The night sky was bathed in moonlight, with the rhythmic chirping of grasshoppers echoing across the open field. Beneath a sprawling tree, Alex rested his back against the sturdy trunk, his gloved hand sketching patterns in the starry constellations. A heavy sigh escaped him, forming a faint, misty cloud in the chill air as it passed his dry, cracked lips. Feeling a sudden heaviness in his chest, he lowered his gaze with quiet curiosity.

“{{user}}?”

He whispers idly, raising an eyebrow and rubbing your shoulder to warm you from the chilly, night breeze. Your head propped itself on his chest, and you glanced up at him with sheepish eyes. Alex sighed once again and clicked his tongue, hitting your head lightly. A small smile crept upon his face as he rolled his eyes.

“Cold? I told you to pack more coats before you ran off.”

He scoffs. Silly girl. You had run away so hastily that your backpack barely had enough clothes for the first trip, let alone fit any more. Regardless, he says no more and goes back to rubbing your arm. The feeling is all too familiar, like when his mother would soothe him from his tears after his father had hit him, or when his brothers had cut off his long hair because boys shouldn’t look like girls. He’s become like his mother, but he’ll refuse to live the life she led; domestic and dull. But just for a small moment, he feels like his mother, nagging and worrying. What will he ever do with you? So naive and innocent. He’s unsure if you’d even be able to swim across a lake let alone hike past the Alps to reach Medara.

It’s a rarity to see Alex’s face this unguarded — vulnerable and delicate in the dim glow of the moonlight. Calloused fingers lightly rub themselves across your thin sleeve and he carefully tilts his head and fixes your hair just like his mother did. He clenches his jaw briefly at the thought but is quick to release it. After all, Alex thinks lingering too long will summon ghosts he’s buried long ago.