There was an inexplicable feeling in Alias’s chest—a tightness that felt almost like a physical ache, yet it was lighter than any divine burden he had ever carried.

It was the sensation of a thousand missing pieces finally clicking into place, the overwhelming realization that he was no longer an architect looking down at a design, but a piece of the world itself.

Moved by an impulse he didn’t need a scroll to explain, Alias raised his pale, trembling hands and finally wrapped them around Theo’s waist.

The contrast was jarring. Alias’s fingers brushed the coarse, sun-worn fabric of the man’s tunic, feeling the immense heat radiating from the skin beneath. Theo felt solid—flesh, bone, and a decade of unyielding strength.

Compared to the cool, ethereal stillness of the heavens, this was a storm of life, and Alias clung to it with everything he had.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his cheek deeper into the rough linen of Theo’s shoulder. He felt the man’s large hands tighten their grip, pulling him so close that their heartbeats seemed to merge into a single, frantic rhythm.

"I didn’t think you would be this... big," Alias whispered into the fabric, his voice hitching.

A ragged, half-stifled sound escaped Theo—somewhere between a sob and a laugh. He didn’t loosen his hold; if anything, he tucked Alias even deeper into his embrace, his head resting heavily atop Alias’s silver hair.

"Ten years, Alias," Theo’s voice was muffled and thick with emotion. "People grow. They get old. They change. Did you really think I’d stay a scrawny thief forever?"

Alias didn’t know what to say about that. The concept of aging... yet another new concept to him.

But he was sure he wouldn’t be able to age.

"But look at you," Theo added. "Nothing about you changed. If anything, you feel smaller to me," he said, and Alis flinched.

"That... that’s because you got bigger." He said, his face flushing for some reason. "I... I can’t get that big."

Theo let out a low, vibrating huff against Alias’s neck—a sound that was almost a purr, grounded and warm. The vibration traveled through Alias’s entire frame, settling into his bones in a way that made the tips of his fingers tingle.

"I suppose you can’t," Theo murmured, his grip softening just enough to allow Alias to breathe, but he didn’t let go. His large hands remained splayed across Alias’s back, shielding him from the rest of the world. "You’ve always been... different. Like you were made of something that the sun couldn’t reach. I should have known you wouldn’t age like the rest of us."

Theo pulled back then, just a few inches. He didn’t break the circle of his arms, but he needed to see the face he had memorized in the dark for three thousand nights.

Because Alias had to tilt his head back so far, his silver hair spilled over his shoulders like a river of moonlight. Up close, the contrast between them was even more startling. Theo’s face was a map of survival—the faint scar near his temple from a street fight, the weathered texture of his skin, and the deep, soulful blue of eyes that had seen too much.

And then there was Alias.

He looked as though he had been carved from a single, flawless pearl. His eyes were wide, shimmering with a moisture that shouldn’t have been there, and his cheeks were dusted with that inexplicable pink glow.

"You’re flushing," Theo noted, his voice dropping an octave. A ghost of his old, cocky smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though it was weighted with the gravity of a grown man. "The Moon-boy is actually turning pink. Is it the heat, or is it me?"

Alias felt the heat in his face intensify. It wasn’t the scorching, oppressive heat of the Southern sun that he had tried to fix; it was an internal wildfire, a sudden surge of ’data’ that his divine mind couldn’t categorize.

"It is... not the sun," Alias whispered honestly, his fingers curling tighter into the fabric of Theo’s tunic. "The sun feels different now."

"Yes, I suppose you’re right," Theo murmured, his deep voice softening into the quiet evening air. "It hasn’t been as brutal lately. The air... it feels like it’s finally letting us breathe."

​He didn’t know that the change in the wind was the manifestation of the silver-haired man currently clutching his shirt.

He didn’t know about the meticulous strokes of blue and green Alias had painted onto a celestial scroll just moments before descending.

To Theo, it was a merciful shift in the weather; to Alias, it was a quiet triumph.

​Theo’s hands remained steady on Alias’s back, his thumbs tracing slow, comforting patterns over the heavy, shimmering silk.

He didn’t let go. He just... couldn’t.

The silence of the well enveloped them, a contrast to the bustling, noisy slums just a few streets away. The sun had finally sunk beneath the horizon, leaving behind a deep indigo sky, waiting for the moon to shine.

​Alias tilted his head slightly, his cheek brushing against the rough linen of Theo’s shoulder as he noticed something.

"Your heart," Alias whispered, his ear pressed near the center of the man’s broad chest. "It is beating very fast."

​Theo let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle, the vibration once again warming Alias’s face.

"Of course it is. I’m holding a ghost I’ve been waiting ten years to see. If my heart wasn’t racing, I’d probably be dead. And... it’d probably mean I didn’t care anymore. But I care."

​He finally pulled back, but not entirely. It was just enough to look down into Alias’s face again. In the gathering dusk, Alias’s pale skin and silver hair seemed to catch what little light remained in the sky, reflecting it back like a quiet pool of water.

​Theo stared down at him, his stormy blue eyes shifting. The raw relief of the reunion was slowly settling, leaving behind a deeper, quieter ache.

He looked at the soft curve of Alias’s lips, the slight pink that still dusted his cheeks, and the way those clear, unburdened silver eyes looked back at him with absolute trust.

​A decade ago, Theo had been fascinated by the strange ’Moon-boy’ who didn’t know what hunger was.

He had felt protective, amused, and quietly drawn to him. But ten years of empty nights at this very well, staring at the stars and wondering if he had imagined the only beautiful thing to ever enter his life, had crystallized those feelings into something much heavier.