"Still cold?" Iris asked, nudging his elbow with hers.
Ashcroft flexed his fingers, the glove she'd returned now tugged snugly on his right hand.
"A little," he admitted. "But manageable."
"Let's see if we can fix that."
She didn't wait for him to ask what she meant. Just grabbed his wrist and tugged gently. He followed without question, his footsteps syncing with hers like they had been walking this way forever.
They took a narrow side path, slipping past the old iron gate. Past the frostbitten flowerbeds, beyond the bell tower's shadow, until the world behind them disappeared. Oxford faded into whispers. Trees creaked. The stars looked like they were eavesdropping.
"You're not going to tell me where we're going?" Ashcroft asked.
"Nope."
"That's illegal."
"You're not reporting me."
"How do you know?"
She smirked. "Because you like the mystery."
-
The river was waiting.
Wide and pale under the moonlight, it moved like it was holding secrets. A worn stone ledge marked the edge, cracked in places, half-swallowed by moss. Iris sat down cross-legged. Ashcroft followed, dusting off his coat before lowering himself beside her.
"I used to come here when I was younger," she said, her voice lower now, calmer. "When my parents argued, or when school felt like a factory line. This place doesn't care who you are."
Ashcroft looked at the water. "That sounds… nice."
"It is. You're not expected to be anyone by the river. It just lets you be."
He stared straight ahead. "I could use that."
-
For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence didn't feel heavy. It felt earned. Iris pulled a folded paper bag from her coat and offered it to him.
"Churros," she said.
Ashcroft blinked. "What."
"You heard me. Don't act like your royal bloodline is allergic to fried dough."
He took one hesitantly, inspecting it like it might explode.
"Bite it, Ash," she said, nudging his arm.
He did. Carefully.
"…This is good."
"You're welcome."
She reached for her own and took a bite with a satisfied hum, eyes half-closed like she was in a Michelin-star restaurant. Ashcroft just watched her.
"You look like you're experiencing enlightenment."
"I'm just happy you're finally tasting the world like the rest of us peasants."
Ashcroft snorted under his breath.
-
They both leaned back, elbows grazing.
Her sleeve brushed his.
Neither moved.
He spoke, suddenly. "You asked me once what I'd forget, if I could."
Iris looked at him, curious.
"I wouldn't forget anything," he said. "Not even the worst parts."
"Why?"
"Because even the bad things… they're still mine."
She didn't tease him for once. Just nodded, quietly.
"You know," she said after a pause, "I think this is the first night I've seen you act human."
"That's rich, coming from someone who names her notebooks."
"I name everything. One of my shoes is called Harold."
Ashcroft blinked. "...And the other?"
"Regret."
-
They laughed.
Real, honest laughter. Not loud. Not attention-seeking. Just shared.
Ashcroft turned toward her. "Iris."
"Hm?"
"I like this."
She met his eyes. "Me too."
-
They didn't move closer.
Didn't kiss.
Didn't do anything cinematic.
But that night, something shifted.
Not loud.
Not fast.
Just enough.
-