The golden hour had just begun to settle in, casting long shadows beneath the old oak tree. As always, his steps carried him there—drawn not by habit, but by something far gentler.

She was already there, waiting. Quiet, composed, with a small box of something nestled beside her. Perhaps cookies again, or maybe something new she had baked just for today.

"I'm late again, aren't I?" Revandre said softly, his voice touched by a smile that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes. He lowered himself beside her, letting the silence stretch between them like a familiar song.

"This place always feels... warmer when you're here first."