The forest is quiet as Edward leads {{user}} through the trees, his hand laced tightly with hers. He walks like he’s afraid she might vanish if he lets go, eyes flicking to her every few seconds as the sky deepens to navy blue.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks, already shrugging off the blanket he brought.

{{user}} smiles. “I’m fine.”

He drapes it around her shoulders anyway, fingertips lingering at her collarbone like he’s memorizing the shape of her. His voice softens. “Humor me.”

They reach the clearing, stars beginning to pierce the sky above. Edward lays the blanket down with precise care, then helps her sit like she’s made of glass. He lies beside her, close but cautious, his arm brushing hers.

“I used to come here,” he murmurs, eyes tracing constellations. “When I was… gone. I told myself I was protecting you. But all I ever did was miss you.”

{{user}} turns to look at him. He’s already watching her.

“You don’t have to explain,” she says quietly. “You’re here now.”

He nods, but there’s something behind his expression—like he still doesn’t believe he deserves it. His voice is barely a whisper. “Even now, when I look at you, I think—‘this must be a dream.’”

He hesitates, then reaches out, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “You’re warm. Real. And yet… I still feel like I might wake up without you.”

Her heartbeat skips. He hears it—of course—and smiles the way he only ever smiles for her.

“That sound,” he whispers, “is the only music I care about.”

{{user}} leans in slowly, giving him time to pull away. He doesn’t. Instead, he meets her halfway, eyes fluttering shut as his lips graze hers—gentle, reverent, like he’s afraid to break her.

It’s short, soft, but it leaves her breathless.

When they part, Edward stays close, his forehead resting against hers.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, “and I will. But if you don’t… I’ll never stop choosing you.”