Archive of Our Own ^beta

10 hours remaining…

Lumine stood in front of her bedroom mirror, staring at herself in the reflection. The room felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath with her. Pale winter light slipped through the curtains, catching on the clutter of textbooks stacked on her desk— journalism theory, ethics, media law— titles that had once filled her with pride. Now, it just felt heavy. Everything about her life felt split cleanly down the middle lately. Who she was here, in this house, under her parents’ watchful eyes. And who she was everywhere else.

Her phone rang.

The sound cut through the stillness, sharp and insistent, and Lumine’s heart jumped into her throat before she even reached for it. She glanced at the screen and instantly melted.

Xiao’s face filled the display.

Or, rather, half of it did. The photo was a mirror selfie. The infamous one. He stood stiffly in a public bathroom, his phone clutched as it might bite him, his amber eyes uncertain and earnest all at once. And behind him, unmistakably, were two white porcelain urinals, cropped badly but impossible to ignore.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as her thumb hovered over the screen. She remembered the way she’d laughed the first time he’d sent it, how she’d zoomed in dramatically and accused him of “committing crimes against photography,” how his ears had gone red even through the phone as he tried to explain he “didn’t know the rules yet.”

Xiao had only gotten his phone a few months ago. A cheap one, secondhand, the screen slightly scratched. Social media confused him. He didn’t understand why people posted pictures of their food or themselves doing nothing. The fact that he’d chosen that photo, of all things, to post on his Instagram felt painfully, endearingly him.

She answered.

“Hey,” she breathed, her voice already softer.

“Hi,” his voice echoed back. “I’m outside.”

Her pulse spiked. “Outside, where?”

“The usual spot,” he whispered, like the walls might hear him through the phone. “Around the corner. I don’t think they saw me.”

She turned toward her door instinctively, lowering her voice. “Did you wait long?”

“Not too bad,” he replied. “Your dad’s car was still in the driveway, so I figured I’d stay hidden.”

Of course, he had. Xiao always calculated everything— routes, timing, risks. Not because he was sneaky by nature, but because he’d learned early on that being careful was the only way to survive.

Her parents would have called it irresponsibility. Recklessness. A bad influence.

They hated that he’d enlisted right after high school. Hated that he hadn’t gone straight to college, that his life hadn’t followed the neat, predictable path they’d carved out for her. They’d see his background— his long hours, his multiple jobs, the exhaustion etched into his bones— and label it instability instead of resilience. Meanwhile, Lumine was everything they approved of. Prestigious doctorate program. A future in journalism so bright it practically glowed. Awards. Recommendations. A life planned out to the last detail.

Except Xiao didn’t fit into it.

They’d tried to steer her away gently at first. Suggestions disguised as concern. Questions about “long-term compatibility.” Later, it had sharpened into disapproval so heavy it pressed against her ribs whenever his name came up. So they stopped her from seeing him. It didn’t stop her for long.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she told him quietly. “I just need to get dressed.”

“Okay. Take your time.”

As the phone clicked shut, Lumine glanced at herself in the mirror. The white sheer top she wore was light and soft against her skin, just translucent enough to feel pretty, but layered carefully so it wouldn’t invite questions. The black jeans were simple, fitted, familiar— something she’d worn often enough. It was an outfit that walked the careful line she’d learned to balance on: attractive but modest, confident but unremarkable. Perfect for disappearing in plain sight.

She paused.

For a moment, she let herself really look. Not at the girl her parents saw when they passed her in the hallway— a dutiful daughter, brilliant student, future doctorate holder— but at the girl who slipped out of the house with her heart in her hands, chasing stolen hours and borrowed time. Her chest tightened, and she pressed her lips together, steadying herself.

“You’re just going skating,” she murmured to her reflection, rehearsing the lie one last time. “With Mualani and Yoimiya.”

The names came easily. They always did. Her parents liked them— bright, friendly, harmless. Safe. Lumine reached for her ice skates, the blades clinking softly as she lifted them, then slung her backpack over her shoulder. 

She cracked her door open and listened.

The house hummed with its usual sounds— low television murmurs, the clink of dishes, her father’s voice drifting faintly from the living room. She moved quickly, light on her feet, slipping down the hallway like a ghost. When she passed the doorway, she offered a quick, practiced smile.

“I’m heading out,” she chimed, already halfway to the door. “Studying with the girls.”

Her mother glanced up briefly, offering a distracted nod. No questions. No suspicion. Relief washed through Lumine, sharp and fleeting.

The cold air hit her the moment she stepped outside, crisp and bracing. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and walked fast, her shoes crunching softly against the pavement. She didn’t slow until she reached the end of the street— until her house disappeared from view.

That was when she saw his car.

It was parked just far enough away to be safe, tucked beneath bare winter trees. The familiar shape of it made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t prepared for. Before she could even take another step, the driver’s door opened.

Xiao was already moving.

He got out quickly, shutting the door behind him, his eyes locked on her like the rest of the world had dropped away. And then she noticed what he was wearing.

Her breath caught.

The black leather jacket. The black sweater beneath it. Black jeans, worn and familiar. The exact outfit from their first date.

Her heart clenched hard, suddenly and painfully, as if her body recognized the significance before her mind could catch up. That night flashed through her in fragments— nervous laughter, clumsy conversation, the way he’d looked at her like she was something fragile and extraordinary all at once. She swallowed, forcing the emotion down before it could show.

Xiao jogged around the front of the car, his boots hitting the pavement with quick, purposeful steps. He reached the passenger side and pulled the door open for her, standing there with an expression that was shy, almost hopeful.

Lumine stopped short and stared at him.

“Oh my stars,” she laughed, warmth bubbling up despite the tightness in her chest. “You know I can open my own door, right?”

A small smile curved his lips, soft and unwavering. “I know.”

“Then why—”

“I just want to,” he replied gently, shrugging one shoulder like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Something in his tone made her throat tighten. She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, but her smile betrayed her as she stepped closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, his eyes flicking briefly to the skates in her hand before returning to her face. “But get in. It’s cold.”

She ducked into the car, settling into the seat as he closed the door carefully, like he was sealing something precious inside. The click echoed louder than it should have. Through the window, she watched him walk back around the car, the leather jacket creasing as he moved, familiar in a way that hurt.

The car settled into a steady rhythm as they drove, the road humming softly beneath the tires. The heater worked overtime, filling the space with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold air outside. Lumine shifted in her seat, her fingers curling and uncurling around the strap of her backpack as if she were bracing herself.

She glanced at him to make sure his eyes were on the road. Then she reached down and tugged the backpack onto her lap.

The zipper sounded far too loud in the quiet car.

Xiao’s gaze flicked over almost immediately, sharp and instinctive. “What are you doing?” There was no suspicion in his voice, only curiosity.

Lumine bit the inside of her cheek, then pulled out a small bag. It was simple, neatly folded tissue paper peeking out the top, nothing flashy. She held it up for half a second before setting it carefully between them on the center console.

“For you,” she offered lightly.

Xiao stared at it. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles paling, his eyes darting from the bag to her face like he was trying to figure out whether this was real or some kind of joke he’d missed. “Lumine,” he started, voice dropping, uneven. “You didn’t— You really didn’t have to do that.”

She smiled, soft and fond, leaning back into her seat. “I know.”

“That’s not—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I mean it. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to.” Her tone carried quiet certainty, the kind that didn’t invite argument. “And before you start spiraling— no, I don’t suddenly like Valentine’s Day.”

That earned a faint huff of amusement from him, the tension easing. “You hate Valentine’s Day,” he murmured. “You call it a capitalist scam.”

“Made up by the greeting card industry,” she corrected. “Overpriced flowers. Forced romance. Performative nonsense.”

“Romantic,” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting.

She turned toward him fully, her expression gentler. “But it’s not just about the girl,” she continued. “It’s about love. About choosing someone. And I wanted you to know how much I love you. Especially today.”

The words landed harder than she expected.

Xiao’s smile faltered— not disappearing, just trembling at the edges. Something unguarded flickered across his face, like the admission had struck a place he usually kept armored. His throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes briefly dropping to the road again.

After a moment, his right hand left the steering wheel and settled on her leg, warm and grounding. His thumb brushed against her jeans in a slow, unconscious motion.

“We’ll open it together later,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “Okay?”

She nodded, warmth spreading through her chest. “Okay.”

“And,” he added after a beat, glancing at her sideways, “I got you something too.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You did?”

A small, almost shy smile curved his lips. “Yeah.”

She laughed softly, reaching over to lace her fingers with his for just a second before he had to return his hand to the wheel. “Guess we’re both rule breakers.”

They drove the rest of the way in companionable quiet, the gift sitting between them like a shared secret. When the familiar sign of Paimon Bread came into view, Lumine felt something loosen inside her chest. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t special. And somehow, that made it perfect.

Xiao parked, barely having time to shut off the engine before Lumine was already moving.

She flung the passenger door open and hopped out, her boots hitting the pavement with a soft thud. Cold air rushed in, sharp and invigorating. She turned back just in time to catch the look on his face through the windshield.

A pout.

“Oh come on,” she laughed, leaning back toward the open door. “Too slow.” Xiao climbed out more deliberately, shutting his door with exaggerated care, and sighed. Lumine grinned, stepping closer and slipping her arm through his without hesitation. “You hesitated. That’s on you.”

His expression softened immediately, irritation melting into something warmer as he looked down at her. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing gently against her forehead, lingering there just a moment longer than necessary. “Unbelievable,” he murmured fondly.

They walked toward the entrance together, bodies close, steps unconsciously syncing. When they reached the door, Xiao moved ahead of her, grasping the handle and holding it open with an exaggerated flourish. “After you,” he offered.

Lumine tilted her head, smiling up at him. “See? You’re learning.”

They ordered at the kiosk, shoulder to shoulder, their fingers occasionally brushing as they scrolled through the menu. It felt strangely domestic, standing there beneath the harsh glow of the screen, debating soups like it was any other afternoon instead of Valentine’s Day. Lumine tapped through the options quickly.

“Chicken Noodle soup,” she decided. “And half a sandwich. We can share.”

