> Music Suggestion:
🎵 "Hollow" by Cloves — Play this to let the ache of vulnerability and longing bleed through the words.
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Kyrell sat by the window long after Lucian had left the room.
The pendant at his chest glowed faintly in the candlelight, a reminder of all that had been taken—and returned. The weight of his past still pulsed beneath his skin like a bruise that refused to fade. His reflection in the glass didn't tremble anymore, but neither did it soothe.
Somewhere below, the castle stirred. Footsteps. Echoes. Perhaps Damien had left… or perhaps he waited in the shadows still, watching.
Lucian hadn't asked.
Lucian hadn't needed to.
When the door creaked open, Kyrell didn't turn. He knew the scent of him now—the cedar and snow, that quiet power that softened only when Lucian was near him. A whisper, not a command.
"You should sleep," Lucian said.
"I can't."
Lucian stepped inside, the door closing gently behind him. "Because of me?"
Kyrell gave a small smile. "Because of everything."
He turned then, looking at the man who had once knelt in blood before him. The man who had taken away a memory to preserve something fragile between them. And still… he had stayed.
"I don't hate you," Kyrell said.
"I would understand if you did."
Kyrell stood, slowly, his body remembering every dream, every phantom touch that once felt imagined. But it was real. The way Lucian's eyes darkened when they locked with his, the way his breath caught subtly when Kyrell moved too close.
"I didn't want to remember because I was afraid it would end this," Kyrell whispered, now just inches from Lucian. "But I was wrong."
Lucian's hand twitched at his side. "Then what does it mean now?"
"That I remember... and I still want you."
Lucian's resolve broke—not in fire, but in silence. He cupped Kyrell's face again, but this time, Kyrell leaned fully into it. No hesitation. No resistance.
When they kissed again, it was slower, richer, like tasting the truth at last. Kyrell's hands curled into Lucian's robes, pulling him closer, and Lucian's breath hitched as Kyrell's lips ghosted down his jaw, to his throat.
The room dimmed around them, the candlelight low, flickering.
Lucian pulled him close, arms tight, his mouth at Kyrell's ear.
"If you stay, there's no turning back."
"I already stayed," Kyrell murmured. "Even when I forgot."
Lucian's mouth found his again. They sank together into the chair by the fire, robes slipping, breath quickening, but they didn't rush. Not this time. The world could break tomorrow—let it.
Tonight, they remembered. They tasted. They clung.
Kyrell's voice trembled between kisses, "I dreamed of you even when I thought I hated you."
Lucian's reply was a breath: "You never hated me. You just wanted to."
Hands found skin. Skin found scars. Neither flinched.
They didn't make love. Not yet. But their bodies curled into each other, fevered and shaking, a tangle of want and forgiveness. Every sigh was a confession. Every touch, a promise.
Kyrell fell asleep against Lucian's chest, the pendant still pressed between them.
Outside, the wind howled against the glass. A storm was coming.
But inside, for one night, they were still.
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