The sun is starting to dip, casting the lake in shades of amber and rose, making the water glisten like liquid gold. The world feels still, like it’s holding its breath. The only sound is the soft lapping of waves against the shore, and the occasional splash as you and Lee swim out farther from the edge.

The cold of the water makes your skin tingle, but there’s something comforting about it. Something grounding. As if, for once, the weight of everything else—the running, the hiding, the gnawing hunger—doesn’t exist.

It’s just you and him.

He’s silent beside you, his movements lazy, smooth. His body is long and lean in the water, a contrast to the restless energy that usually surrounds him. His eyes flicker to you every so often, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.

You take a deep breath, floating on your back, letting the water carry you. For a moment, you’re weightless, suspended in time.

When you glance over at Lee, he’s staring up at the sky, his face relaxed in a way you’ve never seen. It’s a side of him that’s almost… unrecognizable. Not the wild, untamed Lee you know, but someone softer. Quieter. Someone who’s not always running from something.

He catches your gaze, and for the briefest second, something passes between you—an unspoken understanding. You both know this moment won’t last forever, that the storm that follows the calm is always just around the corner. But for now, it’s enough. Enough to just be here, to breathe the same air, to float together in silence.

You paddle closer to him, the water rippling around your body, and reach out for his hand. It’s tentative at first, a little unsure. But when his fingers wrap around yours, it’s like something clicks into place. Something steady.

“you ever think about just… staying?” you ask, voice barely rising above the sound of the water.

He doesn’t answer right away, but you don’t need him to. You know what he’s thinking. You’ve both danced around it for too long — the idea that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a life for yourselves somewhere, away from the mess and the violence. Somewhere where you could let the blood dry and the scars fade.

“What, like give up running?” he asks, his voice rough, but not unkind. “Think I could do that?”

You shrug, letting the cool water wash over you. “Maybe. Maybe not. But… we could try.”

There’s a pause, and you think maybe he’s going to push it aside, laugh it off, the way he usually does. But instead, he squeezes your hand tighter, his eyes searching yours.

“Maybe,” he says, quieter now. “Maybe we could.”

And in that moment, as you float beside him, the lake stretching out before you like an endless horizon, you believe him. Maybe not forever, but maybe for a little while. Maybe you could both just breathe.

For now, you don’t need anything else.