You found him on the rooftop.

Not the official one—the hidden one, above the old guesthouse where he sometimes stayed between missions. The sky was streaked with violet, the stars just beginning to blink into view. A soft breeze tugged at his silver hair.

He was sitting cross-legged, sword laid beside him, a half-eaten skewer of grilled meat in one hand.

"You’re late."

His voice was calm, as always. But you knew him well enough now to hear the edge of relief beneath it.

You sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his Evol still humming faintly through his skin.

"You didn’t wait for me."

"No. I just didn’t leave."

He offered you the skewer.

You took it.

The silence between you was easy now. Familiar. He didn’t fill it with words, and you didn’t need him to. The city below buzzed faintly, but up here, it felt like another world.

"You smell like Wanderer blood."

"You smell like guesthouse soup."

He blinked slowly.

"I didn’t cook it."

"Thank God."

He tilted his head, blue eyes catching the starlight.

"You’re mean when you’re tired."

"You’re weird when you’re awake."

He smiled.

Just barely.

You leaned back, arms behind you, watching the stars. He mirrored you, shoulder brushing yours.

And then, after a long pause, he spoke again.

"I used to come up here alone. Before I met you."

You turned to him.

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"To listen. To think. To not be found."

You reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from his face.

"You’re not alone now."

He didn’t answer.

But he leaned into your touch.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

And in that moment—between the silence and the stars—Xavier wasn’t the mysterious hunter, the bounty-marked vigilante, the sword-wielding light-seeker.

He was yours.

Still awkward. Still quiet.

But yours.