The day began like any other day. Elena had just finished her shift at the cafe, wiping down the last table as the scent of cinnamon rolls lingered in the air. The evening light slanted through the windows, painting the wooden floor with streaks of gold.
Then the bell above the door chimed.
She didn't look up right away, she was too busy arranging the chairs, but she still managed to greet whoever customer that came in.
"Welcome to The Coastal Brew, where the sea meets your cup."
After arranging the last chair, she finally turned, her breath caught in her throat as she realized who had entered.
Adrian.
He stood just inside the doorway, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, rain-soaked hair plastered to his forehead. But it was his eyes that rooted her in place. Tired, shadowed, yet searching for hers with desperate urgency.
For a heartbeat, she couldn't move. It felt like one of her sketches had come to life, a dream so fragile she was afraid if she blinked, he would disappear.
"Elena."
Her name on his lips was enough to break her paralysis. She rushed forward, the chairs banging to the floor behind her. When she reached him, she didn't hesitate, she threw her arms around him, clutching him so tightly as if she could fuse their bodies and never let him go.
He staggered under the force of her embrace, but then his arms closed around her, strong despite the weakness she could feel trembling beneath his grip.
"You're here," she whispered against his shoulder, her tears soaking into his uniform. "You're really here."
"I told you," he muttered, voice low and rough. "I'd come back."
Later, after Elena finally ended her shift, they sat together on a couch in Elena's small apartment. A single lamp lit the room, throwing soft light across the walls where her canvases leaned in half-finished rows.
Adrian sat on the couch, his duffel bag at his feet, his posture stiff. She noticed how he kept his left arm close to his side, his movements careful, measured. He wore long sleeves, but she could see the stiffness in the way he carried himself, the way he winced when he shifted.
"You're hurt," she said quietly as she handed him a dry soft towel.
His eyes flickered away. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Adrian." Her tone was firm enough that he finally met her gaze.
He sighed, running a hand over his face. "It was... close. Shrapnel. A few ribs broken. Some burns. But I'm alive."
Her chest clenched. "You could have-"
"But I didn't." His voice sharpened, not at her, but at the truth of it. He reached for her hand, his own rough and bandaged in places. "I made it. That's what matters."
She nodded, though tears blurred her vision. She hated how easily he said it, how casually he spoke of wounds that might have taken him from her forever. But she held his hand tighter, because it was real, solid, warm.
The first night together was quiet.
They didn't need words. They sat close on the couch, Elena leaning her head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of his breathing. It was uneven at times, as though the weight of memory pressed against his lungs, but it was there. Alive.
She traced circles on the back of his hand, her heart steadying with each moment that passed.
At one point, she whispered, "I was so scared."
"I know." His voice broke slightly. "So was I."
They fell asleep like that, her sketchbook forgotten on the table, their fingers still intertwined, her blanket covering them both.
The days that followed were filled with adjustment.
Adrian moved more slowly than he used to, his body not yet fully healed. Elena noticed how he sometimes stared out the window too long, his gaze far away, as if he was still standing on some battlefield she couldn't see. At night, he tossed and turned, waking with a start, sweat beading his forehead.
But there were also moments of light.
One morning, she woke up only for her to find him in the kitchen, awkwardly trying to make breakfast with one arm. Eggs sizzled in the pan, though half were already burnt. When she laughed, he looked at her sheepishly, his boyish grin peeking through the cracks of his weariness.
"I'm better at survival than cooking," he admitted.
"Then I'll cook, and you survive," she teased and took over the cooking, making both of them some bacon and pancake. She didn't forget to make his usual coffee and her chocolate hot drink.
Another afternoon, he followed her to the pier. They sat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, just as they had the day he left. The sea shimmered beneath the fading sun, and for the first time in months, she felt like the world had aligned again, however briefly.
"I thought of this place every night," he said softly. "I'd close my eyes and see you here, waiting. That's what got me through."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell that she had been waiting, that every brushstroke, every breath, had been tied to the hope of this moment. But instead, she leaned against him, letting the silence speak.
Still, the shadows lingered.
One evening, she found him sitting on the floor in the dark, his back against the wall, his eyes unfocused. The sound of a car backfiring outside had sent him spiraling. He hadn't even noticed she was there until she touched his shoulder.
"Adrian," she whispered.
His body tensed, then slowly relaxed as recognition returned. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.
She knelt beside him, taking his hands. "Don't apologize. Just... let me in. Don't shut me out."
He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. "I don't want you to see the worst of me."
"I want to see all of you," she said fiercely. "Even the broken pieces. Especially those."
His breath shook, but he nodded. And for the first time since his return, she felt him truly lean on her, the weight of his grief and healing pressed into her embrace.
That night, as they lay in Scythe's bed, Adrian whispered into the darkness.
"Elena?"
"Yes?"
"If I fall apart... promise me you'll still be here."
Her heart cracked, but she answered without hesitation. "Always."
He kissed her then, slow and tender, as though the world had permitted them to start again.
It wasn't the same as before. The war had marked him, carved scars into his body and shadows into his soul. But as Elena watched him fall asleep, his chest rising and falling in the quiet rhythm of life, she knew one thing with certainty.
He had come back.
And for now, that was enough.