In that moment, I realized how tightly Kaelen held my mood. It scared me—how helpless I felt.
And yet, somehow, I was still hopeful.
The headache from second shot eased on day two
Luckily it was Friday. Fri-yeay!! I took it as my day off.
The next night, it came back. Another piece. I know that I was dreaming, the headache returned—not just pain this time, but a slipping, a pulling away from the room I knew.
This time, I wasn't on the cart.
I was lying on a low bed near a window. I could smell something herbal—lavender maybe, or sage. A man and a woman moved gently around the room. Not healers exactly. Just… kind. She brought a warm cloth to my chest. He lifted a bowl of water to my lips. I could barely move, but I wasn't afraid.
It felt like sanctuary.
The room was carved out of stone or maybe built beside something older. I couldn't tell. But there was a sense of safety, like the house itself knew how to cradle the broken.
They didn't speak much. Or maybe I was too far gone to hear. But I felt the intention behind every gesture. The quiet way she sat beside me in the evenings. The steady way he readjusted my blankets when I shook from cold.
Still, no names. No full faces. Only presence.
I couldn't place the time or geography. Maybe still Byzantium. Maybe somewhere between. My waking mind kept trying to decode it, trace it to something I'd seen in a history book—but it didn't match anything clear. The symbols were different. The air felt older than Europe, warmer than Rome.
I was sure of only one thing: the journey had nearly killed me.
But the vision wasn't about death this time. Not yet. It was about something else.
It was about endurance.
And the night skies.
Even when my body felt like it would give out, I remember looking up—those nights in the desert before we reached the city. The stars were massive. Closer than they are in this life. Like someone had spilled diamonds across a black cloth. The Milky Way didn't look like a streak. It looked like a kingdom. Thick. Luminous. Endless.
One night, I remember whispering something under my breath—not a prayer exactly, but something close. A name maybe. Or a vow. I couldn't hear the word. But I remembered the feeling it left.
Something was still holding me.
I kept waiting for Kaelen to appear in the vision. But he didn't. No familiar voice. No presence that felt like his soul. Just me. My pain.
And the memory of being carried through fire, dust, and starlight.
[…]
When I woke the next morning, I didn't feel relieved. I felt heavy. Not scared. Just full. Like I was carrying something ancient I didn't yet understand.
Thank God it's weekend.
I kept the day lazing around.
Then, a message came.
Not a long one. Not poetic. Just a photo.
My phone lit up with a ping. I wasn't expecting anything, especially not from him. But there it was.
A mirror selfie. Steam still clinging to the background tiles. His abs, sharp under the soft lighting. That ridiculous V-line that knew exactly what it was doing. A towel sat low around his hips, way too casual for how intentional it looked.
Below it, three words:
I miss U."
That was all.
I stared at it for longer than I should've.
Not because of the abs—okay, maybe a little because of the abs—but mostly because… it caught me off guard.
We didn't usually flirt like that. Not so directly. Not with pictures like this. But somehow, it didn't feel out of place. It didn't feel forced.
It just landed.
And I stared at it, half smiling, half speechless, until my fingers moved on their own.
I miss U more, Kael."
Just that.
No emoji. No blush. No cover-up joke.
Just the truth, simple and bare—like the towel around his waist.
Another message came.
Do you know what's more?" Next message came in a quarter second.
He wants to find his home."
I blinked. My eyes lingered on the message longer than necessary. I knew exactly what he meant.
It's been months—I knew this conversation would eventually come around. We'd gone far, just not all the way. We'd touched the edges. Teased borders. He'd tasted me. I'd returned the favor. But we hadn't crossed that final threshold.
I stared at the screen.
His home.
A soft heat spread across my face.
I mean, of course. He was a grown man. A healthy one. And he'd been patient. Almost too patient.
But this… this wasn't just lust. I could feel it. There was a longing behind his words—not just to be inside me, but to be close. Closer than we'd ever been. To be home.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I miss U more, Kae, I typed earlier, almost reflexively.
But now, I hesitated.
Because I knew… he wasn't talking about just missing me.
And the truth?
I missed him like that, too.
Maybe even more.
And maybe I was already moving with it—toward something unfinished, toward someone who'd waited too long between lifetimes. I hit record. My voice came out softer than I expected—half a smile tucked behind it.
"You seduced me. How cruel."
I didn't wait to hear it back. I sent it right away.
He read it instantly. The dots danced. Then paused. Then danced again.
No reply yet, but I could imagine his grin. That quiet satisfaction he got from making me blush, even from miles away.
I leaned back, letting the moment breathe.
It wasn't just about sex. Not really. It was the way he said things—not demanding, not pushing—just inviting. With warmth. With meaning. With a kind of sweetness that made me feel seen, not just wanted.
I was never good at showing softness. Not first. But he had a way of pulling it out of me without trying too hard.
So I waited. Let the silence between us hum with tension.
And then my phone buzzed. A voice message. I hit play.
