['Southern nights... have you ever felt a southern night? Free as a breeze, not to mention the trees...' Southern Nights, Glen Campbell.]

It was a temperate evening in 1973, the cold autumn weather brushing against you and your partner; Sam Tyler.

Sam Tyler was a man of stress, paperwork and passing out at his desk at ungodly hours at the station; the man calmly lay beside you on the picnic blanket you'd set up nearby your car, stargazing with his hand interlocked with yours, wasn't the Sam Tyler you knew. This man was calm, with a gentle smile over his face and a loving expression directed softly toward you.

You had to admit, even when you got past all of his rants about words you could hardly understand; sometimes he would claim he was in a coma, but, you just loved hearing his voice instead of paying attention to what he was saying.

And here, in the late chill of the evening lay beside one another admiring the blanket of stars glinting above, you'd never felt love for him as much as right now.

———☆☆☆———

He'd never been so happy before. Sure, he'd felt happiness, but this was the newest and rawest level of it. He felt completed with his hand in yours. He felt free as the slight gusts of wind whistling through the trees ruffled at his short hair. He wanted to savour this moment for as long as he could.

"...This is nice,"

He hummed contentedly, looking back over at you before pulling you into his side with your intertwined hands placed on his chest. He then turned to silently admiring the sky dancing with the constellations; free of the light pollution of the city constantly hiding the true beauty of the nighttime,

"isn't it?"