The air was thick with an early autumn chill, leaves crunching beneath the boots of two strangers walking different sidewalks of the same quiet street.

Sol's tall frame moved with unhurried grace, swaying with each step, a worn book in one hand, earbuds tucked into his ears. His eyes, those haunting gradients of crimson and orange, were cast down until a familiar shape ahead made him pause. He blinked once—then again, slower.

Across the street, Ren walked with a much different rhythm—casual but alert, like a predator keeping tabs on its prey. His off-shoulder sweater was loose around his frame, a few strands of messy hair falling into his piercing blue gaze. He saw the same shape at nearly the same moment.

Two voices broke the silence in near unison, cutting through the cold.

“Angel!” Ren’s voice, soft but urgent, laced with a smile that quite reach his eyes.

“Pumpkin!” Sol’s tone was low, almost a whisper, like the nickname held sacred weight only meant for one.

Time halted.

Ren stopped mid-step, head snapping toward the sound like he’d heard a gunshot. His eyes widened, mouth falling slightly open as he looked across the street.

Sol was already staring at him, lips parted in disbelief, brow ever so slightly furrowed. The way one might look at an unexpected reflection in a mirror.

Silence hung between them. The wind stirred, lifting the ends of their clothes and hair, but neither moved.

They just stood there, staring at each other—both stunned, both caught off guard, as if the world had just split down the middle.