Xiao nodded, leaning closer to read. “Sounds good to me.”

He paid, grabbed the receipt, and they moved toward one of the long benches near the windows. Outside, couples drifted past hand in hand, some carrying flowers, others laughing loudly. They sat close, knees touching, the bench cool beneath them. The ambient noise of the restaurant filled the space— coffee machines hissing, someone’s phone chiming, the low murmur of conversation— but none of it reached her properly.

A wave of sadness rose suddenly, sharp and uninvited. It hit her chest like a physical entity, stealing the air from her lungs. She swallowed hard.

Xiao shifted beside her. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom real quick,” he murmured, already starting to stand.

Her hand shot out on instinct, fingers catching the hem of his jacket. “No.”

He blinked, halfway upright. “No?”

“There— there isn’t one,” she blurted, too quickly.

He paused, his eyebrows knitting together. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she insisted, nodding a little too hard. “Totally sure.”

His gaze lingered on her face, suspicion flickering briefly before softening. “That’s weird. I thought—”

Before he could finish, she tugged him back down onto the bench and wrapped both arms around him, pressing her face into his side as she needed him there to stay upright.

For a heartbeat, he stiffened in surprise. Then his body relaxed into hers, one arm coming up automatically to hold her close. His jacket creaked softly under her grip.

She breathed him in.

His cologne washed over her senses, sweet and clean, like ocean air carried on a warm breeze. It clung to his clothes, familiar enough to feel like home. She closed her eyes, memorizing it, letting it anchor her against the ache swelling in her chest.

“You okay?” he murmured quietly, chin resting against the top of her head.

“Mm,” she hummed, noncommittal. “Just… wanted to steal you for a second.”

He tightened his arm around her, hand warm against her back. “You can steal me all you want.”

She smiled faintly against his jacket.

They sat like that for a moment, tucked into their own little pocket of the world. Xiao shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her. “I’m looking forward to skating later,” he added, voice lighter, like he was trying to nudge the moment somewhere safer. “I think it’ll be fun.”

Lumine giggled softly into his side. “I can’t wait to watch all the couples eat it on rental skates.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I’ll be on rentals too.”

“But you’re different,” she protested, though her smile betrayed her. “I have a feeling you’d be pretty good at it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re pretty good at anything physical—”

The words left her mouth before her brain caught up.

Her cheeks flamed instantly.

She froze, eyes widening as the implication settled in. Her mouth opened, then closed again, mortified. “I-I didn’t mean— I mean, I did, but—”

“Huh?” Xiao tilted his head in confusion.

“Order for Lumine!” The announcement cut through the moment like a lifeline.

She dropped her hand, relief flooding her expression. “Food’s ready,” she blurted, already scrambling to her feet.

Xiao shrugged and carefully retrieved the tray, balancing the bowls and sandwich with practiced ease. They headed toward an empty booth near the back, weaving through tables. Halfway there, his gaze flicked to the side.

He stopped. “…Wait a minute.”

Lumine’s heart sank.

He pointed casually toward a door marked restrooms. “There’s a bathroom right there.”

She winced. “Oh.”

He turned to her slowly, suspicion blooming again. “You told me there wasn’t one.”

She shrugged, forcing innocence. “Oops. Who knew.”

A soft huff escaped him, equal parts amusement and fond resignation. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But you stayed,” she countered gently.

His expression softened immediately. “Yeah. I did.” He set the tray down at the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him disappear into the restroom, her chest tightening again. She pressed her palms flat against the table, grounding herself until he returned.

They ate quietly, sharing bites, exchanging small smiles. The food tasted better than it had any right to. When they finished, Xiao gathered the tray and returned it, then slipped his jacket back on.

Outside, the cold air bit instantly.

Xiao reached for the door, holding it open for her as they stepped into the day. The moment they crossed the doorway, Lumine suddenly bolted.

“Hey—!” Xiao startled, watching her sprint toward the passenger side of the car.

She reached for the handle—

And felt herself gently nudged aside.

Xiao stepped in front of her smoothly, one hand already on the door handle as he pulled it open. The movement was careful, protective, utterly earnest.

She stared at him, stunned. For half a second, the world seemed to freeze. Then she burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” she gasped, pointing wildly at the surrounding cars. “Everyone just watched you push your girlfriend out of the way so you could open a car door.”

He blinked, then glanced around, realizing several people were indeed looking. A faint flush crept up his neck, but his smile remained soft, unapologetic. He gestured toward the open door. “After you.”

She shook her head, still laughing, and ducked inside. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, closing the door gently behind her.

9 hours remaining…

The ice rink buzzed with noise the moment they stepped inside— music echoing faintly through the space, the scrape of blades against ice, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings. Cold air wrapped around them immediately, sharp and clean.

Xiao dropped onto the bench with a groan, already tugging at the stiff black rental skates. “These are trying to kill my feet,” he muttered, yanking the tongue forward. “Why are they so tight? Are they supposed to feel like this?”

Lumine sat beside him, far more at ease, pulling her own skates on with practiced motions. Her fingers worked quickly, lacing them up neatly while she watched him struggle with barely contained amusement. “They’re supposed to be snug,” she chimed, barely holding back laughter. “You don’t want your ankle wobbling.”

“I feel like my toes are being held hostage.”

She giggled openly now, leaning closer. “You’ll survive. You’re resilient.”

He shot her a look, long-suffering and dramatic, before returning to his battle with the laces. When he finally stood, testing his weight carefully, he wobbled just enough to make her grin wider.

“You look great,” she teased.

“Don’t get too excited,” he replied dryly. “I haven’t hit the ice yet.”

They made their way toward the rink together, Xiao moving with cautious steps, one hand brushing the railing like he didn’t trust the ground beneath him. Lumine waited patiently, rocking lightly on her skates, excitement already humming through her veins.

The moment her blades touched the ice, something inside her settled.

The world softened. The noise faded into a pleasant blur. She pushed off gently and glided forward, balance coming naturally, muscle memory taking over as she’d never left the ice. The cold rushed past her cheeks, familiar and comforting. For a few seconds, she forgot everything else.

Then she turned.

She half-expected to see Xiao clinging desperately to the wall. Maybe slipping. Maybe falling into a spectacular, endearing mess.

Instead, he was skating.

Not perfectly, but steady. Controlled. Upright. He moved with quiet confidence, his knees slightly bent and his arms relaxed at his sides as if his body had already figured out the rhythm.

Her jaw dropped.

“You’re kidding me,” she called, slowing to skate backward so she could look at him properly. “How are you just… naturally good at everything?”

He glanced over, his expression calm, almost bored, and lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Another shrug. He pushed off smoothly, passing her with ease.

She huffed, mock-offended, and sped up to skate beside him. “I was really counting on you falling.”

“Disappointed?” he asked lightly.

“Deeply,” she replied, though her smile betrayed her.

Ice skating turned out to be more fun than Lumine had expected— though that wasn’t entirely surprising. The rink had taken on a warm, chaotic energy as the afternoon stretched on, sunlight pouring through the high windows and reflecting off the ice in blinding, fractured patterns. Music echoed faintly overhead, blending with the constant scrape of blades and bursts of laughter.

Lumine glided easily, confidence settling into her limbs the longer she stayed on the ice. She stayed close to Xiao at first, teasing him lightly whenever his strides grew too careful, but it didn’t take long before she noticed just how quickly he learned. He leaned into speed like it was instinctual, pushing harder, carving wide arcs across the rink with an ease that startled her.

Still, she found herself laughing more than skating properly.

“Look at them,” she whispered, nodding toward a couple near the wall— their hands locked together, knees trembling, expressions locked somewhere between terror and delight.

As if on cue, one of them lost balance, pulling the other down in a tangle of limbs. They hit the ice in an ungraceful heap, laughter exploding from both of them immediately.

Lumine burst into giggles, clapping her hands together. “That’s adorable.”

Xiao glanced over, his lips twitching despite himself. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“They’re so cute,” she insisted, skating over without hesitation. She crouched down smoothly, offering both hands to the couple. “You okay?”

The couple nodded enthusiastically, cheeks flushed from both exertion and embarrassment. Lumine helped them up carefully, steadying them until their blades found balance again.

“Make sure your laces are tight,” she reminded gently, gesturing down. “That’ll help a lot.”

They thanked her profusely before wobbling off again, still laughing.

This pattern repeated itself again and again. New skaters clung to the walls, couples collapsed dramatically in the center of the rink, and strangers offered hands without hesitation. Lumine found herself skating from one small disaster to the next, helping people up, pushing the skaters to retie loose laces, offering encouragement as it came naturally to her.

Xiao followed along at first, observing quietly, occasionally offering a steadying hand or positioning himself nearby just in case someone fell too hard. He watched her with a soft, unreadable expression as she knelt in front of another skater, her fingers working deftly at tangled laces.

“You’re very patient,” he murmured once she rejoined him.

She shrugged lightly. “Everyone’s new at something once.”

He hummed in agreement, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary before he pushed off again, skating fast enough that cold air whipped past his face.

She watched him go, heart skipping at the sight of him enjoying himself so openly. He skated like he ran— purposeful, focused, alive. The speed seemed to loosen something in him, his shoulders dropping, movements fluid and confident.

When the announcement came over the speakers that rental skaters had fifteen minutes left, groans rippled through the crowd.

Xiao slowed near her, his eyebrows knitting together. “Already?”

She laughed, nodding. “Told you it goes fast.”

“I was just getting into it,” he admitted, glancing reluctantly toward the exit where rink staff began guiding rental users off the ice.

His disappointment was oddly endearing.

“You loved it,” she teased. “Especially going fast.”

He didn’t deny it. “Felt… freeing.”

She smiled at that, something tender curling in her chest. “Go turn your skates in. I’ll be here.”

“You sure?”

“I want to practice a bit,” she replied, already skating toward the center. “Go before they yell at you.”

He hesitated, clearly torn, before skating off reluctantly. She watched him leave, then turned back toward the open space as the rink gradually cleared. The noise softened, the chaos thinning until the ice felt wide and exposed.

This was her favorite part.

