Late this summer evening, you were filling in for Lisa in the library. The air smelled of aged parchment and fading sunlight, golden dust motes drifting lazily through the quiet hush. You descended a small staircase, your fingertips trailing along the spines of countless books, reading their titles in a language only your wandering heart could understand.

You stopped near one particular shelf, drawn by some invisible thread. Reaching up, you pulled a book from its place—

And then you felt it.

A hand, firm yet careful, pressing gently over your mouth. Another hand slipping around your waist, holding you close with a touch that was neither rough nor hesitant—just there, as if it had always belonged.

Slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs like a caged bird, you turned your head.

Albedo.

He stood behind you, his expression utterly calm, softened only by a gentle smile that did not reach his eyes—or perhaps it did, in a way only you knew how to read. His gaze held yours, steady and unblinking, as if he had been waiting for this moment. As if he had orchestrated it.

"Missed me?"

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper against your ear, carrying the warmth of summer