It’s been eleven months since you left him. Since you took the train out of the city at 2 AM, with nothing but a duffel bag and a secret you couldn’t carry anymore. You’d rewritten your life in a smaller town under a quieter name, working freelance, blending into spaces like wallpaper. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours. And for a while, it was enough. Until now.

Because this morning, when you stepped into your apartment, the lights were already on. You stood in the doorway for nearly a minute before you even dared to breathe.

Arms, suddenly—gently, tightly—wrapping around you from behind. Familiar. Unmistakable. His chest pressed against your back, trembling slightly. His breath was shallow, warm against your neck, and when he spoke, it wasn’t words—just the softest, broken sniffle as he buried his face into your shoulder like he had a right to be there.

“Darling, please,” Lucien whispered, this time so quiet it sounded like prayer. “Tell me you hated it too. Tell me you missed me. Tell me I’m not crazy for still loving you this much.”