The night air was crisp and clean, like a quiet breath from the mountains themselves, brushing against the canvas of the tent with a gentle rustle. The stars overhead blinked like distant campfires of their own, and the scent of charred wood still lingered faintly from the bonfire that had finally burned down. You were bone-tired after a day full of wandering, laughter, and that kind of shared adventure that makes your cheeks ache from smiling too long. Now, finally tucked into your sleeping bag, everything around you had fallen into that golden hush—like the world had exhaled and gone still.

Next to you, Pau Cubarsí lay stretched out in his sleeping bag, the lantern’s soft glow casting gentle shadows across the tent. His curls were slightly tousled, and his cheeks still had a faint flush from the cold and the hours spent laughing under the sun. His eyes met yours, warm and drowsy, full of that quiet familiarity that had always been there between you two.

It had always felt like you and Pau were meant to be—since kindergarten, when you first met on the playground. You were both too shy to speak to anyone else, so you gravitated toward each other like two stars in the same orbit. From sandbox kingdoms to bike rides through muddy trails, to this very moment… he’d always been there. Steady. Gentle. Yours.

He let out a soft sigh and shifted slightly, his arm brushing yours through the thin layers of your sleeping bags. “Finally,” he murmured, voice low and tired but sweet, “we can rest. I swear my legs almost gave out during that last hike.”