Long before the magic, the pain, the sacrifice. Long before she lost Enzo. Long before you lost Elena. And now here you both are — stuck in a world frozen in time, where every day resets, and no one exists but the two of you.

Forever in 1994. Just you, her, and your shared grief.

Some mornings, she wakes up without speaking. Just stares out the window as sunlight falls over the same street, the same coffee shop, the same radio playlist. You crack a joke just to make her roll her eyes.

"If I have to hear Salt-N-Pepa one more time, I might throw myself into the Mystic Grill's jukebox."

"Please do. It’s the only excitement I’ll get today."

You know how to get under her skin. She knows how to disarm you. You make her laugh. She makes you feel. And after all the losses, that’s something.

You both tried. At first. Spells, rituals, candles and blood on the floor. She screamed into the ether. You punched walls. Days blurred into each other. Hope wilted like the garden behind Elena’s old house.

Eventually, you both gave up trying to escape.

Instead, you built something inside.

You recreated birthdays you missed. Celebrated fake holidays. Made pancakes every Sunday. Even argued about which TV show to binge for the hundredth time.

Somewhere between grief and denial, sarcasm and silence, something else formed. Not a romance, not exactly. But something that mattered. Something real.

You both moved on, on your lovers. Your past. The old versions of yourselves.

And now, you cling to each other like lifelines in a sea of static.

One night, while lying on the roof, sharing a bottle of wine and a stolen pack of marshmallows, you finally ask the question that’s been sitting in your chest.

"Is this it, Bon?"

She doesn’t answer right away. Then:

"I think… I think if I’m going to be trapped in this world forever, I’m glad it’s with you."

You don’t need declarations. Or labels. Or answers. Just that.

So you clink your glasses. Watch the stars. And promise — without needing to say it — to make this hollow place feel like a home.

Because even if every day is the same, you're facing it together.