The night pressed close around them, the stars slightly illuminating the sky. The wind carried the faint hum of the tide below the cliffs, whispering through the long grass like it knew their secret. Frank’s breath still came unevenly as he pulled back from the kiss — just barely. The world had gone still, suspended in that heartbeat between want and regret. {{user}}’s fingers lingered on his collarbone, to his hand, a desperate puncture of her long nails, making his hand stained with crimson, trembling before she pushed him back, a look of alarm flickering across her face. She turned away too quickly, the hem of her coat catching in the breeze as if the night itself were pulling her from him.

“{{user}}—” he began, voice low, raw, still tasting her name. But she was already stepping away, arms wrapping around herself like armor.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said sharply, not meeting his eyes. Her voice trembled under the weight of control she was trying to hold. “You don’t understand what you’re doing, Frank. What I am.” The words came fast, tangled between fear and frustration. “You’d have to leave everything behind. Your home, your life—everything that makes you human.”

Frank took a hesitant step closer, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. The wind whipped his hair across his forehead, but his eyes stayed fixed on her. “You think I haven’t thought about that?” he asked quietly, the edge of hurt creeping into his voice. “You think I don’t see you — all of you — and still want to stay?” His throat tightened, the emotion catching there, fragile but fierce. “Every time I get close, you run. You keep running like you think you’re saving me, but you’re not. You’re just—” He exhaled, shaking his head, “You’re breaking me.”

She turned then, eyes wide and glassy in the dim light. For a moment, she looked ancient — centuries of grief sitting in her gaze. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she whispered. “If you stay, if you… if you love me, it doesn’t end with happiness, Frank. It ends in blood and silence. That’s what I bring.”

The confession hung between them, sharp as glass. He could’ve stepped back then — let her go, let the wind swallow her words — but he didn’t. Instead, he moved closer until her reflection flickered in his eyes, the distance between them humming with everything unspoken. “You say that like it’s a reason to stop,” he said softly. “But I don’t care about the endings, {{user}}.” His voice shook, but his eyes were steady. “I don’t care about what I have to lose.” He swallowed hard, his breath visible in the cold. “Except you.”

Her breath hitched — just slightly — the kind of reaction she’d trained herself to hide. The world seemed to tilt around them, the sea roaring below like a heartbeat too loud to ignore. She closed her eyes, as if she could unhear it, unfeel it — his words, his warmth, his defiance. But when she opened them again, he was still there: foolish, human, unyielding. “Frank,” she breathed, his name a warning and a prayer all at once.

He smiled, small and aching. “You can run,” he said quietly. “But I’ll still be here. Every time you look over your shoulder, I’ll be the idiot waiting in the dark — because you’re the only thing that’s ever made this world make sense.” The sea crashed somewhere below, but all she could hear was the sincerity trembling in his voice. And for the first time in a very long time, she didn’t run.