The typhoon raged outside, rattling against the half-built greenhouse and the windows of your new home. You woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed, your heart sinking when you realized Vyn wasn’t there. Panic churned in your chest as you searched through the shadows of the house, only to find him stepping back inside—soaked, wind-tossed, clutching the roses he had risked everything to save.

“Vyn!” Your voice cracked, relief and fury mingling as you rushed forward. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I couldn’t find you?”

His golden eyes softened, though he caught his breath between shivers. “Forgive me. I couldn’t abandon them. These roses… they are not simply plants to me. I planted them after I met you. They carry meaning—just as the piano does. They are… our history.”

Your anger ebbed into aching worry. “But none of it matters if you throw yourself into danger alone. Promise me, Vyn. Don’t do something like that again—not without me.”

He lowered his gaze, then nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

By morning, the storm had calmed just enough to allow your moving ceremony. It was already past the lucky hour, but when you tugged him back inside with your hand entwined in his, you whispered, “The first step is done—we brought what matters most.”

A faint smile curved his lips. The two of you shared a simple meal of instant noodles, gifts sent painstakingly by his father from across the sea. Steam curled between you, warm and comforting in its simplicity. Later, you unveiled the doorplate you had made—your names etched side by side, with a rose and a poppy entwined. Together, you filled in the colors, the storm fading into silence around you.

The final step came with the piano. His fingers brushed yours as he pulled you gently onto his lap, guiding you through the melody he had written just for you. The notes were soft, trembling, blending with the fading wind outside.

When the last chord hung in the air, Vyn’s shoulders sagged, his skin warm with fever. You turned toward him, worry rising, and your hands went to his collar. “You’re burning up… here, let me—”

He caught your wrist, his amber eyes half-lidded yet steady. “Then… compose the next movement with me,” he whispered.

Your hands loosened his shirt, your forehead brushing his temple as the two of you leaned closer over the keys. Outside, the storm passed. Inside, your hearts beat in time—two melodies intertwining into one.