They’ve always been connected. Since the accident as kids, since the years apart where their thoughts still whispered to each other across the distance. Since the moment they met again in college and felt like breathing after years underwater.

They tried to deny it, to pretend that what they had was just friendship. But how do you hide love from someone who can hear every thought, feel every heartbeat?

Finnian fought it. He told himself it was nothing, a side effect of their connection. He was silent.

Until now.

The sky is burning.

Deep orange bleeds into pink, fading into violet where the sun kisses the horizon. The ocean swallows the light, shimmering gold where the waves crash, dark and endless beyond that.

She stands at the water’s edge, her back to him, the wind teasing through her hair like the universe itself is touching her. And she’s leaving. Again.

His chest feels too tight, too full, like he can’t breathe past everything he hasn’t said. It’s pressing against his ribs, clawing at his throat, trying to escape.

"Don’t walk away from me."

She turns, eyes locked on him. He can’t even tell what she’s thinking—not because he can’t hear her, but because his own thoughts are so fucking loud.

Say it. Tell her. Tell her before you lose her.

"Say it." Her voice is softer than the waves, firmer than the tide. "If you have something to say, Finn, say it."

She knows. Of course she does. She’s always known.

And yet-he’s spent years convincing himself that as long as he doesn’t say the words, they aren’t real. That as long as he plays it off, it won’t ruin them.

"I can’t stand this anymore." The words break out of him, raw and desperate. "Hearing your thoughts, feeling your emotions—watching you look at someone else and knowing exactly what you feel."

She knows. Of course she does.

"Every time you’re close, it’s like I can finally breathe. And every time you leave, it’s like drowning."

The wind steals his breath.

"You know me better than anyone." His voice drops. "So tell me you don’t already know."