles. He had asked for Kieran. The bastard who did nothing but hurt him.
****
The nurses called it a miracle.
Ness called it a dream.
Even the employees — the so-called friends — called it a reunion but Charles called it bullshit.
He looked down at the hospital visitor badge on his shirt. The ink was smudged from sweat, the fight earlier. His jaw clenched as he ripped it off and crushed it in his hand. The trash bin was across the room, but he didn't bother. He tossed the badge on the floor, just like he'd tossed every carefully built wall inside him to stay by Caelum's side. He didn't need Caelum anymore, or he thought.
Only to watch him leave with the man who had abandoned them both
He pulled out his phone. A photo stared back at him.
Caelum, in a grey hoodie, laughing. One Charles had taken without his knowledge.
He stared at it for a long moment before locking the screen again.
Then he stood.
The hospital room felt colder now.
Or maybe it was just him. After all their years, nonsense.
Maybe the wind had stopped singing for him a long time ago — and he hadn't noticed.
Outside, it was raining.
The soft kind. The type that kissed your skin and made the world smell like wet leaves and regret. The one that gives you the damp smell of sorrow and brings pain rather than washing it away. Charles walked without a jacket, his shirt undone, ignoring the umbrella a nurse offered him at the front desk.
He didn't know where he was going or what he was doing.
He needed to blow off steam. He knew he would definitely not be going home.
Not when everything in that apartment reminded him of Caelum. The extra blankets he used to toss on the couch. The snacks hidden in the cupboard. The silly post-it notes on the fridge. They were perfect, until he decided to take that job.
The memory of that night when Caelum cried in his arms. He didn't know what to do about Kieran. "Was Caelum dumb? Couldn't be see I loved him?" He spiralled.
****
His phone rang.
Ness. Again. Had I been reported once more?
He let it ring out.
Then the message came in:
"Please, Charles. Pick up. I know you're hurt but he loves you too. We all do. Don't disappear."
He scoffed.Disappear?
He already had. He was long gone. If he was to come back, he wouldn't be the same Charles they knew.
******
Charles found himself outside Kieran's building an hour later.
He stared up at it. Tall. Cold. Glass and steel. The man inside probably hadn't shed a single tear. Silhouettes of Kieran with Caelum erked him. He was holding Caelum like nothing ever happened.
Like Charles hadn't bled to keep him alive. Like he didn't do all the work while he was gone.
He almost went in. He wanted to kill them both.
Almost.
But his feet froze.
Instead, he turned away.
Hours passed.
He found himself at a quiet bar near the outskirts of the city. Dim lights. Soft music. The kind of place where no one asked your name.
A drink slid in front of him before he even ordered.
The bartender had seen his eyes.
He drank. And drank.
And by the third glass, the weight in his chest hadn't lifted, but it had numbed just enough for him to breathe.
Barely.
A man sat beside him. Quiet. Dressed in black. His voice was low, almost too smooth.
"You look like a man who's lost something," the stranger said.
Charles didn't respond. Of course he didn't.
The man smirked. "Or someone."
Charles eyes widened. He turned to look at him.
There was something off about the man's eyes. Dark — not in color, but in knowing. Like he knew exactly who Charles was.
"Sometimes," the man continued, "love takes and takes… until you have nothing left. But there are ways to get back what was stolen."
Charles narrowed his gaze.
"Who are you?"
The man smiled and dropped a small black card onto the bar.
"No one important. Not Yet."
And just like that, he walked away.
Charles looked down at the card.
Blank. Except for a single word in gold:
Aetheris.
He didn't know what it meant.
Didn't know why it made his heart race.
But he pocketed it.
Because if the wind had stopped singing for him — maybe it was time to start listening to something else.
Something darker. Something dangerous.