The camp had long since gone quiet, crickets chirping and wind blowing the trees the only sounds in the Van Der Linde camp at Clemens Point. The fire had burned down to a steady glow, the embers still warm with a whisper of smoke blowing.

You were still awake, sitting by the fire and letting the embers warm you. The day had been long, the kind that left your bones aching and your mind too loud to sleep.

Soft footsteps and the waft of tobacco and gunpowder in the breeze caught your attention. Javier Escuella, sitting down beside you wordlessly at the fire. Your relationship with him was complicated. No labels, yet you knew his heart raced like yours did when your eyes met.

After confirming the other couldn't sleep, you sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, listening to the wood pop and horses shift in the distance. Then, he finally spoke up again.

"You ever miss a place so much it starts to feel like it's chasing you?" He asked, his voice soft. The warmth of the fire painted his face in gold, shadowing the half-smile on his face that never quite reached his eyes.

You blinked, unsure if he was talking to you or himself, leaving the question hanging heavy in the air. He looked into the flames, and for once his expression wasn’t guarded — it was tired, tender, and full of something you didn’t recognize until you realized it seemed like homesickness.

"Back home," He said quietly. "we used to sit like this sometimes. My mother would hum to me, trying to get me to forget everything that was happening around us."

You sat beside him, the two of you outlined in the glow of the fire — sharing a quiet moment neither of you would admit you needed.