We spent the next morning unpacking some of his things from the small bag he had brought. I watched the way he handled his possessions — careful, deliberate, almost reverent. It made me ache, seeing him hold on to these pieces of his past life while trying to step into a new one with me. I wanted to tell him it was okay to let go, that this life could be theirs, fully theirs. But I stayed quiet, letting him move at his own pace.
At lunch, we cooked together, though it was mostly me chopping and him standing beside me, watching, occasionally handing me something. We didn't speak much, just the clatter of knives on cutting boards, the soft hiss of vegetables frying, the occasional laughter when one of us dropped something or made a silly mistake. It felt… normal. Simple. And I cherished it more than I could say.
After lunch, we sat on the balcony, sunlight spilling across the floor. He curled into my side, shoulders resting against my chest, and I wrapped my arm around him. The city below hummed, indifferent, but up here, in this quiet space, it felt like the world had shrunk just for us.
Evenings were quieter. We'd sit together on the sofa, sometimes talking, sometimes just listening to the city. I watched him discover the little things — the way sunlight felt on the wooden floor, the soft hum of the refrigerator, the distant sounds of street vendors — and I realized how much of life he had missed by holding onto the shadows of his past.
My hands rested on the small of his back, fingers tracing gentle patterns that spoke of possession, care, and devotion. He leaned lightly against me, silent, still processing the whirlwind of grief he had endured. The passing of his mother had carved a hollow within him, and my heart ached seeing the usually strong, stoic man so raw, so unguarded.
"I… I never imagined myself here," he murmured, voice low, almost lost among the quiet hum of the city outside. He ran a hand along the edge of the sofa, then let it drop. "This… this feels different. Strange, but safe.
I… I don't know how to exist in a life like this," he admitted. "After everything, I feel… lighter with you, but I still feel the weight, Kael. I don't want to forget about Mama… but I don't want to be trapped either."
I tightened my hands around him. "You don't have to choose between them. We'll carry both — the love, the grief, the memories — together. I won't leave you, not for a second."
Later that night, after the city had quieted, we lay on the bed together. I traced patterns on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Do you feel ready?" I asked softly. "For everything… life here… with me?"
He turned to me, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I think I am. Because… you're here. And I… I can't imagine facing anything without you now."
I pressed my forehead to his, letting our breaths mingle. "Then we'll face it together. Every day, every moment. No hiding. No running."
He smiled softly, trembling against me. "I like the sound of that."
For the first time in days, I saw a genuine flicker of peace on his face. The walls of grief and fear had started to crumble, and I knew it was my job now to make sure they never rebuilt themselves.
The days passed quietly. I unpacked the few essentials Anurak had brought from his home, placing them carefully in drawers and closets. Sorren explored every corner, sniffing and occasionally bouncing with excitement. Anurak watched, silent but attentive, his hands occasionally brushing against mine as we worked together. There were smiles, small touches, and quiet laughter — gentle threads weaving a new rhythm into the fabric of our lives.
We stayed most of the time on the balcony long into the night. No words were necessary — the city's hum, the faint rustle of the evening breeze, and the heartbeat between us said everything. When he finally leaned fully against me, eyes closing for a moment, I pressed a kiss to his temple, a soft, grounding promise.
Sorren yipped, as if on cue, and curled into Anurak's lap. I laughed quietly, the sound full and unburdened for the first time in weeks. I leaned back, arms wrapping around both Anurak and Sorren, feeling the weight of grief lighten, replaced with warmth, hope, and the fierce joy of reunion.
We stayed like that , tangled together in a world we had finally earned — a world of shared breaths, soft whispers, and a love that had traversed lifetimes. The city lights flickered below, indifferent yet somehow bearing witness to the quiet miracle of two hearts, once lost, now entirely, irrevocably, found.
And as the moon rose, casting silver across the balcony, I pressed my lips against Anurak's once more, a soft, trembling kiss that tasted of storms weathered, of centuries of longing, and the wild, unshakable promise that we would never be separated again