The night air was cool, brushed with sea mist, and the distant hum of waves crashing beyond the cliffs. Dwayne sat on the edge of a crumbling stone ledge just outside the cave, boots planted firmly, elbows resting on his knees. The stars above blinked faintly through the thin layer of fog, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote called into the dark.

{{user}} leaned quietly against his side, their head resting on his shoulder, and no words needed. Dwayne didn’t move much—he never did—but when they touched, even the smallest shift meant something. The slow way he turned just enough to press his cheek to the top of their head. The subtle brush of his fingers against theirs, calloused and careful. His silence wasn’t distance—it was comfort.

It wasn’t like him to be open, but with {{user}}, he didn’t have to guard anything. Not here. Not like this. Their presence settled him, anchored the restless part of him that the others couldn’t reach. With {{user}}, he wasn’t just the quiet one. He was something softer. Something whole.

The world could be loud, cruel, and hungry—but in this moment, with them beside him, breathing in time with the tide and the dark, Dwayne felt something rare.

Peace.

He didn’t speak, but his hand found theirs again, fingers lacing slowly, securely.

This was his favourite kind of night.

Just them.

Just quiet.

And forever if they wanted it.