She took a deep breath and pushed off, her muscles responding automatically. She built momentum, gliding into a wide circle, arms lifting instinctively as she prepared for a spin.

The first attempt went badly.

Her blade caught in a shallow groove left behind by another skater, throwing her balance off immediately. She stumbled, her arms flailing, barely managing to avoid falling flat.

She groaned, hands dropping to her sides. “Seriously?”

The ice had suffered after hours under the sun. Small puddles glimmered near the edges, the surface carved and scarred by countless blades. She skated back to the center and tried again, adjusting her footing, tightening her core.

This time, she spun halfway before wobbling out of it, sliding to a clumsy stop.

She pouted, staring down at her skates. “Come on.”

Another attempt. Another catch. Another frustrated sigh.

Her cheeks flushed, partly from exertion, partly from annoyance. She hated when her body refused to cooperate. She pushed again, focusing harder, breathing steady, her arms tight.

This time, the spin held.

Not perfect. Not clean. But enough.

She felt the familiar pull of momentum, the dizzying sense of being centered and weightless all at once. When she exited the spin, she let herself glide, carving gentle curves across the ice, savoring the sensation even as her legs trembled.

In the middle of it, something tugged at her awareness.

She glanced toward the edge of the rink.

Xiao stood there alone, his rental skates gone and his boots planted firmly on the rubber mat. His jacket hung open slightly, hair ruffled from skating. He leaned casually against the railing, arms crossed, his eyes locked on her.

He was smiling.

Not a teasing smile. Not amused. Something softer. Awe, maybe. Pride. Something quiet and overwhelming all at once.

Her breath hitched.

Heat rushed to her face so fast it startled her. Her blade faltered, catching briefly, and she nearly lost balance again. A small gasp escaped her, but she recovered quickly, forcing her focus back into her movements.

Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

She glided through another turn, heart hammering, acutely aware of his gaze following her every move. She risked another glance.

He hadn’t looked away.

Their eyes met across the ice, distance stretching between them like something fragile. His smile deepened, something affectionate and reverent in the way he watched her, as if he were committing the moment to memory.

7 hours remaining…

After Xiao opened the car door for her once again— earning another exaggerated eye roll and a fond shake of her head— they finally settled into their seats, the engine idling softly beneath them. For a moment, neither of them moved. 

“So,” Lumine murmured, breaking the quiet, fingers drumming lightly against her thigh. “Presents?”

Xiao stiffened almost imperceptibly.

She caught it immediately.

“Oh no,” she teased, turning toward him with a knowing smile. “You look nervous.”

“I’m not,” he replied too quickly, eyes flicking away as his hand reached behind his seat. “I just— hold on.”

He pulled out a plain brown paper bag, crinkled at the edges like it had been handled too many times. He hesitated for a second before offering it to her, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the dashboard.

Lumine took it and immediately froze.

“Oh,” she breathed.

The scent hit her all at once, strong and unmistakable. Sweet. Clean. Like ocean air crashing into her senses with no warning. It was overwhelming, almost dizzying.

She blinked, lifting the bag slightly away from her face. “Xiao.”

He winced.

“That’s… really strong,” she added, half-laughing, half-stunned. “Did you— did you bathe this in cologne?”

His ears turned red instantly. “I might have… sprayed it a bit.”

“A bit,” she echoed, incredulous.

He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly mortified. “I didn’t want it to smell like paper. Or glue. Or nothing. I wanted it to smell like me.”

Her teasing expression softened immediately. “Oh.”

She looked back down into the bag, fingers trembling slightly now as she reached inside. The paper rustled gently as she lifted the contents out.

And then she stopped breathing altogether.

Nestled inside was a bouquet.

Not real flowers— but carefully folded, delicately crafted paper Inteyvats, layered and shaped with painstaking detail. Each petal had been cut and curled by hand. Her favorite flower. The one she wore in her hair. The one she loved because it symbolized endurance. Memory. Love that survived distance.

Her vision blurred instantly.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, barely audible.

Xiao finally looked over, watching her reaction with a quiet, hopeful intensity. “I didn’t know how to keep real ones from dying,” he admitted softly. “So I figured… this way they wouldn’t.”

Lumine stared down at the bouquet, heart pounding so hard it hurt. The scent of his cologne clung to the paper, wrapping the flowers in something deeply personal, unmistakably him. Her hands shook as she traced the edge of one petal, reverent.

“This is—” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard. “This is insane.”

She lunged across the space between them, wrapping her arms around him tightly, her face pressed into his shoulder. The bouquet crinkled slightly between them, but she didn’t care. She held him like she was afraid he might disappear if she loosened her grip.

Xiao stiffened in surprise for half a second before melting into the embrace, arms coming up around her, careful and warm. He smiled into her hair, his eyes closing.

“I made one flower for every time we met up,” he murmured quietly.

Her breath hitched.

She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Every time?”

He nodded. “I counted.”

Her hands trembled as she looked back down at the bouquet. Carefully, deliberately, she began counting under her breath, her fingers brushing each flower.

“One… two… three…”

The numbers came faster as her chest tightened.

“…eighteen… nineteen… twenty.”

She froze.

“There are twenty,” she whispered, tears finally spilling over. “Xiao.”

He watched her with that same soft awe she’d seen at the rink, like her reaction alone had been worth every sleepless night, every careful fold. “I didn’t miss one.”

She laughed weakly through her tears, shaking her head. “This is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me. Ever.” Her voice cracked completely then, and she pressed the bouquet to her chest like it might anchor her. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied gently. “I just wanted you to have it.”

She nodded, blinking hard, trying to steady herself.

Then Xiao reached over and gently took the bag back from her lap.

“There’s something else in there,” he added quietly. “A letter. But… it’s probably better if you read it later.”

Lumine’s heart sank just a little. Understanding washed over her all at once— sharp and bittersweet. She inhaled slowly, then nodded.

“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “Later.”

Lumine wiped at her eyes once, quick and embarrassed, then inhaled slowly as if grounding herself. She shifted in her seat, bouquet cradled carefully against her chest, and reached down for her backpack.

“Okay,” she murmured, her voice lighter than she felt. “Your turn.”

She pulled out a small bag and held it out to him. It was neat, carefully folded at the top, like she’d rehearsed giving it to him a hundred times already. As soon as he took it, his breath hitched.

“Oh,” he muttered.

She laughed softly, immediately recognizing the look on his face. “Yeah. I might’ve… gone a little crazy with the perfume.”

“A little?” His nose scrunched as he lifted the bag closer, clearly overwhelmed in the best way. The scent was unmistakable— warm, floral, familiar. Her. It wrapped around him instantly, filling the small space of the car until it felt like she was everywhere at once.

“You’re one to talk,” she teased. “You practically marinated mine.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him, tension easing as he opened the bag. He reached inside, his fingers brushing soft fabric, and pulled out a small stuffed animal.

It was a yellow bird.

Small. Round. Slightly ridiculous. Its beak stitched into a perpetual, cheerful curve.

Xiao stared at it. Then his lips curved upward slowly, something genuine and unguarded breaking through. He held it carefully, like it might dissolve if he squeezed too hard. “It’s a bird.”

“I noticed,” Lumine replied, watching his face closely.

His thumb brushed over the plush wing absentmindedly. “It’s… my favorite.”

“I know.”

He glanced up at her then, eyes softening. “You remembered.”

She shrugged, pretending it hadn’t mattered as much as it clearly had. “You point them out every time we walk past a park. And you always stop to watch them.”

His smile lingered as he tucked the plush against his side. “Thank you.”

“Keep looking,” she urged, nudging his arm gently. “There’s more.”

He hesitated, then reached back into the bag. His fingers brushed against something smooth and cylindrical, wrapped carefully. He pulled it out along with an envelope tucked beside it.

He frowned slightly. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” she encouraged softly. “The bottle. Not the letter. That’s for later.”

He followed her instructions, peeling back the wrapping slowly. The cap came off with a faint click.

The scent hit him immediately.

Stronger this time. Closer. Intimate.

His breath caught sharply.

“…Is this—?” He didn’t finish the sentence, just looked at her, eyes wide.

She nodded, suddenly shy. “My shampoo.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“You— you’re serious?”

She laughed under her breath, cheeks warming. “Completely. You always mess with my hair. You always say it smells nice. So I thought—” She paused, swallowing. “I thought maybe it’d help.”

Xiao lifted the bottle closer, inhaling deeply without even realizing he was doing it. His shoulders loosened visibly, like something tight inside him had finally eased.

His smile widened, unguarded and boyish. “I love this,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Her chest ached at the sincerity in his voice.

“I just…” She hesitated, fingers twisting together in her lap. “I didn’t want you to forget what I smelled like.”

The words came out quieter than she intended.

Xiao’s expression faltered for just a moment.

Something heavy shadowed his eyes, but his smile didn’t disappear. If anything, it softened, becoming steadier, more deliberate. He reached over, resting his hand over hers. “I could never forget,” he replied gently. “Not even if I tried.”

She searched his face, trying to see past the words, past the reassurance. He squeezed her hand once, grounding, warm.

“You’re everywhere already,” he continued softly. “I don’t need reminders.”

Her eyes stung again, but this time she smiled through it.

“Still,” she whispered. “Take it with you.”

He nodded, carefully placing the bottle back into the bag beside the letter, then tucking the bird plush in as well. 

6 hours remaining…

They arrived at the park, the sky beginning to turn a faint shade of pink. Xiao cut the engine, and for a moment they stayed inside the car, watching their breath fog faintly in the cold.

Lumine stepped out first, her sneakers crunching softly against the snow. The park stretched out before them, blanketed in white— trees dusted like they’d been carefully painted, benches half-buried, the playground standing quietly in the distance like it was waiting for them.

She inhaled deeply, her eyes bright. “It’s so pretty.”

Xiao joined her, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket as he took in the view. The cold nipped at his cheeks, but the stillness felt grounding. “You wanted to come here?”

She nodded, turning toward him with a smile that felt softer than anything she’d worn all day. “I wanted to play.”

That smile did it.

He didn’t question her, didn’t tease. He just nodded once, his expression warm. “Okay.”

