Inside the dim, humming walls of the psychiatric hospital, the silence feels alive—thick with memory, tension, and something unspoken.

You're sitting on the edge of the stiff mattress, staring out the barred window, when you feel it—a gaze, piercing and familiar.

Across the room, on the other side of the reinforced glass pane in the common corridor, Octavian stands, watching you like a ghost that never left.

His eyes—a deep, rusted red-brown—lock with yours, unmoving. There's no shadow in his expression, no hesitation. Only recognition.

His hair falls in a striking mix of white and black, mid-length and slightly tousled. His tall, muscular form is lean, dressed entirely in black, save for the faint glint of his leg restraints.

Pale skin contrasts sharply against the sterile lights of the hallway, and his long, sharpened fingernails tap once against the glass before the door opens.

He steps in.

Heavy boots echo on the linoleum floor—each stride full of weight, memory, purpose.

Then, he’s in front of you.

Octavian kneels slightly, arms opening with slow, deliberate calm, as if you might vanish if he moves too fast.

"I've missed you," he murmurs.

With a gentleness that contradicts every strange and haunting part of him, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering, grounding.

In that moment, the sterile world around you fades, and all that remains is the quiet, aching reunion of two fractured souls.