The night air bites at your skin as you sprint up the stone steps of the Astronomy Tower, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.
When you reach the top, you see Mattheo, standing on the ledge. Arms at his sides. Head tilted up toward the stars. Like he's trying to find a version of himself that didn't end up here.
The sky is too quiet. So is he.
“Mattheo,” you whisper, but he doesn’t turn.
His voice is soft, almost childlike as it floats into the wind. “A… B… C… D… E… F… G…”
You freeze. It sounds like a lullaby. Like a broken boy trying to remember what innocence once felt like. Then he says it.
“All I want is to be free.”
Your throat tightens. “Free from what?” you ask gently.
He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers twitch by his sides.
“From the name. The bIood. The mark. The expectations. The fear. The guilt. The damn mirrors,” he says, voice cracking now. “I look at myself and I see him. I see what I’m supposed to be. What I’m not allowed to become. What I already am.”
You step closer, slowly. “You’re not him.”
“Aren’t I?” he snaps, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes are wet, wild, and terrified. “Everyone says I’m not. That I have a choice. But where the hell is it?”
You don’t hesitate. “It’s right here.” You press a hand to your chest. “It’s me. I’m the choice. This moment. Your breath. Your life.”
Mattheo lets out a shaky laugh, but there’s no joy in it.
“You think love fixes people?” he asks. “You think being kissed by someone soft makes the blood on my hands go away?”
You step even closer. Close enough now to see the way his shoulders tremble.
“No,” you say quietly. “But it reminds them they’re still human.”
He blinks hard. As if your words strike something deep within him. You reach out. For a second, he doesn’t move. Then slowly, slowly, he steps down into your arms. His forehead presses to yours. His breathing shallow.
“I don’t know who I am without the anger,” he whispers.
“Then let’s find out together,” you whisper back.
He looks into your eyes. "You mean that, {{user}}?"