They started walking together along the path, their steps slow at first, reluctant to disturb the quiet. Snow crunched rhythmically beneath their feet. The playground grew closer, the swings swaying slightly in the breeze, the slide capped with snow, footprints nowhere to be seen.

Then Lumine broke away.

Without warning, she laughed and veered off the sidewalk, her sneakers plunging straight into the untouched field. Snow sprayed up around her ankles as she ran, arms lifting instinctively for balance, hair bouncing wildly behind her.

“Lumine—” Xiao called, startled.

She looked back over her shoulder, grin wide and unrepentant. “Catch me!”

He shook his head, a quiet chuckle slipping out as he followed, abandoning the path to chase her through the snow. The cold air burned pleasantly in his lungs as he ran, his boots breaking through the crusted surface with heavy crunches.

They reached the playground breathless and laughing, their cheeks flushed and their noses red. Lumine bent to scoop up a handful of snow immediately, clumsily packing it.

“Oh no,” Xiao murmured.

She lobbed the snowball toward him. It missed entirely, disintegrating at his feet.

He raised an eyebrow. “That was tragic.”

She gasped. “Rude.”

His retaliation came swift and accurate, a well-packed snowball bursting against her shoulder. She shrieked, laughing, stumbling back.

“You’re evil!”

He grinned, already packing another. “You challenged me.”

They circled each other, snowballs flying back and forth, some missing wildly, others landing squarely. Lumine’s throws were enthusiastic but sloppy. Xiao’s were precise, clearly enjoying himself far too much as he pelted her mercilessly.

“Stop!” she laughed, raising her arms. “You’re too good at this!”

“Skill issue,” he shot back, a snowball hitting her knee.

She ducked down, grabbing more snow, but before she could throw it, she noticed what he was doing.

Xiao crouched slowly, gathering an absurdly large chunk of snow in his arms, compressing it with exaggerated care. It was massive— more snow than any reasonable person would try to throw.

Her eyes widened. “Xiao. Don’t you dare.”

He stood, holding the monstrous snowball like a trophy, his eyes gleaming. “You’re done.”

She screamed and took off running, boots slipping slightly as she fled across the playground. “That’s illegal!”

He chased after her, laughter breaking free as he ran, the snowball crumbling in his grip. “Come back!”

She weaved between structures, darting past the slide, nearly losing her footing as she laughed so hard she could barely breathe. The snowball exploded harmlessly behind her as he finally threw it, showering them both in powder.

They stopped eventually, breathless, their shoulders heaving and their laughter echoing across the empty park.

“That was unfair,” she accused, hands on her knees.

He leaned forward, catching his breath. “You loved it.”

She couldn’t deny it. Her smile lingered as she straightened, brushing snow from her sleeves. “Maybe.”

They wandered toward the swings, the snow crunching beneath them once more. Lumine hopped onto one easily, her shoes dragging through the snow as she pushed off.

Xiao lowered himself onto the swing beside her and immediately frowned. “This thing is too shallow,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

She laughed, swinging gently. “They’re for kids.”

He glanced at her sideways. “We’re twenty, not ancient.”

“That’s debatable,” she teased.

He scoffed, then leaned back, pumping his legs to gain momentum. The swing creaked softly as he rose higher and higher. Lumine watched him with fond amusement until, without warning, he kicked off mid-swing and leapt cleanly into the snow, landing with practiced ease.

She gasped. “Xiao!”

He straightened, brushing snow off his jacket like nothing had happened, his grin crooked and pleased with himself.

Her mouth hung open. “You just— You just jumped off.”

He shrugged lightly. “It was fine.”

She stared at him, stunned, then burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

As they made their way back toward the car, the park growing quieter behind them, Lumine felt warmth lingering in her chest that had nothing to do with the exercise or the cold. Her boots crunched softly through the snow, breath puffing out in pale clouds as she walked a half-step behind Xiao, watching the way his shoulders rose and fell beneath his jacket.

An idea bloomed.

Slow. Mischievous. Dangerous.

Her lips curved despite herself.

She imagined it clearly— launching herself at him, tackling him straight into the snow, laughing as they tumbled together. The thought alone sent a quiet thrill through her, enough that she forgot to mask it.

Xiao noticed immediately. He slowed just enough to glance back at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why are you smiling like that?”

She blinked, then forced her expression into something innocent— wide-eyed, guileless. “Like what?”

“That,” he replied flatly. “You’re thinking something.”

“I’m not,” she insisted, batting her lashes dramatically. “I’m just happy.”

He didn’t buy it for a second. His steps grew more cautious, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. “Lumine,” he warned, “don’t.”

She waited two more steps. Then she rammed into him.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t calculated. It was pure impulse— her shoulder slamming into his side, arms wrapping around his waist as she tried to throw all her weight forward.

She expected resistance. She expected him to stumble. He didn’t move. Not even an inch.

He just stood there, solid and unyielding, the impact barely rocking him as laughter burst out of his chest. Snow puffed up around their shoes, but he remained upright, steady as a wall.

She bounced back slightly, stunned.

“…What,” she breathed, staring up at him in disbelief.

He laughed openly now, the sound bright against the quiet night. “That was it?”

She frowned, her cheeks puffing out in an indignant pout. “You’re like an unmovable force.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re just not doing it right.”

Her brow furrowed. “What does that even—”

She never finished the sentence.

In one smooth motion, Xiao stepped closer and bent down, one arm slipping around the backs of her knees before she could react. The world tilted abruptly.

“Xiao—!”

She gasped as her feet left the ground, the night sky spinning above her. Snow rushed up to meet her back in a cold, breath-stealing burst as he flipped her down with controlled ease. The impact wasn’t harsh, but it knocked the air from her lungs all the same.

A surprised laugh tore out of her.

“Oh my stars!”

Before she could scramble away, he followed her down, pinning her gently but firmly into the snow. One knee planted beside her hip, one hand braced near her shoulder, the other holding her wrist loosely against the ground. Snow crunched beneath them, cold seeping through her coat, but she barely noticed.

She struggled halfheartedly, laughter spilling free. “Hey! That’s not fair!”

“You started it,” he countered, his smile sharp and triumphant.

“I was joking!”

“Mm-hm.”

She tried to wriggle free, her shoes kicking uselessly against packed snow. He didn’t budge. Not even a little.

“Let me up,” she laughed, breathless now.

“No,” he replied simply.

Her laughter slowed. The world narrowed.

She became suddenly aware of how close he was— the heat of him against the cold night, his breath fogging in front of her face, the faint scent of ocean and leather clinging stubbornly to his jacket. Snowflakes dusted his dark hair, caught in the lashes framing his eyes.

Her heartbeat thundered.

She looked up at him, really looked, and saw the shift happen in real time. His smile softened, faltering just slightly as his gaze dropped to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. Color crept into his cheeks, visible even in the dim light.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The laughter drained away, replaced by something quieter and heavier. Her chest rose and fell unevenly beneath him, his breath misting the space between them. His grip loosened just a fraction, as if he’d realized how intimate the position had become.

She swallowed.

He noticed.

His expression changed— still warm, but uncertain now, flustered in a way she’d rarely seen. “I—” He stopped himself, exhaling slowly. “Sorry.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, it’s— It’s fine.”

They both laughed then, shy and slightly breathless, the tension breaking like thin ice beneath their feet. Xiao pushed himself back first, offering her a hand immediately.

She took it, letting him pull her upright, brushing snow off her coat as she steadied herself. Her face felt warm despite the cold.

4 hours remaining…

They made their way back to the car slowly, the park shrinking behind them until it was nothing more than a quiet patch of white under the streetlights. Xiao opened the passenger door for her yet again, earning himself a tired but affectionate look.

“You’re never going to let me win that one, are you?” Lumine murmured as she slid inside.

“No,” he replied easily, a small smile tugging at his lips as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

The car filled with familiar sounds once more— the low thrum of the engine, the faint tick as it settled, the heater breathing warmth back into the space. Snow melted off their shoes, darkening the floor mats. 

Lumine leaned back in her seat, exhaling slowly.

Then her gaze drifted to the backseat.

Xiao’s car wasn’t anything special from the outside. But the backseat told a different story. The seats had been folded down and adjusted until they formed a flat surface, padded with blankets and suitcases to fill the empty space. A small pile of blankets lived back there permanently, soft and familiar, carrying the combined scent of detergent, fabric, and them.

Their haven.

Because Lumine’s parents tracked her location. Because secrecy had been necessary. Because love, when cornered, learned how to make do.

For months now, they’d lain back there together— talking in whispers, sharing warmth, staring at the ceiling of the car like it was the sky. It had never felt cheap or wrong. It had felt intentional. Chosen.

Her fingers twisted together in her lap.

“Hey,” she murmured, glancing sideways at him.

“Yeah?”

She hesitated, then nodded subtly toward the back. “Do you… want to go back there?”

Xiao blinked.

Color crept into his cheeks almost immediately, a faint but unmistakable flush. His hand tightened briefly on the steering wheel before he relaxed again. He glanced toward the backseat, then back at her.

“…Yeah,” he replied quietly. “If you want to.”

She smiled, relief and warmth blooming together. “I do.”

They climbed back together carefully, their movements practiced now. Xiao reached back first, shifting blankets, making space. Lumine followed, tucking her legs in and settling beside him as he closed the gap, pulling one of the thicker blankets over both of them like a makeshift cocoon.

The backseat held them gently.

It was warm back there. Warm in the way only shared heat could be. Lumine turned onto her side instinctively, curling into him, her head resting against his chest. His arm came around her without hesitation, hand splaying over her back, his thumb brushing slow, grounding circles.

She breathed him in.

Ocean breeze. Leather. Snow. Home.

Xiao hummed softly, the vibration resonating through his chest beneath her cheek. They lay like that for a while, quiet except for the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric. Lumine traced idle patterns along his sleeve, her fingers slipping beneath the cuff to find the warmth of his wrist.

“This is still my favorite place,” she murmured.

He smiled faintly, his lips brushing the top of her hair. “Better than the park?”

“Better than anywhere,” she replied without hesitation.

He didn’t argue.

