Dual POV: Cal / Lacy
"Sometimes, the people who save you aren't the ones who stay.
Sometimes, they're the ones who make you forget how much you were drowning."
Cal
The city was smaller here.
Quieter.
Like the buildings had decided not to shout.
It was just a weekend trip. Nothing extravagant.
Selene had found this sleepy town tucked between mountains and sea, and asked, "Wanna get away for a bit?"
And Cal had said yes—too quickly.
They stayed in a small inn with crooked floors and fairy lights strung across the courtyard.
They spent hours talking on the porch, barefoot, mugs of jasmine tea in hand.
Music floated out from Selene's phone in soft waves—The Paper Kites, Novo Amor, a few quiet old songs Cal forgot he loved.
One night, under warm yellow lanterns, she leaned against him and whispered,
"You make me feel known."
Her fingers were brushing his.
"Like I don't have to explain myself to you."
He turned toward her.
Her hair smelled like salt and clove.
And when he kissed her—it didn't feel like fire.
It felt like closing your eyes and remembering how to breathe.
After, they lay on a hammock wrapped in silence.
Selene's voice broke it.
"Do I make you feel known too?"
Cal hesitated.
Then:
"Yes."
And maybe it was true.
Or maybe he wanted it to be.
He wasn't sure anymore.
Lacy
The wind had teeth that day.
Lacy shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets as he wandered through the park—their park. The one where they'd named stars and shared chips and laughed like the world didn't have sharp edges.
Everything looked smaller now.
Less golden.
Like someone had taken the filter off a memory.
Leaves skittered past his shoes.
A couple walked by, laughing. A dog barked in the distance.
Ordinary things.
But it all felt heavier than it should.
And then—he saw him.
Standing beneath the trees, leaning on a lamppost.
His heart jumped.
Cal.
Same stance. Same dark jacket. Same posture he memorized long ago.
Lacy blinked, stepped forward—
And stopped.
It wasn't him.
The boy turned. Someone else. A stranger.
Lacy's breath hitched.
Like he'd been running.
Like grief had finally caught up.
He stood still for a long time.
Then walked to the bench. Their bench.
Sat down like he might still find Cal's warmth there, tucked between the wood slats and the ghosts of old laughter.
He looked up at the sky.
No stars tonight. Just clouds.
And something inside him broke.
Not loudly. Not in pieces.
Just a quiet, irrevocable shift.
"I'm too late."