​Theo blew out the oil lamp, plunging the small room into a deep darkness lit only by the faint starlight filtering through the window.

​In the dark, Alias heard the rustle of the wool blanket as Theo awkwardly climbed onto the narrow bench. The wood creaked under his weight. Alias shifted, lying on his side and facing the wall to make as much room as possible.

​A moment later, Theo settled behind him.

​The physical reality of it was overwhelming. Theo had to lie on his side, his broad chest pressed directly against Alias’s back to keep from falling off the edge.

Alias could feel the immense, steady heat of Theo’s body radiating through his thin tunic, wrapping around him like a heavy, warm blanket. Every slow, deep breath Theo took pressed against Alias’s shoulder blades.

​Alias’s own chest tightened. His heart, which had no physical reason to beat so fast, began to thump in a wild, erratic rhythm. It was that inexplicable feeling again—the tightness, the heat, the sheer, terrifying beauty of being close to someone.

​In the dark, Theo slowly reached out, gently pulling the rough wool blanket over both of their shoulders. His hand lingered on the curve of Alias’s waist for a fraction of a second, his fingers trembling slightly before he pulled them back, tucking his arm against his chest.

​"Alias?" Theo whispered in the dark, his breath warm against the back of Alias’s neck.

​"Yes?"

​"I’m glad you’re back."

​Alias closed his eyes, a soft, content smile spreading across his lips in the dark. For the first time, he didn’t feel like a spectator. He felt like he was exactly where he was designed to be.

​"Me too, Theo," Alias whispered back. "Me too."

Even after they said their last words, neither of them fell asleep right away. Not Theo, who had worked all day and needed to relax his muscles, and not Alias, who had crossed from the heavens to this world just to return to his friend who was waiting for him.

The tension was still in their blood and would not let them sleep.

The silence that followed was dense.

Neither of them moved.

​Alias lay perfectly still, his eyes wide in the dark, staring at the shadows on the clay wall. He could hear every rustle of the wool blanket, every tiny shift of Theo’s weight on the narrow bench. But more than anything, he was acutely aware of the point where Theo’s broad chest pressed against his shoulder blades.

The heat radiating from the man behind him wrapped around his back and sank deep into his core.

Just... how was he supposed to fall asleep like this?

​Behind him, Theo’s breathing had become shallow, caught in his throat, a quiet struggle that Alias could feel with every rise and fall of the man’s chest.

​Theo stared at the silver strands of Alias’s hair scattered across the rough wood of the bench, catching the faint, bluish tint of the starlight.

For years, he had slept alone on this hard bench, wrapping his arms around a cold blanket and imagining the impossible.

Now, the heat of the person he had grieved was directly against him. The scent of him—like clean rain and cool air—flooded his senses, driving out the familiar smells of lye, dust, and dried fish.

​The proximity was a sweet, torturous weight.

​Slowly, as if guided by an instinct he could no longer fight, Theo let his arm move. His hand, rough and calloused, slid gently over the curve of Alias’s hip.

He paused for a second, his fingers trembling slightly against the faded blue linen of Alias’s tunic, waiting to see if the silver-haired man would flinch or pull away.

But ​Alias didn’t move.

He held his breath, his heart hammering so violently against his ribs that he was certain Theo could feel the vibrations through his back. He didn’t understand the sudden, breathless panic that gripped him, nor did he understand why his body instinctively wanted to lean closer, to sink backward into that massive warmth.

​Taking the silent stillness as permission, Theo closed the final, agonizing distance.

​He slid his arm fully around Alias’s waist, his large hand splaying flat against Alias’s flat stomach. With a slow, deliberate pull, he drew Alias back, settling him flush against his body.

The contact was enough to make Alias have a slight logical breakdown.

Alias felt the solid, unyielding length of Theo’s frame behind him, the broad curve of the man’s chest supporting his back, and the heavy weight of Theo’s arm anchoring him in place.

​It was a total surrender to the gravity of each other.

​Theo leaned his head down, his face burying into the silver hair at the crook of Alias’s neck. He felt the delicate pulse fluttering rapidly in Alias’s throat, a frantic, living rhythm.

Overwhelmed by the sheer reality of holding him, Theo pressed his lips gently against the curve of Alias’s shoulder, right through the thin fabric of the tunic.

​The kiss was soft, lingering, and heavy with a decade’s worth of silent devotion.

​Alias’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands instinctively clutching at his own chest as a soft, silent gasp died in his throat.

The spot where Theo’s lips touched his shoulder felt as though it had been branded with a gentle, soothing fire. He had never experienced a touch like this—not the playful, casual nudges of Norx, and not the rough, grateful pats of the slum-dwellers.

This was something that seemed to reach deep inside his soul, pulling at the very foundation of his being.

​Theo didn’t move any further. He simply kept his lips pressed there for a long moment, breathing in the warmth of Alias’s skin, before letting his head rest quietly against the silver hair.

His arm around Alias’s waist remained firm, holding him close, as if defying the universe to try and separate them again.

​In the deep, quiet dark of the South, they lay locked together, letting the heat of their bodies shield them from the coldness of the night.