Time passed strangely in the backseat— stretching and folding in on itself. It always did. Lumine shifted slightly, nestling closer, her knee draping over his thigh. His grip tightened reflexively. After a while, she spoke again, quieter now. “Do you think we should… read the letters?”

Xiao’s humming stopped.

Not abruptly. Just slowly, like he’d eased himself out of it.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers stilled at her back, then resumed their gentle movement, more thoughtful now.

“…Later,” he murmured. “When we’re about to leave.”

She lifted her head just enough to look at him. “Later, later?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his eyes focused somewhere above her, not quite meeting her gaze. “I don’t want this moment to turn heavy yet.”

She considered that, heart tugging painfully at the truth of it. “…Okay,” she agreed softly.

Relief flickered across his expression, subtle but real. His arm tightened around her again, pulling her back down against him. “Thank you.”

She smiled into his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his sweater. “I want to stay like this a little longer too.”

They settled again, the quiet wrapping around them like another blanket. Lumine shifted so she could listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath her ear. She counted a few beats absentmindedly, comforted by the constancy of it.

For a while, they stayed wrapped together in the quiet backseat, the car a small island of warmth against the cold night pressing in from every side. Lumine shifted slightly, her fingers tracing absent lines along the fabric of Xiao’s shirt, following the rise and fall of his breathing. It felt natural. Unthinking. Like her body already knew where it belonged.

Then her hand slipped, slowly and deliberately, beneath the hem of his shirt.

Her fingertips brushed warm skin.

Xiao inhaled sharply.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a brief, involuntary sound that betrayed him completely. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, his muscles tensing beneath her touch as a shiver ran through him.

Lumine froze for a heartbeat, her eyes lifting to his face. “Sorry,” she murmured instinctively.

He shook his head immediately, breath uneven. “No. I— It’s fine.”

Encouraged, she let her hand rest there, her palm warm against the firmness of his stomach. She hadn’t meant to linger, but curiosity crept in, gentle and reverent. His muscles shifted subtly beneath her fingers, solid and responsive, evidence of long days and discipline and a body he’d built with intention.

She traced along his side, admiring the strength there, then let her hand wander to his arm, squeezing lightly. His bicep flexed instinctively beneath her grip.

Xiao exhaled through a quiet laugh, flustered. “You’re… distracting.”

She smiled softly, pressing closer. “You don’t seem to mind.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he shifted, careful and unhurried, guiding her gently onto her back among the blankets. The movement was fluid, controlled, but there was hesitation in it too— as if he was constantly checking himself and her. He hovered over her for a moment, his eyes searching hers for any sign of uncertainty.

She reached up, brushing her thumb along his jaw.

That was all the permission he needed.

He leaned down and kissed her.

It was slow, deep, and full— like he was pouring everything he hadn’t said into the press of his lips against hers. His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb resting just beneath her cheekbone, grounding her there with him.

Lumine melted into it.

She kissed him back with equal intensity, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if she needed something solid to hold onto. There was no rush. Just feeling. Heat built quietly, steadily, as their breaths tangled and the space between them disappeared.

Her hand slipped beneath his shirt again, more confidently this time.

Xiao groaned softly into the kiss, barely audible, and finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His forehead rested against hers, eyes dark, unfocused.

“…Is the shirt getting in the way?” he murmured, his voice low and uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to ask.

Before she could respond, his hands found the hem of it, fingers curling there. He paused, just a moment, watching her face.

She nodded.

He pulled it off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without ceremony.

Lumine forgot how to breathe.

The dim light inside the car traced the strong lines of his shoulders, broad and defined, the gentle slope down his chest, the unmistakable strength there. His skin looked warm, alive, marked faintly by effort and time. She swallowed, eyes roaming without shame, without restraint.

“…Wow,” she breathed before she could stop herself.

A faint flush spread across his chest and up his neck. “Don’t stare,” he muttered, though there was no real protest in it.

She reached up, hands settling against his bare skin, feeling the warmth, the solidity. “I can’t help it.”

They kissed again, deeper and more urgently, but still careful, still anchored in affection. His hands slipped beneath the edge of her shirt, fingers brushing her skin there, exploratory but respectful. The touch sent a rush of warmth through her, his breath catching as she arched slightly into him.

Her hands traced along his sides, over muscle and warmth, appreciating the reality of him— here, now, real. Not an idea. Not a memory waiting to happen.

They pulled apart eventually, breathless, their foreheads pressed together, the space between them humming. Lumine stared up at him, her chest tight—not with want alone, but with something heavier. Something tender and terrifying.

Her heart swelled.

She lifted one hand, her fingers brushing the hem of her own shirt, then hesitated. Slowly, she gestured between them, eyes searching his.

Xiao followed the motion, understanding dawning instantly.

2 hours remaining…

The mall was already loud when they stepped inside, a constant swell of voices, music, and footsteps echoing off polished floors. Xiao slowed instinctively, his shoulders tensing as the crowd swallowed them up.

She noticed, of course.

Her fingers slipped into his without hesitation, grounding, familiar. He squeezed back, subtle but grateful.

“Wow,” she murmured, glancing around. “I forgot how chaotic malls get on weekends.”

Xiao scanned the space with a wary expression. “It’s like… controlled mayhem.”

They walked together, weaving through clusters of people, brushing past storefronts glowing with neon signs and sales posters. Groups of middle schoolers hovered near bubble tea shops, shrieking laughter erupting every few seconds. High schoolers lounged against railings, trying very hard to look older than they were, phones glued to their hands.

Lumine nudged Xiao gently with her shoulder. “Do you remember being like that?”

He grimaced faintly. “I avoided places like this.”

She laughed. “That tracks.”

The crowd pressed tighter as they moved deeper into the mall, the noise swelling and ebbing in waves. Eventually, hunger tugged insistently at Lumine’s attention. “Food?” she suggested, slowing near the food court.

Xiao nodded readily. “Yes.”

They settled on something simple. Lumine ordered a fresh salad piled high with vibrant, crisp vegetables. Xiao eyed it suspiciously but didn’t comment. Then came the 肉夹馍 stall, fragrant with spices and roasted meat.

As they waited, Xiao stared at the setup with growing displeasure.

“…Wait,” he muttered slowly, eyes narrowing. “I am expected to place slices of meat in wrappings myself?”

Lumine turned to him, already grinning. “Yeah.”

“And then… eat them?” His tone dropped further. “Together?”

“Together,” she confirmed, barely containing her laughter.

“Ugh.”

She laughed openly now, delighted. “It’s fun! You build it how you want.”

“I don’t want to build my food,” he grumbled. “I want it to arrive complete.”

She reached toward the ingredients, already planning to help. “Here, I can—”

He shook his head, stepping in front of her with mock severity. “No.” He set to work with exaggerated care, arranging the meat meticulously inside the bread. Lumine watched, amused, as he frowned in concentration like this was a delicate operation.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” she teased.

“I always take important tasks seriously.” He finished one, then another, handing one to her with a small nod. “There. Done.”

She accepted it, smiling fondly. “Thank you.”

They found a small table tucked against the edge of the food court and sat together, their knees brushing beneath the plastic surface. Xiao took a cautious bite, chewing thoughtfully.

“…It’s not terrible,” he admitted reluctantly.

She beamed. “High praise.”

They ate together, sharing bites, trading commentary. The salad was refreshing, the 肉夹馍 was hearty and comforting. Xiao finished his despite the earlier complaints, though he made sure to glare at the empty wrapper afterward as if it had personally wronged him.

When they were done, Lumine tugged gently on his sleeve. “Come on. I want to go somewhere special.”

They navigated out of the mall’s central chaos and toward a quieter corner, where a familiar storefront waited.

The Wangshu Diner.

Xiao’s pace slowed immediately. His expression softened, shyness flickering across his face. “You remembered.”

She smiled. “Of course I did.”

Inside, the atmosphere shifted entirely. The lighting was warm and subdued, the chatter gentler. The scent of almond and sugar hung in the air, comforting and nostalgic. They ordered a single serving of Almond Tofu and settled into a small booth near the window.

When it arrived, Xiao looked almost reverent.

They shared it carefully, spoon by spoon, passing it back and forth like a ritual. The dessert was smooth and delicate, with sweetness lingering pleasantly on their tongues. Xiao closed his eyes briefly with each bite, savoring it.

“This is still my favorite,” he murmured.

She watched him, her heart softening. “I know…”

1 hour remaining…

They sat in the car longer than necessary once they were parked, the engine ticking softly as it cooled, the dashboard clock glowing with quiet insistence.

8:00 PM.

The numbers felt louder than anything else that night.

Lumine’s gaze stayed fixed on it, unblinking, as if staring hard enough might make time hesitate. One hour. Sixty minutes until she had to be back under her parents’ roof, back under rules and silence and pretending. Sixty minutes until this became memory instead of present.

She inhaled slowly, the breath filling her chest and trembling on the way out. “We should probably… read the letters now,” she murmured.

The words felt heavy as soon as they left her mouth.

Xiao didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the clock, then away, jaw tightening slightly. After a moment, he nodded once, the motion deliberate.

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “Okay.”

They moved to the backseat again without much discussion, their motions practiced and gentle, like this was something sacred they didn’t want to rush. The blankets were still warm from before. Lumine tucked her legs beneath her, curling into him instinctively, and Xiao wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close until her cheek rested against his chest.

Each of them held an envelope. The paper felt heavier than it should have.

Lumine turned it over in her hands, her thumb brushing the edge absentmindedly. “So,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice light. “Who goes first?”

Xiao hesitated.

She felt it immediately in the way his chest rose, the way his fingers stilled against her arm. He stared at the envelope in his hand as if it might bite him.

“I probably should,” he admitted after a moment. “Read mine first out loud.”

She frowned, lifting her head to look at him. “Why'd you phrase it like that?”

His lips pressed together briefly. “Because… you’re better at this than I am.”

“At what?”

“Writing,” he replied, almost sheepish. “You always have been.”

Her expression softened, but her brow knitted together. “Xiao.”

“It’s fine,” he rushed, shaking his head slightly. “I know it’s not a competition. I just—” He exhaled, shoulders sagging a little. “I feel guilty sometimes. Like I don’t write you letters the way you write me letters.”

