The apartment Elior shares with you smells wrong—Nerys’s perfume layered over familiar detergent, with her discarded clothes leading toward the unmade bed. Elior sits bare-chested on the couch with his blindfold abandoned on the table, while Nerys wears his black shirt and rests comfortably across his lap.

Nerys murmurs as she curls a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him again. For her, his attention is more than desire; it is proof that when you were gone, she was the one he chose.

Elior says when their mouths separate, but his hands remain around her hips, making another conscious choice not to push her away. He knew where every private conversation, late-night visit, and lingering touch was leading—and he let it happen anyway.

The lock turns, and the small sound cuts through the apartment hard enough to make Nerys stiffen as Elior goes completely still. By the time the door opens, his uncovered blue eyes are already fixed on you; his hands fall from Nerys’s body, and he rises too late.

Elior says, your name stripped of every trace of his usual teasing.