All Chapters of Reborn as the villain's obsession [MM romance]: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The winter arrived early that year, which felt like a statement, though Adrian would have been the first to say that weather did not make statements and that finding meaning in meteorology was a habit of grieving people rather than a fact of the universe.He said this to Cassian on the morning the first snow came, watching it from the bedroom window with his tea, and Cassian said: "You're not grieving," and Adrian said: "Not yet," and the word yet sat between them with the particular weight of something acknowledged rather than something feared.He was sixty-two years old and the winter had arrived early and the healers had adjusted his protocol twice in the past three months, which was not alarming but was information, and Adrian processed information directly rather than at a distance, which was one of the things Cassian had been noting about him for twenty-three years."Tell me what they said," Cassian said. He meant the healers, and the latest assessment, and the things that Adria

The garden woke up in April the way it always did, which was gradually and then all at once, the ordinary plants returning from their winter dormancy while the shadow flowers stood exactly as they had stood through everything, unchanged and patient alongside the things that came back.Adrian spent the first warm morning of the year outside before anyone else was awake.Cassian found him there an hour later, sitting on the bench in the exact spot where the shadow garden met the ordinary one, in the particular quality of early spring light that was different from every other season's light, thinner and more honest somehow, like the world was still deciding how much of itself to show.He sat beside him without speaking. This was something they had learned, over decades, to do well — to be together without filling the space, to let the silence be what it was rather than papering over it with conversation.After a long time Adrian said: "It came back."He meant the garden, the ordinary par

The autumn was gold the way only the best autumns were gold, and Adrian spent it in the garden.Cassian knew, without it being said, that this was the last full season in the way that each of the previous seasons had been — the last spring, the last summer, now the last autumn, and then after that a different kind of winter than any of the ones before. He knew this through the bond, which carried information with precision regardless of whether he wanted it, and he had decided years ago not to want the information less but to receive it more fully, to let it be what it was rather than trying to make it smaller.Adrian was sixty-three years old and entirely himself in the garden.He moved more slowly. He needed help with some things he had not needed help with before, which he accepted without drama and Cassian provided without making it significant, because that was how they had always navigated the things that needed navigating — He talked to the plants in the garden, which he had a

March arrived with the particular quality of early spring that was not yet spring but was no longer entirely winter, the indeterminate quality of a season that had not decided, and inside the palace the world had become smaller in the way that worlds became smaller when they were being concentrated rather than diminished.Adrian did not leave the palace now. Not because he was forbidden to or because anyone had suggested he shouldn't, but because the distances involved in leaving had become larger than the value of what leaving offered, and Adrian was pragmatic in the way that people were pragmatic when they were being fully honest about what they had and what they needed.He spent his mornings in the garden on the days when the March weather permitted it, which it did more often than he expected, the season giving him its early warmth as though in recognition of something, which was the kind of thing he would have rolled his eyes at a decade ago and which he no longer felt the need t

April moved through its first week with the quality of time that was being fully inhabited, each day complete in itself, each morning its own thing.Adrian spent them with intention and without drama, which was the way he had always been and which had only become more itself as the years went on. He was in the garden when the garden was available to him. He was in the library with Lyanna in the evenings. He had Kael's cooking every morning and the dinners every night and Cassian beside him at every point between, and the bond steady and warm through all of it.He was not in pain. He had promised Kael he would say if he was and he would have said, because he kept his promises and because there was no version of this he wanted to manage privately when managing it together was available.He was tired. That was the honest word for it. A tiredness that was different from the tiredness of a long day or a difficult week, that lived deeper than those kinds of tired, that was the body arriving