Her heart clenched.

She shifted so she could face him more fully, one hand coming up to rest against his chest, right over his heart. “Hey.”

He looked down at her, uncertain.

“It’s not about how ‘good’ the writing is,” she told him gently. “It’s about who wrote it.”

He stilled.

She continued, voice steady, sure. “Every letter you’ve ever written me has been beautiful. Not because of the words themselves— but because they’re yours. Because you sat down and thought about me. Because you chose me when you wrote them.”

His breath caught.

“And because you wrote them for me,” she added softly. “That’s what matters. Not structure. Not phrasing. You could write me one sentence and I’d still treasure it.”

Xiao stared at her as if she’d just said something impossible.

For a moment, he didn’t speak at all. His eyes shone faintly in the low light, something raw and unguarded flickering there. Then he swallowed and nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips.

“…Thank you,” he murmured. “I needed to hear that.”

She smiled back, brushing her thumb gently along his jaw. “Anytime.”

He glanced down at the envelope again, then back at her. “I still want to read mine first,” he said quietly.

She nodded. “Okay.”

He shifted slightly, adjusting so he could sit up without breaking their closeness completely. With careful fingers, he opened the envelope.

Instead of pulling out paper, he reached inside and paused. Then, he withdrew a small bottle.

Lumine blinked. “Huh?”

He glanced at it, then at her, a little nervous again. “I… wanted to show you this before the letter.”

She took it gently when he offered it, turning it over in her hands. It was familiar immediately.

“…Is this your cologne?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Her confusion deepened. “Why is it in the letter?”

He inhaled slowly, then spoke, voice low and earnest. “I want you to spray it on the flowers. The paper ones.”

Her chest tightened.

“When you miss me,” he continued. “Or when you forget how I smell. Just… spray it. Even a little. I’ll still be there with you, in some way.”

Lumine’s vision blurred instantly.

She clutched the bottle to her chest, breath hitching as tears spilled over before she could stop them. “Xiao…”

He reached for her immediately, alarmed. “Hey— hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She shook her head, laughing weakly through her tears. “No, you idiot. It’s just—” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, failing miserably. “That’s… that’s so you. That’s so thoughtful.” Her voice cracked completely. “Thank you.”

She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and holding on as if she needed him to stay upright. He hugged her back just as tightly, chin resting against her hair as he began to read.

“Lumine.” Xiao held the envelope like it might shatter if he gripped it too tightly.

“This is the last time I’ll see you for a while, and no matter how many times I tell myself that, it still doesn’t feel real. I keep thinking that if I slow down enough, if I hold onto this moment just a little longer, time might hesitate with me. But it won’t. I’ve been deployed for nine months. There’s no way around it, no loophole, no choice. I have to go.”

Lumine listened with her whole body, her breath slowing to match his cadence, tears already gathering as the meaning of his words sank in.

“And somehow, in the middle of all this dread, there’s something else too. Something warm. Something terrifying. It makes me happy that I care about someone this much. I didn’t know I still could. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this kind of pain and sadness just from the thought of being apart from someone you love. If missing you hurts this much already, then maybe that means what we have is real. Maybe it means I’m alive in a way I forgot I could be.

“So let this be a list. Not a goodbye, not a promise that’s too fragile to survive the distance, but a record of all the things I’m going to miss, and all the things I’m holding onto for when I come back.”

Her chest tightened.

“I was supposed to be there for your birthday. The first one we’d spend together as a couple. I keep imagining how you’d smile when you realized I remembered every small detail, how I’d pretend not to care while secretly planning everything in my head. I hate that I won’t be there to see your face when you blow out the candles. I hate that I’ll have to picture it instead.”

Lumine sniffled softly.

“Our first summer together. All the little things that come with it. The heat. The long days. The way you’d complain about the sun and still stay outside anyway. The stupid, ordinary moments that don’t feel important until you realize you’re losing them. I wanted that with you. I wanted us.

“Our first spring. Everything starting again. New air. New beginnings. I wanted to watch the world wake up with you beside me.

“Stargazing together. Lying somewhere quiet, not saying much, just knowing you’re there. Knowing I don’t have to explain myself. Knowing I’m not alone.”

Lumine’s tears were no longer quiet. They slid down her cheeks unchecked, dampening the fabric at his chest. He paused only long enough to brush his thumb gently beneath her eye, wiping one tear away before continuing.

“What I’ll miss the most isn’t just the big moments. It’s you. The feeling of you next to me. Your presence. The sound of your voice in person, not filtered through a screen or delayed by distance. 

"I believe we’re strong enough to survive this. I have to believe that. I know distance changes things, but I also know that some things grow because of it. Nice things feel deeper when patience is involved. When absence gives them weight. I keep thinking about the moment I come back and how unreal it’ll feel to see you again after months apart. I’m almost scared of how overwhelming it’ll be. Sometimes I even think about not telling you I’m home, just so I can see your reaction when I show up. Just so I can have one moment where everything feels right again.”

His voice wavered for the first time. Lumine felt it ripple through him. She lifted her head, eyes red and shining, watching his jaw clench as he forced himself onward.

“I love you.”

He didn’t get through it the first time.

The sentence fractured, his voice catching hard in his throat. He swallowed, tried again—and stopped, breath shuddering as the weight of it finally caught up to him. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, lashes damp, shoulders rising with a slow, uneven inhale.

Lumine’s hand slid up his chest to his neck, fingers curling there gently. “Hey,” she whispered, voice thick. “You don’t have to rush.”

He shook his head faintly. “I want to.”

He opened his eyes again and finished it, the words trembling but resolute. “I love you so much it scares me.”

That was where Lumine broke completely.

She pressed her face into his chest, sobbing openly now, her tears soaking into his sweater without apology. He didn’t hesitate. His arms came around her fully, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow, steady circles into her back.

“It’s okay,” he murmured between lines, his voice soft as he continued.

“I’m scared I’ll hurt you without meaning to. I’m scared you’ll hate me for something I do while I’m gone. I’m scared one of us will change, or that one day you’ll wake up and realize you’re tired of me. That I’m not enough. I don’t know what the future holds, and that uncertainty terrifies me more than anything else.

But none of that matters as much as this moment. Right now, I love you. Right now, I don’t want to leave. I want to spend time like normal. Meet like normal. Live like this distance doesn’t exist. And I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Lumine shook her head against him, whispering broken reassurances he probably couldn’t hear.

“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise. Just wait for me, okay? I’ll be counting days, holding onto memories, and carrying you with me wherever I go. I don’t know how I got this lucky. To have someone back home worth missing this much. To love someone enough that it hurts to leave.”

By the time he reached the final lines, his voice had steadied again. “I’m going to miss you. I love you.”

The words hung in the air after he finished reading, fragile and heavy all at once.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Lumine let out a sound that was half a sob, half a gasp, and wrapped herself around him completely, arms locking around his torso like she was afraid he might slip away if she loosened her grip. Her face buried into his shoulder, her body shaking with quiet, relentless cries.

Xiao folded over her protectively, chin resting against the crown of her head. He rocked them gently, barely perceptible, as the motion alone might soothe her.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

She clutched him tighter, fingers digging into his jacket. “That was—” Her voice cracked. “That was beautiful.”

He shook his head against her hair. “It was messy.”

“It was honest,” she countered weakly, lifting her face just enough to look at him. Her eyes were swollen and red, lashes clumped with tears. “You don’t get to call that messy.”

He smiled faintly, something tired and tender softening his features. “Okay.”

She leaned up and pressed her lips against his cheek, lingering there, then his jaw, then tucked herself back into his chest again like it was the only place she knew how to exist.

Xiao stayed very still, like if he moved even a fraction the moment might collapse in on itself. His arms remained around Lumine, one hand warm and steady at her back, the other resting loosely over her fingers. He could feel her breathing slowly begin to even out, though her shoulders still trembled now and then with the aftershocks of crying.

After a while, he spoke quietly, carefully, like the words themselves were fragile. “If it’s too hard,” he murmured, eyes fixed somewhere just past her shoulder, “you don’t have to read yours out loud.”

Lumine sniffed, wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her coat. Her nose was red, her eyes swollen, her lashes clumped together from tears. She took a shaky breath and shook her head.

“I want to,” she said, voice rough but resolute. “I really do.”

He looked down at her then, concern flickering across his face. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “This isn’t about that. I just… I want you to hear it. From me.”

Something in her tone made him nod. He shifted slightly, adjusting so they were sitting face to face now, knees still touching, hands still linked. He squeezed her fingers gently, once, a silent promise that he was there.

She unfolded the letter with care, the paper trembling faintly in her hands. For a moment, she only stared at it, breathing in and out, gathering herself.

Then she began to read.

“To my dear, sweet Xiao,” she said softly.

Her voice wavered immediately, and she paused, swallowing hard. Xiao’s fingers tightened around hers in response, grounding.

“It feels like the eleventh hour has finally arrived. In just over twenty-one hours from the moment I’m writing this, we will hold each other for the last time in a while. Even knowing it’s coming, my heart still isn’t ready. I don’t think it ever could be.”

She stopped, pressing her lips together as tears spilled over again.

Xiao leaned forward slightly, forehead nearly touching hers, his thumb brushing slow circles into the back of her hand. “Take your time,” he murmured.

She nodded, inhaled shakily, and continued.

“There’s no doubt in my mind that this will be hard. And there’s no doubt in my mind that I love you.”

Her voice cracked on the word love, and she had to pause again, laughing weakly through tears. Xiao’s grip tightened, his jaw clenching as he listened.

“As I look at your face— both while I write these words and while I lie here next to you as you read them— I know, with a certainty that leaves no room for fear, that what I feel for you is real. My dear, sweet, daring boy. My Xiao. I love you more than words could ever hope to express. Language feels small compared to what you mean to me.”

She couldn’t go on right away. Her shoulders shook as she cried quietly, her head dipping forward. Xiao leaned in, pressing his forehead to her hair, breathing slow and steady until she nodded that she was ready.

“I will wait for you,” she read, voice softer now but steadier. “I say that without hesitation, without fear. Because in the grand scheme of things, nine months is not a long time at all. Not when we are building a life together.”

