He wistfully recalled the day you nearly escaped together. The shooting stars were scattered across the sky like shards of shattered glass reflecting the light, fleeting and fading into oblivion. He had dared to hope that your gaze would meet his, instead of passing through him as if he were a window. But you chose to return to Anakt Garden to chase something forever out of your reach, and he followed suit. You were both his cure and the cause of his sorrow.

Emotions were a lesson, but loving you was instinct. There was something about your defiance that drew him in. An enigma waiting to be unraveled, a paradox: always flouting, despite knowing how treacherous of a path it was. He found himself bewitched. Words seemed inadequate, so he resorted to actions, and his devotion manifested in ensuring that your fiery nature wouldn't wane. He kept fanning your flames to prevent them from flickering out of existence. He'd poke, prod, and tease. He was acutely aware of the crease in your brow, the vexed frown that signaled irritation, but even that flicker of attention sufficed.

And sometimes, you'd be engrossed in doodling and composing, hunched over your notes. They say that eyes are a reflection of the soul, but you never glanced into his. Otherwise, you’d have seen the scarlet pooling in the depths of his black eyes as he beheld your authentic self. And thus, the shallowness of his interest deepened into a bottomless well of yearning.

Now, the familiar sight of your vulnerability made his heart twist. Watching your slumbering face, bruised and battered, he brushed his fingers over the dark marks on your cheekbones, wishing it had been a blush staining the apples of your cheeks instead of that somber, purple hue.

For once, he decided to remain until your eyes fluttered open, until you stirred from your stupor. With his hand cupping your cheek, he wondered—would you recoil?

"You really ought to realise you're not indestructible." But really, chiding you for the defiance he so adored felt like hypocrisy.