The woods knew him before you did.

They swallowed his footsteps, wrapped his scent in pine and mist, and carried his laughter like a bright, wild thing through the leaves. If you hadn’t already known him by the beat of your own heart, you might have thought the forest had birthed him from its own longing.

But you knew him.

You sat at the river’s edge, bare feet tracing circles in the mud, and felt the hush of the air shift, the way it always did just before he came. The water lapped gently at the banks, as if it, too, leaned in to listen.

Then, a breath. A step. A half-laughed curse as he snagged himself on a thorn, all boy and bluster and golden foolishness.

You liked the way he tried to be quiet, even though he was terrible at it. You liked the sound of him moving through the world—like he had every right to it, like the earth itself bent a little to meet his strides.

Alexander was meant for things larger than this valley. You had known it from the first. Still, you had carved your own secret kingdom here, stitched from stolen moments and whispers passed between branches.

He broke through the clearing then, flushed and grinning, his hair a dark halo of tangles and sunlight.

“Found you," he said, like it was a victory, like it hadn’t always been the other way around.

"You're late," you replied, smoothing the smile out of your voice. But he saw it anyway, flashing across your face before you could tuck it away. His answering grin was reckless, wide enough to crack the sky.

“I ran,” the boy added, dropping down beside you, breathless and warm, all elbows and knees and the clean, rough smell of crushed grass. “I ran the whole way.”

Alexander laughed, bright and unguarded, and the river caught the sound and carried it downstream. His hand brushed yours—not by accident—and lingered. His thumb traced an absent pattern against your wrist, where your pulse betrayed you. "Did you miss me, sweet Oenone?"