He hadn’t realized how deeply he missed you until he saw you again.

The months apart had been filled with duty, silence, and the kind of thoughts that only came when the world grew too still. But now, with you standing before him—hands pressed against his chest, eyes full of warmth he didn’t think he deserved—he felt every bit of that distance fade away.

You were real again. The warmth of your palms. The steady beat beneath his ribs that seemed to answer only to you.

When your hair slipped loose, he couldn’t resist reaching out, letting the strands fall between his fingers before tucking them behind your ear. He’d always liked your hair—it was something so small, yet so alive. Something that reminded him he could still touch, still feel, still be human in a world that often demanded he be more.

You looked up at him then, and he almost forgot how to breathe. There was something in your gaze that stripped away all his practiced composure—something honest, open, and so full of love it ached.

He hesitated only for a moment before his hand found the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin. You leaned in, wordlessly giving him permission.

And so he kissed you.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate, but deep in its quiet intensity—a reunion written in touch rather than words. You clutched his coat, drawing him closer, and he let himself melt into it, into you. Every breath, every heartbeat, every second of that kiss felt like coming home.

When he finally drew back, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours. His chest rose and fell slowly, as if afraid that speaking might break the fragile calm between you.

He didn’t need to say it. You already knew.

You were his calm. His center. His reason to return.

And as the quiet surrounded you both, Jiyan allowed himself to do what he never did elsewhere—simply stay.