Her breath stuttered.

“So I will wait. Not for my boyfriend, not even for my future husband. But for you. For Xiao. You are not just my partner. You are yourself, and loving you is reason enough. Nothing brings me more joy than simply being with you.”

Xiao’s eyes burned. He didn’t blink.

“There is nothing I want more than to stay right here— existing in this small haven we’ve made together, tucked away in the backseat of your car, the world reduced to just us.”

Her voice softened further, almost reverent.

“I want to hold you forever. To talk to you forever. To laugh with you until time stops meaning anything at all.”

She stopped again, wiping her face with her free hand.

“But the truth is harsher than our wishes. We are not alone in this universe, and we do not make the rules. And so, even though there is nothing I want more than to beg you to stay, to ask you not to leave, not to take your presence away from me, I understand that you must go.”

Xiao’s throat tightened painfully. He squeezed her hands again, harder this time, like he needed the contact just as much as she did.

“As painful as it will be to pry myself out of your arms this final time, I know I must. And when you come back, I can already imagine how it will feel— how unreal and overwhelming it will be to run into your arms again after all this time apart.”

Her lips curved into a fragile smile through tears.

“I won’t fill this letter with doubts or meaningless questions. I know you won’t cheat on me. I know you won’t leave me. I know you won’t forget me.”

She glanced up at him briefly, her eyes shining.

“Because I trust you, Xiao. I trust us. I believe, with my whole heart, that we can do this together.”

Her voice wavered again, but she pressed on.

“I am going to miss you more than I know how to explain. The kind of missing that settles deep in your chest and refuses to be quiet. Words will never fully capture the longing I know I’ll feel for you.”

She took a shaky breath.

“But it will be okay. We will persevere— not out of obligation, not out of duty, but out of love.”

Xiao’s breathing had gone almost soundless now, like he was afraid even that might break something.

“Because even with all the uncertainty stretching out in front of us, one thing remains unshakably true: I love you, Xiao.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“And I hope that every time you read this, you feel that love carried to you through the ink on this page.” She swallowed hard, her eyes flooding all over again.

The silence that followed was profound.

Lumine lowered the letter slowly, her hands shaking, tears streaming freely down her face now. She looked at Xiao, searching his expression, bracing herself for something— anything.

He didn’t speak.

He just stared at her, his eyes glassy, mouth parted slightly as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. His hands still held hers, but his grip had gone rigid, like he was anchoring himself to reality through her.

“Xiao?” she whispered, worried now.

He shook his head once, sharply, like he needed to clear it. Then he pulled her into him without warning, his arms wrapping around her so tightly it almost stole her breath. He buried his face in her hair, his fingers threading into it, holding her like she might disappear if he didn’t.

She cried again immediately, clutching him back just as hard. “I’ll miss you,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell unevenly beneath her cheek.

Finally, he whispered, voice raw, almost broken, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave after that.”

Her heart shattered all over again.

They stayed like that, tangled together in the backseat, the world pressing in from all sides. Eventually, Lumine’s phone vibrated softly in her pocket.

She pulled back just enough to check it. 8:49 PM.

Eleven minutes remaining…

Eleven minutes. Her breath caught, and she looked up at Xiao with fresh tears. “…I have to go soon,” she whispered.

“I know,” he murmured.

Her breath broke.

A sound tore out of her that startled even herself, sharp and aching, and she folded forward instinctively, shoulders curling in as sobs wracked through her body. The letter slipped from her fingers, landing uselessly among the blankets.

Xiao reacted immediately.

He set the envelopes aside without a second thought, careful but hurried, then shifted behind her, lying down fully and pulling her back against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist, firm and protective, the other coming up to cradle her shoulders, his hand resting over her heart like he could keep it from breaking apart.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, voice low and steady even as his own breathing faltered. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

She clutched at his arm, her fingers digging in as if she could anchor herself to him physically, as if holding on hard enough might stop time from moving forward.

“I can’t—” she gasped between sobs. “I can’t do this.”

He tightened his hold, pressing his face briefly into her hair, inhaling like he needed the scent of her just to stay upright. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do anything.”

She shook her head frantically, tears soaking into the fabric of his sleeve. “Do you even care?” The question burst out of her before she could stop it, fueled by panic and fear and the unbearable thought of distance. “Do you even care that we’re going to be apart for the next nine months?”

Her voice cracked violently.

“Nine months,” she choked. “Nine months of no contact, Xiao.”

The words felt unreal even as she said them. No calls. No texts. No checking in. Just silence.

For a split second, he didn’t answer. Then, he moved. He gently took her hand, the one clenched tight against his arm, and guided it upward. Slowly. Deliberately. He brought her fingers to his face.

Her sobs stuttered.

Her fingertips brushed his cheek and froze. Warmth. Wetness. Her breath caught sharply as realization dawned. She turned around immediately, twisting in his arms until she could see him properly. Her heart broke all over again at the sight in front of her.

Xiao’s expression was utterly undone.

Grief carved deep lines into his features, love shining painfully bright beneath it, regret woven through every breath he took. His eyes were glassy, tears pooled, one already tracking down his cheek where her fingers had just been.

He didn’t try to hide it.

“Of course I care,” he said quietly, voice thick, fractured in a way she’d never heard before. “I care so much it feels like it’s tearing me in half.”

Another tear slipped free.

“I just…” He swallowed hard, jaw trembling. “I don’t know how to show it without breaking down.”

Lumine’s chest caved in.

“Oh, Xiao,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his face with both hands now, her thumbs brushing desperately at the tears streaking his skin. “I didn’t mean— I know you care. I just— I’m scared.”

“I know,” he replied immediately. “I am too.”

He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if her hands were the only thing keeping him together. When he opened them again, they were shining, fixed on her like she was the only thing left in the world.

“Nine months without you feels impossible,” he continued softly. “Every part of me hates it. I hate that I’m leaving you like this. I hate that I can’t stay.”

His voice wavered. “I hate that I don’t get a choice.”

She pressed her forehead to his, breathing him in, feeling the warmth of him, the truth of him, desperate to memorize it all.

“I don’t want to forget this,” she whispered. “I don’t want to forget you.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, even as another tear fell. “And neither will I.”

Her phone vibrated again.

She didn’t want to look. She already knew. But the silence pressed too hard, and slowly it slipped into her hand. The screen glowed softly in the dark.

9:09 PM.

The numbers blurred immediately. Her breath hitched, and she let out a quiet, broken sound. Xiao saw it instantly.

“…Is it time?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, tears spilling freely again. “Xiao, I have to go.”

-9 minutes remaining…

The tears on Xiao’s face finally fell in earnest.

They didn’t slip quietly away like before. They broke free all at once, tracing down his cheeks as his breath shuddered and his composure gave out completely. He pulled Lumine into him without warning, his arms locking around her with a desperation that stole the air from her lungs. It was the tightest he had ever held her— like he was trying to anchor her to him, like if he let go even a little, the universe would rip her away.

She gasped softly against his shoulder, then wrapped her arms around him just as tightly, her fingers clutching the fabric of his sweater like it was the only solid thing left.

Xiao leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry. It was gentle and trembling and full of everything he couldn’t say. His lips lingered against hers, warm and unsteady, before he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking completely now. “Just… a couple more minutes.”

Her heart shattered all over again.

She nodded immediately, tears spilling fresh and hot down her cheeks. “Okay.”

They sank back into the backseat together, tangled up in each other, their foreheads touching and their arms wrapped tight. The somber music playing faintly from the car speakers filled the silence—slow, aching notes that seemed to mirror how their hearts felt, heavy and drawn out and impossible to ignore.

They didn’t speak much at first.

They just cried.

Soft sobs broke the quiet again and again, sometimes hers, sometimes his, sometimes overlapping until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Xiao’s breath hitched against her temple as he held her, his fingers threading through her hair, memorizing the feel of it one last time.

Lumine pressed her face into his neck, muffling her cries, her shoulders shaking. Every time she tried to steady herself, another wave crashed in, stronger than the last.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered hoarsely.

His grip tightened.

“I know,” he breathed. “I know.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands framing his face, her thumbs brushing uselessly at the tears that kept falling. “Don’t go,” she pleaded, voice small and broken. “Please.”

Xiao squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, jaw trembling. When he opened them again, they were red and shining, grief laid bare with nowhere to hide.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” he admitted softly. “I swear to you, if there were any other way—”

“Do you have to?” she asked again, even though she already knew the answer. The question slipped out anyway, born from desperation rather than logic. “Do you really have to go?”

He shook his head slowly, anguish etched into every line of his face. “I don’t have a choice.”

The words hurt just as much every time.

She broke down again, sobbing openly now, her forehead dropping to his chest as he folded over her protectively. He rocked her gently, back and forth, as if the motion might somehow soothe the ache tearing through both of them.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured over and over, his voice barely holding together. “I’m so sorry.”

They clung to each other like that, time blurring. Sometimes the crying eased into quiet sniffles, breaths slowly evening out. Sometimes it surged again without warning, fresh, raw, and overwhelming.

There were moments where Lumine pulled back, wiping her eyes, laughing weakly through tears as if trying to convince herself she was okay— only to crumble again seconds later.

“I thought I was done crying,” she choked once, voice trembling.

Xiao let out a broken, breathless laugh that immediately turned into another sob. “Me too.”

They kissed again then, softly, their mouths brushing in between tears. It was clumsy and tender, their lips tasting of salt and grief. He kissed her like he was afraid— afraid of forgetting, afraid of not having this moment again.

Each kiss felt like a promise and a goodbye all at once.

They pressed their foreheads together, noses brushing, breaths mingling shakily. Xiao’s thumb traced the curve of her cheek, memorizing the shape of her face like he could etch it into his bones.

“I don’t want you to think I’m leaving because I want to,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to ever think that.”

“I know,” she replied quickly, nodding even as tears fell. “I know that. I just—” Her voice cracked. “It hurts.”

“I know,” he echoed.

