Five years passed. Then ten.
Kieran existed in a state of living death—functioning enough to not worry Marcus completely, but too broken to truly live.
He took no lovers, made no friends, built nothing new. He simply waited for death or Adrian's rebirth, whichever came first.
The nightly pain of the curse intensified. Where once it had been bearable—a reminder of Adrian's absence—now it was excruciating. Because now he knew exactly what he was missing. He remembered the feeling of their bond, the completeness of their connection. And its absence was a void that consumed him.
Some nights, the pain was so intense he couldn't move. He'd lie in their bed, clutching Adrian's favorite shirt, and scream until his voice gave out.
Marcus found him like that more than once.
"This can't continue," Marcus said. "You're deteriorating. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually. If this continues, by the time Adrian's soul returns, you'll be too damaged to recognize him."
"Good," Kieran muttered. "Maybe not recognizing him would be a mercy."
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I? Every lifetime, I find him. Every lifetime, I watch him grow, fall in love with me, and die. Over and over for a thousand years. And the one time—the ONE time—I managed to make him immortal, to secure our forever, he was still ripped away. What's the point, Marcus? What's the fucking point of any of it?"
Marcus had no answer.