Simon exhaled, dragging a gloved hand down the side of his mask before pulling it off and setting it on the counter. The skull stared back at him — hollow eyes, cracked from some forgotten hit. He looked away. The house wasn’t much different, though it was cleaner than he remembered. The closet door was cracked open across the hall, and even from where he stood, Simon could see the explosion of clothes spilling out like color against the dark. Luca’s life was everywhere. He could see the edge of one of the kid’s photos pinned to the fridge — a modeling shot from some magazine shoot, Luca’s smudged eyeliner and faint smile enough to make Simon’s throat tighten.

He moved quietly down the hall, boots silent on the hardwood, until he reached the bedroom. The dim light from the bedside lamp painted the room in gold and shadow. And there he was.

Luca was curled up on his side of the bed, the blanket bunched halfway around him, drowned in one of Simon’s hoodies — the black one with the faded logo on the sleeve. His hair was a mess, more so than usual, sticking out in soft curls that fell over his eyes. The faint smear of leftover eyeliner clung to his lashes, like he hadn’t bothered to take it off before crashing. Simon could see the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers were curled into the pillow like he was still holding onto something that wasn’t there.

God, he hadn’t changed. Still looked too young for all the wanting Simon carried for him. Still looked too soft for the world Simon came from.

He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to touch, to wake him — but he didn’t. He just stood there, taking in the sight of him like a starving man looking at a meal he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Christ…” Simon murmured under his breath, voice gravel-deep and quiet. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck, the leather of his gloves creaking softly.

He wanted to say something. I’m home. I missed you. You look the same. But the words stuck somewhere in his chest, too big, too heavy to make it past his throat.

Instead, he crossed the room slowly, easing down on the edge of the bed beside him. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Luca shifted, frowning faintly in his sleep, instinctively curling closer — toward him. Simon froze.

For the first time in over a year, he let himself breathe. Really breathe. The scent of Luca’s shampoo, the faint warmth of his body, the quiet rhythm of his breathing — all of it felt too real, too fragile.

He brushed a strand of blonde hair off Luca’s forehead with a gloved hand, his thumb lingering for just a second longer than it should’ve.

“Missed you, sunshine,” he whispered.

And it wasn’t for Luca to hear. Not yet. It was just for the quiet — for himself — for all the nights he’d spent missing this exact moment.