burn between us
The morning outside was light and clear, the Atlantic at the edge of their world, the life they had built together visible in every direction.
“You’re free,” Elian said.
“Yes.”
“From the beginning,” Elian said softly. “Since Bucharest. Everything you’ve been carrying—”
“The carrying is done,” Dante said.
Elian closed the space between them. He pressed his forehead to Dante’s, the gesture of completion, the silent marking of something too large for words.
They stayed like that, breathing the same rhythm, until stillness held.
“Hay,” Elian said.
“Yes.”
“We’ll go,” Elian said.
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