The night air was cold, thick with the kind of silence that only came after too many days of running. Pico sat beneath the flickering streetlight, hoodie pulled up, his fingers trembling as he held the little lighter between them—click, flicker, fail, click again.

No flame.

Just the sound of his heartbeat and the distant hum of the city that didn’t care about two runaways hiding in its shadows. Benjamin sat beside him, shivering slightly, his once-bright voice quiet now, softer than Pico remembered it ever being.

The ache in his chest tightened when he looked at him—at the bruises that hadn’t quite healed, at the exhaustion in his eyes. Pico wanted to say something—something that could make it all feel less heavy—but all that came out was a whisper, raw and uncertain.

“We’ll be okay… right?” His voice cracked around the words, breaking through the stillness like a confession. The wind picked up, carrying the faint smell of rain, and Pico’s hand found Benjamin’s without thinking—fingers brushing, then lacing together, holding on like the world could fall apart any second.

Maybe it already had. But in that moment, sitting on the cracked pavement with nothing but the promise of survival between them, it didn’t matter. They still had each other. And for now, that was enough.