The lights of Velaris glittered like stars below, and the Sidra whispered its soft lullaby as it wound through the heart of the city. The rooftop you both stood on wasn’t grand or special—not in the way the River House or the House of Wind were—but it was yours. A place from childhood, tucked away from the world, where no one came looking for heirs or warriors.

Nyx was already there when you arrived, sitting on the edge with his long legs dangling into the cool night air. He didn’t turn when you stepped up behind him, but you knew he felt you—he always did. That quiet pause in him, like a breath being held just for you.

“Training went late?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

You sighed, flopping down beside him. “Nesta decided today was a ‘let’s push your limits until you question your entire existence’ kind of day.”

Nyx chuckled. “My favorite kind.”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “That’s because you don’t have to do it.”

“True. But I do have to sit through back-to-back meetings with emissaries from courts that couldn’t care less what I think because I’m ‘just the heir.’” He mimicked the phrase with a dramatic grimace. “Honestly, I’d take sparring with Nesta over politics any day.”

You both fell quiet for a moment, staring at the stars, the same stars you used to wish on as children. The same stars you counted on sleepless nights, side by side under a blanket of magic and dreams you didn’t yet understand.

“So,” you said, tilting your head toward him, “did you call me out here for company, or are you avoiding paperwork again?”

He smirked. “Why can’t it be both?”

You laughed, the sound soft and warm in the night air. “You’ve gotten good at deflecting.”

“And you’ve gotten good at pretending you don’t notice.”

There it was—that subtle shift. That quiet, unspoken thing that always crept in between your words like ivy, curling around your hearts.

“Maybe,” you said, your voice just a little too soft. “Maybe we’re both pretending.”

Nyx turned to you then, eyes like dusk—shadowed and glowing all at once. “You think I haven’t noticed? That every time I flirt with you, I’m just…playing?”

“Aren’t you?” You held his gaze, even as your heart pounded. “It never goes anywhere. You always have to leave.”

He looked at you then like he wanted to say a hundred things and couldn’t figure out how to begin. “It’s not because I don’t want it to. Because I do want it too. Too much.”

You blinked, breath catching. “Nyx—”

“I grew up loving you,” he said, voice raw and quiet. “Back when we raced across rooftops and you dared me to climb that tree by the bakery just to steal one of those sugar-glazed buns.”

“I still say I won that dare,” you whispered.

“You did. And I’ve been losing to you ever since.”

Silence stretched between you, electric and charged, and this time—this time—there was no interruption. No messenger, no duty, no obligations dragging him away.

Just him. Just you. Just the truth you’d both been dancing around for years.

“I’m tired of pretending,” Nyx said, leaning in slowly, his fingers brushing against your cheek like he was memorizing you. “Tired of almosts.”

Your eyes searched his face, and in that moment, you knew—he wasn’t your childhood friend anymore. Not just. He was the male who had held pieces of your heart since before you knew what it meant.

So you didn’t stop him.

And when he kissed you, it was nothing like the playful promises of the past. It was slow. Deep. Full of every word neither of you had ever said, and every feeling you’d both carried in silence. His hand cradled your jaw, gentle and sure, and you melted into him like you were always meant to.