The park was quieter now, if such a thing were possible. Even the wind had died down, leaving only the occasional rustle of leaves and the sound of water lapping gently at the pond's edge. Archie sat curled against William beneath the old sycamore tree, their coats draped around their shoulders, their hands still intertwined. There were no more tears now, only silence and breath—shared, steady, calm.
"I can't feel my toes," Archie mumbled against William's shoulder, a small, tired smile playing on his lips.
William chuckled softly. "That's because you refused to go home."
"I didn't want it to end," Archie said, pulling back slightly to meet William's gaze. "After everything... after that kiss... I just wanted to stay here with you. Like this."
William looked at him, eyes soft and heavy-lidded. "Then we'll stay a little longer."
The moment stretched again, gentle and golden in the lamplight. William's hand grazed Archie's hair, brushing back a few strands that had stuck to his cheek. His fingers were tender, reverent.
"I keep trying to remember more," William said quietly. "Not just the night of the accident. Everything before it. The way you made me laugh. The way we touched."
Archie's breath caught, but he didn't move away. "You were always cold at night. You'd press your feet against mine like a threat."
William blinked. A small laugh slipped through his lips. "That sounds like me."
Archie continued, voice softer. "You were scared of the dark. Not all the time, just on nights when your father yelled. You'd ask to sleep in my bed, and you'd fall asleep with your face buried in my shirt."
William closed his eyes, as if trying to conjure the sensation. "And I felt safe."
"You always did," Archie whispered. "Even when I was falling apart."
They sat in silence again, but it was different now. Not aching. Just full.
And then William tensed slightly.
"There's one thing," he said. "One thing I can see clearly. It comes in flashes, but it's always the same." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "You were crying in the car. I remember looking over at you... and you were sobbing."
Archie's brows furrowed. "I don't—why would I have been crying?"
William shook his head. "That's what I don't know. But I remember grabbing your hand. I remember saying—"
He paused.
"What?" Archie asked, leaning forward.
"I said, 'We'll be free soon. Just a little longer.' And then everything went black."
Archie's breath caught in his chest. His stomach turned. That line—it felt familiar, like something he'd once dreamed but never spoken aloud.
"William," he said slowly, "what if they weren't just trying to stop you from leaving? What if they were trying to stop us?"
William's jaw tightened. "Amanda said something else"
Archie looked at him, eyes searching.
"She said it wasn't just about the scandal. My parents were afraid of what I knew. About them. About the people they'd paid off. The therapists. The doctors. They'd done something illegal, maybe worse. And you—" his voice caught "—you were a liability. They thought I'd spill everything just to be with you."
Archie sat up straighter. "Then the accident..."
William looked at him, eyes dark and unreadable. "It might not have been an accident."
The words hovered between them, sharp and terrible.
Archie's lips parted, but nothing came out.
"We can't prove anything," William added. "Not yet. But Amanda's trying to find the full medical records. She's risking everything for it."
Archie nodded, swallowing hard. "And what about you?"
William turned, eyes burning with resolve. "I've already risked everything for this moment with you. I'm not walking away again."
They sat in silence, the weight of that truth settling over them like a second skin.
Then Archie reached forward, hands on either side of William's face. He leaned in and kissed him again—deeper this time, not as a question but a promise. Their lips moved in quiet desperation, not to relive the past, but to reclaim what had been stolen. It wasn't hurried. It wasn't perfect. It was real.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, Archie said, "No more lies. No more pretending."
William nodded. "No more running."
A single bird chirped nearby, tentative and soft—the earliest sign of dawn.
"I guess it's morning," Archie murmured.
"Yeah." William stood slowly, offering Archie his hand. "Let's go before your toes fall off."
Archie took it, lacing their fingers. "And then?"
William smiled. "Then we start remembering. Together."
They walked away from the park hand in hand, the rising sun stretching shadows behind them. Whatever storm still waited ahead, they were ready now.
Because they had each other.
And this time, they wouldn't let go.