"Babe," his voice drawled, slow and deliberate, each word dipped in heat, "so you only want me… but you don't want him?"
I rolled my eyes, biting back a grin.
Typical Kaelen.
That deep, husky tone. The kind of voice that didn't need to shout to shake something loose inside me. The kind that lingered in the air after the words were gone.
I pressed my forehead into my palm, trying not to let my blush spread too far.
I picked up the phone, ready to reply. But I stopped myself. Let him stew in it a little.
So I sent only one line—typed, not voiced:
I want both of you. But maybe I'm just trying to be responsible."
The dots appeared immediately.
Then stopped.
Then appeared again.
Then a video call came.
I stared at the screen for a beat, hesitating. My heart did that stupid flutter again—the one I hated admitting was his doing.
I answered.
There he was.
Hair slightly tousled, that towel still scandalously low, eyes crinkled with mischief. And damn him, he knew exactly what he looked like.
"You've been responsible long enough," he said, voice softer now. "Let me ruin your balance a little."
I laughed, though my face was already burning. "That's not even fair. You know I'm weak at this hour."
"That's why I called now." He tilted his head, studying me. "Also… I miss your face."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It held something else—something warm and familiar, like a hand resting just above the heart.
"Tell me you miss me," he said, gently.
I sighed, smiling despite myself. "You know I do."
His expression softened, losing the teasing edge. For a second, the air between us shifted.
He looked at me like I was something sacred. And it undid me more than any flirtation ever could.
"I do miss you, babe. Sometimes I think—how are you not tired of getting inside my head all the time?" I smiled, the tease in my voice soft but real.
He let out a low laugh. "Tired? No. Addicted, maybe."
His gaze didn't waver. "Your head is a mess I like getting lost in."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the warmth blooming in my chest.
"That doesn't sound healthy, Kael."
"Who said anything about being healthy?" he smirked. "You wreck my sleep. You live rent-free in my brain. You show up in my dreams like you own the place—and then act surprised when I call you at midnight with a towel and a problem."
I burst out laughing. "So now I'm the problem?"
"No," he said, voice dipping. "You're the only part that makes sense lately."
And just like that, the laughter softened.
The teasing still lingered in the air, but beneath it was something heavier—gentler. The kind of silence that feels like truth resting quietly between two people.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't have to.
"You're so beautiful, you know that," he said, his voice low but steady, like he wasn't just stating a fact—he was feeling it.
I rolled my eyes, smiling. "Now I know for sure my boyfriend needs glasses."
He grinned, undeterred. "No. I see just fine."
A pause. His eyes lingered on the screen.
"You're so pretty, babe." The way he said it—soft, like a confession—made my heart slow.
I tried to brush it off with a half-laugh, but my cheeks were already warm.
"Don't say things like that when I look like I just rolled out of bed."
"Exactly," he said. "Even then."
"You're beautiful just as you are..." his voice lingered with that low softness he knew would make me blush. "But you're beautiful and sexy with that look right now, sayang. Makes me wanna do things with you."
I raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous words for a man on video call."
He chuckled, that deep, breathy sound I secretly adored. "Who says I'm not suffering over here?"
"Poor thing," I said, grinning. "All alone with your thoughts—and your towel."
"Thoughts?" He leaned closer to the screen. "Babe, it's not just thoughts. He's been looking for a home, remember?"
I covered my face with my hand, laughing. "You're impossible."
"Admit it," he teased, voice dropping again. "You like when I say it."
I peeked at him through my fingers. "I choose not to say it."
"You think I'd ever lie to you?"
His eyes glinted through the screen, playful and full of heat.
"I might dodge questions… but I'd never dodge you."
He smiled, softer now. "I miss you. Not just… that. All of you. Your voice, your chaos, your calm, your sarcasm. The way you look at me like you already know what I'm thinking."
I paused, warmth spreading through my chest. "That's because I do."
"Then you know I'm serious." He said it with quiet weight. "And also completely undone by you."
I leaned back into my pillow, fingers still holding the phone, heart doing somersaults.
"You should stop talking before I get in trouble for blushing this hard till my face burned."
"Then blush for me." His eyes sparkled. "And maybe later, I'll tell you exactly what I imagined doing the moment you said 'I miss you more.'"
I laughed, cheeks warm, heart softer than I wanted to admit.
"You're dangerous," I whispered. "Good thing I like living on the edge."
His smile faded into something quieter. "One day, I won't need to call you through a screen. I'll be there, in front of you. With no more distance. No more waiting."
My breath caught.
"Promise?"
"With everything I am."
We didn't need to say more after that. Just looked at each other—his eyes tired but glowing, my heart fluttering and strangely at peace.
I let the silence stretch, the good kind. The one where words aren't needed.
And then, before we hung up, he whispered:
"Sleep well, sayang. Don't let the stars miss you too long."
That night, I fell asleep smiling. Not because everything was certain. But because something finally felt real.
And that was deliberately comforting.