Noah sat on the narrow hospital bed, careful not to shift too much, his arms gently wrapped around Kai's shoulders. The cool breeze slipped in through the slightly cracked window beside them, rustling the white curtains. Outside, the Paris night glowed quietly—stars scattered like secrets across the sky, blinking softly above the hushed city.
Kai's head rested against Noah's shoulder, his cheek nestled in the familiar curve where collarbone met warmth. He was fragile still, wrapped in hospital blankets and the residue of pain, but his eyes… they held something else now. Something calmer.
He exhaled slowly, eyes tracing a lone star that gleamed the brightest.
"Five years," he said, voice soft, the words almost taken by the breeze. "And we're finally like this again."
Noah swallowed, his throat tight, but he didn't speak—just leaned his cheek atop Kai's hair.
"It doesn't feel real," Kai murmured. "Like any second I'll wake up… and you'll still be gone. Still just out of reach."
