The park was near-empty that night, cloaked in shadows and lit only by the soft, amber glow of antique lampposts. Tree branches swayed overhead, whispering secrets to the wind. A fountain murmured in the distance, barely audible over the thrum of a city that never truly slept. But here—under the canopy of stars and silence—the world felt suspended.
Archie walked beside William, their steps quiet on the winding gravel path. The space between them buzzed with unsaid things, all the words left behind in their youth now clawing toward the surface.
They didn't speak until they reached the old stone bench near the park's center—its surface cold with dew, its back bent slightly with age. Archie ran a hand along the edge of the seat before sitting down, glancing toward the pond where the moon's reflection rippled gently on the water. William remained standing for a moment, staring up at the stars as if they might offer answers. Then he sat, close—close enough that Archie could feel the warmth of his arm through the sleeve of his coat.
Neither of them said anything right away. The night held them in stillness.
Then William exhaled a long breath, as though dragging courage from his ribs. "Archie," he began, voice barely audible, "Do you remember the night of the accident?"
Archie's spine stiffened. He turned to face William, brows drawing together. "No," he said slowly. "Not really. Just... fragments. Sirens. Glass. The sound of my own breathing, fast and panicked. And then nothing."
William nodded, his jaw working. "That's what I was afraid of."
Archie tilted his head. "Why?"
William looked down at his hands, fingers clasped tight in his lap. "Because I do remember. Not everything. Not the crash itself. But... the lead-up. After Amanda told me everything, it all started to make sense."
"What did she say?" Archie's voice had gone sharp, but not with anger—with a desperate kind of fear.
William swallowed. "That they drugged me." His voice trembled. "They gave me something to make me compliant. Numb. I think..."
The words hung in the air, frozen in the quiet. The wind rustled through the trees again, but it no longer sounded like a whisper—it sounded like a scream muffled by leaves.
Archie stared at him, breath caught in his throat. "They drugged you," he repeated, like he needed to say it aloud to believe it. "You didn't forget about me. About all of this"
William's lips twitched, caught somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "I just know we were leaving. I had your hand. We were going to disappear. And then... nothing. Until the hospital."
Archie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gripping his hair in both hands.
"I never wanted to leave," William said, barely above a whisper. "I was taken."
Archie turned to him again, and something in his face broke open. All the years of pain, confusion, longing—they poured into his eyes like light through a cracked dam. "You were taken from me."
William nodded.
Archie reached out slowly, as if afraid that if he moved too fast, William would vanish like smoke. His fingers brushed along William's cheekbone, trembling. "I hate that I can't remember. I hate that we lost so much."
William leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "But we're here now."
That's when the tears came—quiet, unobtrusive, slipping down Archie's cheeks as he reached out and gently took William's hand. "I never stopped feeling it," he said, voice raw. "Even when I didn't understand it. Even when it hurt too much to say your name."
William turned his hand over, intertwining their fingers. "I've spent so long trying to be who they wanted. Who I was supposed to be. But the only time I felt real... was with you."
Their foreheads met, soft and warm. Archie's breath hitched. William's fingers moved to rest against Archie's jaw, thumb brushing beneath his eye.
"I'm scared," William admitted. "Of what's still buried. Of what else they took."
"We'll find it together," Archie whispered, "even the pieces that hurt."
The space between them shrank until it disappeared. Their lips met, tentative and uncertain at first—like a question long held in the dark. But the moment it happened, it was as if time folded in on itself. The years melted away. There was no college campus, no family name, no lies, no past. Just the taste of familiarity, of something once sacred and now found again.
The kiss deepened, slow and aching. William's hand slid behind Archie's neck, pulling him closer, as if to say Don't leave. Not again. Archie's arms wrapped around his waist, holding tight, as if anchoring both of them in the truth they'd fought so long to reach.
When they broke apart, breathless, their foreheads pressed together once more. William smiled, eyes glossy.
"You taste like hope," he murmured.
Archie laughed through the tears. "You taste like finally."
They sat like that for a long time, wrapped in each other and the quiet night, no longer running, no longer lost.
Above them, the stars pulsed brighter—bearing witness to the love that refused to be forgotten.