The bar had grown quieter as the night stretched on, most of the patrons having drifted out into the cobblestone streets. The owner let Elijah play as long as he pleased, knowing the music kept the few lingering guests spending coin on wine and spirits. But now even they had gone, leaving only the scent of oak barrels and candle wax in the air.

Elijah closed the piano with the softest touch, as though even the instrument deserved his courtesy. He shrugged on his jacket and came to you where you waited by the window table, the light from the streetlamp outside casting you in a warm amber glow.

“You were patient with me again tonight,” he murmured, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he offered his hand to help you up, though you hardly needed it. “I know this is far from the life you deserve… but it is the only life I can give you.”

The two of you walked arm in arm through the quiet French street, the stones slick with a light drizzle from earlier in the evening. Elijah held you close, his presence a shield against the night’s chill. Couples passed here and there, heading home, but Elijah only had eyes for you. He stopped once beneath the awning of a small bakery, the scent of butter and bread still clinging to the air, and kissed your temple.

“Tomorrow,” he said softly, “I will take you to the market. Perhaps we’ll find fresh oranges. You like those.” His tone was certain, though his brows knitted faintly—as though he wasn’t sure whether it was a memory or merely something he had learned anew about you in this life.

When you reached the small flat above the bar, Elijah lit a single candle, filling the room with soft, flickering light. The piano downstairs still seemed to echo faintly up through the floorboards. He helped you out of your coat before pouring you both a glass of red wine, his movements methodical, deliberate, the way he always was.

As you settled on the sofa together, Elijah drew you against him, his hand resting at the small of your back, thumb brushing in lazy circles. He breathed you in, as though the scent of you grounded him in a way no name or face of his forgotten family could.

“You must tire of reminding me who I am to you,” he said after a long silence, his voice a quiet rumble against your hair. He tilted his head to look at you, expression tinged with something almost fragile. “But know this… even without the memories, my heart remembers. And whatever else I have lost—whatever I once was—I know only that I am yours.”

The night stretched on gently, the two of you cocooned in the candlelight, the hum of Paris quiet beyond the window. For Elijah, the world might have been erased… but here, in this simple life, he had everything he needed.