Lumine shifted slightly, curling fully into his chest, her knees drawn up, his arms closing around her completely. She listened to his heartbeat, fast and uneven, and wondered how she was ever supposed to sleep without that sound.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“So am I,” he admitted immediately. There was no hesitation. No attempt to be strong. “I’ve never been this scared in my life.”

She lifted her head again, eyes searching his face. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll come back,” she pleaded. “No matter what.”

He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs brushing beneath her eyes. “I promise,” he said firmly, even as tears slipped free again. “I’m coming back to you.”

She nodded, breathing shakily. “I’ll be here. I’ll wait.”

“I know,” he replied, voice softening. “I know you will.”

Xiao kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks— anywhere he could reach. Lumine returned each kiss, clinging to him like she needed to absorb every last bit of him before time ran out.

“Will we be okay?” she whispered, looking up at him.

Xiao's expression twisted once more, uncertainty flooding his features. "...Who knows?"

Eventually, the quiet between them shifted.

Not because the pain eased, nothing about it had, but because there was a dull, unavoidable understanding settling in, heavy as the night air pressing against the windows. Time hadn’t stopped just because they begged it to. It kept moving, merciless and steady, dragging them with it whether they were ready or not.

Lumine was the first to move.

Her body felt heavy, like gravity had doubled while they were crying. She sat up slowly, the blankets sliding off her shoulders, and for a moment she just stared at the backseat. At the mess they’d made without meaning to— blankets twisted and half-folded, one blanket bunched awkwardly near the door, the thin blanket beneath them skewed from where they’d lain curled together.

Their little haven.

The place they’d carved out of necessity and love and secrecy. Her throat tightened again. “…Should we fix it?” she asked quietly, voice hoarse. “The blankets.”

Xiao didn’t answer right away.

He sat there for a moment longer, his eyes still red and his lashes clumped from tears. He lifted one hand and wiped at his face roughly, as if trying to scrub away the evidence of how hard this was hitting him. When he finally looked at the backseat, his gaze lingered too long, his jaw tightening.

“There’s no point,” he said softly.

The words landed heavier than she expected.

She looked at him, really looked, and saw it in his expression— the same thought that had bloomed in her chest the second he spoke.

It would never be used again.

-93 minutes remaining…

The drive home passed in a kind of hollow quiet that felt louder than any conversation they could have forced. The radio stayed off. The road hummed beneath the tires, steady and indifferent. Streetlights slid across the windshield in long, pale streaks, briefly illuminating Xiao’s hands on the wheel, the tension still held in his shoulders.

Every so often, a sniff broke the silence.

Sometimes it was Lumine, quick and embarrassed, like she could swallow it back down if she tried hard enough. Sometimes it was Xiao, quieter, more controlled, but just as heavy. Neither of them commented on it. There was nothing left to explain.

Lumine stared out the window, watching familiar houses pass by, each one too close to the next, each one bringing them closer to the place she didn’t want to reach. Her bags sat at her feet, the weight of them pressing against her ankles like an accusation. She adjusted the seatbelt strap once, then again, anything to keep her hands busy.

Xiao slowed as they turned onto her street. The headlights swept across the front lawns, the bare trees, the quiet facades of houses settling into night. He parked a little ways down, not directly in front of her home, the way they always did. The engine idled softly, vibrating through the car.

Neither of them moved.

The silence returned, thicker now, heavier with finality. Lumine glanced at the clock on the dashboard without meaning to. 22:33. The numbers glowed faintly, unforgiving. She swallowed hard and looked away.

For a moment, it felt like time had folded in on itself. Like if they stayed still enough, this could all just… not happen.

She reached down and began to gather her things, movements slow and reluctant. Her fingers brushed the edge of the paper flowers, the bottle tucked carefully beside them, the backpack that had followed her through the day like a quiet witness. She shifted forward in her seat, preparing herself to open the door.

Before she could, Xiao moved.

He reached across the console suddenly, an arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her toward him with a broken sound in his chest. His forehead dropped against her temple, his grip tightening as the restraint he’d been holding onto finally gave out.

“I—” His voice failed him completely.

Lumine turned instinctively, her arms coming up around him as he cried again, openly now, shoulders shaking as he pressed his face into her hair. The hug was awkward, stretched across the car, the seatbelt digging into his side, but neither of them cared. He held her like it was the last thing he was allowed to do.

She cried too, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. She clung to him just as tightly, fingers gripping the back of his jacket, breathing him in desperately, like she could store the sensation somewhere safe.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Long enough that the engine’s idle became background noise. Long enough that Lumine’s tears soaked into his sleeve again. Long enough that the world outside the car felt impossibly far away.

“I don’t want this to be goodbye,” he murmured into her hair, his voice muffled and uneven.

“It’s not,” she replied immediately, even as her heart screamed otherwise. “It’s just… later.”

The words felt both comforting and devastating, a promise and a wound all at once.

Eventually, Lumine felt the weight of reality pressing in again. The house loomed just down the street. The rules. The eyes that would notice if she was late. The life she had to step back into alone. 

She drew a shaky breath and pulled back slightly, though every part of her resisted it. “Xiao,” she whispered.

He lifted his head slowly, eyes red and glassy, lashes wet. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize every detail— the curve of her mouth, the way her brows pinched together when she was trying not to cry again.

“I have to go,” she said softly.

The words tasted wrong, but they were unavoidable.

He nodded once, the motion stiff. “I know.”

She lingered anyway, her hands still resting on his chest, thumbs brushing lightly over his jacket as if she could imprint herself there. He leaned forward again, pressing his forehead to hers, his breathing unsteady.

They shared one more long look, everything unspoken flickering between them. Then, slowly, she pried herself out of his arms, the distance between them feeling far too big, far too fast.

She stepped out of the car, the cold air rushing around her legs. The door closed with a quiet click that sounded far too final. She stood there for a moment, clutching her bags, watching him through the window.

She took three steps away from the car before her body betrayed her.

Her feet slowed. Then stopped.

Her chest tightened so sharply it felt like she couldn’t breathe, like every instinct in her screamed that this was wrong— that this was not how you left someone you loved. Her fingers curled uselessly around the straps of her bags, her nails digging into the fabric as her vision blurred again.

Before she could overthink it, before fear or logic could stop her, Lumine turned around.

She walked back toward the car, faster this time, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. Xiao looked up the second she reappeared in his peripheral vision, surprise flashing across his face— followed instantly by something raw and hopeful.

She didn’t knock. She didn’t hesitate.

Xiao was already opening the door, already stepping out, already moving toward her like his body had been waiting for this moment. They collided halfway between the car and the curb, his arms wrapping around each other with desperate force.

The hug was different.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t restrained. It was fierce and crushing and full of everything they hadn’t been able to put into words. Xiao buried his face in her hair, his arms locking around her like he was afraid she might vanish if he loosened his grip. Lumine pressed herself into him just as tightly, fingers digging into the back of his jacket, her face tucked against his neck as sobs tore out of her again.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, voice breaking completely. “I just— I couldn’t walk away like that.”

He shook his head hard, breath shuddering. “Don’t apologize. Please don’t apologize.”

He held her tighter— so tight it almost hurt, but she welcomed the ache, welcomed anything that proved he was real and here and holding her. His hands slid up her back, one cradling her shoulders, the other pressing flat against her spine like he was trying to memorize the shape of her.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he whispered into her hair, voice cracking on the words.

She nodded frantically, tears soaking into his collar. “Me too… Me too.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still gripping her arms like he couldn’t trust himself to let go. His face was drawn tight with grief, love, and the unbearable weight of goodbye.

Before she could speak again, he leaned down and kissed her.

That kiss was everything.

It was slow and deep and trembling, their lips pressed together like they were trying to pour months of love into a single moment. Xiao’s hands came up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks where tears still clung, his forehead resting briefly against hers between breaths.

Lumine kissed him back with everything she had left, her hands fisting in his jacket and her heart pounding so violently she thought it might burst. She tasted salt and warmth and him— felt the way his breath shook, the way his lips lingered like he was afraid this would be the last time he ever felt her.

When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t because either of them wanted to.

It was because they had to.

“I love you,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers, his voice raw and undone. “So much.”

Her hands slid up to his neck, holding him there, anchoring herself in the closeness for one last heartbeat. “I love you.”

They stayed like that for a few more seconds— breathing each other in, eyes locked, the world narrowed down to just this fragile space between them.

Then, slowly, painfully, she stepped back.

Xiao’s hands lingered on her arms, his thumbs brushing once more like he needed the contact to settle into his memory. She reached up and brushed a tear from his cheek, her fingers shaking.

“Don’t forget me,” she whispered.

His lips trembled. “I could never.”

She nodded, swallowing hard, and forced herself to turn away before she shattered all over again. Each step toward her house felt heavier than the last.

She reached the front door, fumbled with her keys, her hands unsteady. When the lock finally clicked open, she paused, just for a second, and glanced back.

Xiao was still standing by his car.

He hadn’t moved.

He stood there under the streetlight, his shoulders slumped slightly, hands at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding her. When their eyes met one last time, he lifted his hand in a small, helpless wave.

Her chest caved in.

She waved back, quickly, before the tears made it impossible to see.

Then she turned and went inside.

The door closed quietly behind her, the sound echoing far louder than it should have. The house was dark and still, her parents already asleep. She slipped off her shoes, moved down the hallway on autopilot, every step numb and unreal.

The moment she reached her room and shut the door, the dam broke.

She sank onto her bed, clutching the paper flowers to her chest, sobbing openly into the pillow. Her shoulders shook violently, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as the reality of it all finally crushed down on her.

She rolled onto her side and crawled toward the window, pushing the curtain aside with trembling fingers.

Outside, at the corner of the street, Xiao’s car was still there.

The headlights were on. The engine was rumbling, but the car wasn’t moving. It was just sitting. Her heart clenched painfully.

Is he still crying too?

The thought lodged itself deep in her chest, aching and tender all at once. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, tears streaking down it as she stared out into the night, imagining him alone in that car— his hands gripping the wheel, eyes red, and his chest tight with the same unbearable grief she felt now.

“I love you,” she whispered into the quiet room, as if somehow the words might reach him through the darkness.

Down the street, the car finally pulled away.