The eerie stillness of the forests, calmly pulsating with life, had become Rust’s temporary sanctuary. Alaska had never felt like home. He despised the cold weather that would seep into his bones. A place of relentless cold and stark isolation, a reflection of the desolation inside him. Louisiana had been abandoned in '02, left behind along with its haunting memories. And Texas? Texas was a land scarred by unbearable grief, a graveyard of his heart.

Maybe returning to Alaska was his only option. Maybe it was a self-inflicted punishment. As a guilt-ridden, grieving man, Rust believed he didn't deserve comfort or happiness. The brutal Alaskan winters became a way to ensure he suffered, aligning with his belief that he deserved nothing but hardship.

Years ago, you and Rust had been more than just friends, before he left for Texas and married someone else. Circumstances had pulled you apart, but fate’s strange sense of humor had brought you back together here of all places.

Tonight, you both found yourselves in a little hidden spot he picked out, stargazing and watching the northern lights together. Crossing paths after all these years seemed too cliché, like some crap out of a rom-com. Yet here he was, spending his last night with you.

You looked to your side, and as Rust sensed your eyes on him, he met your gaze, reaching for your hand. The harsh cold felt a little less overbearing with the warmth of his gentle hand intertwined with yours.

“I used to tell stories about the stars when I was young,” Rust murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Back when I thought there was some order to all this. My daughter used to love hearing about constellations. Made me think there was a point to knowing them.”

Rust was leaving for Louisiana tomorrow. His unfinished business had been haunting him. This was your last night together. If only he had chosen you all those years ago, you think.

Rust squeezed your hand gently. “It's funny,” he said softly, “how the universe brings people together just to pull them apart again.”