— Varek's POV —
I don't usually care what the nurses say. Their voices are background noise — routine, repeating, useless.
But today, one of them laughed.
"He's finally coming back, huh? Nolan's best friend. I thought they were dating back then."
Another one chimed in.
"You didn't hear? He's flying back tonight. Dr. Vale's going to be happy."
My fingers curled so tightly into the armrest, the fabric groaned under my grip.
Happy?
They think someone else makes him happy?
They think someone else belongs beside him?
I sat perfectly still in the lounge chair just outside the therapy wing, pretending to read the book I had been holding for an hour. I didn't even know the title. I hadn't turned a single page.
The only thing I was reading... was him.
Nolan.
Every day I watched him walk by. Calm, collected, distant. Pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending he was fine without me.
But he wasn't. I saw it in the dark shadows under his eyes. The way his hand trembled slightly when he thought no one noticed. The way he avoided certain hallways — the ones that felt like memory.
He was breaking. Quietly.
And now — someone else was coming back. Someone who used to be close to him. Too close.
He forgot me. Fine.
But now he's replacing me?
No.
I stood up. Slowly. Calmly.
Inside, I was already on fire. I realized something had to change.
Because now…
Now I had to remind him who he really belongs to.
I'm done hiding in the shadows.
If I have to step into the light to have him…
Then I will.
Even if I have to burn everything else down to do it.
------------------------------------------
—Nolan's POV—
The apartment was dark when I stepped inside. I didn't turn on the lights. I liked the silence better that way. Or maybe I didn't.
I dropped my bag and loosened my coat, sitting at the edge of the bed. My head ached. My mind wouldn't shut up.
That voice.
Those eyes.
There was something off about him — more than just mental illness.
Earlier, Mira had stopped me in the hallway.
"I passed his room around 3 a.m.," she said, eyes wide. "He was still sitting upright. Same position. Just… awake. Staring."
She shivered. "Like he didn't even blink."
I didn't have anything to say to that.
It was probably nothing.
Just stress. Lack of sleep. Something explainable.
Except…
There was something on my bed.
A flower. My favorite.A single white gardenia.
And a note — folded neatly.
I stood frozen in the doorway.
No open windows. No broken lock.
Everything exactly as I left it.
My throat went dry instantly.
A tremor ran down my spine. I didn't move. Didn't blink.
It was placed gently, almost… reverently, right in the center of my bed.
Next to it, a folded piece of paper. Small. Unassuming.
But something about it made my stomach twist.
I didn't want to touch it.
I did anyway.
My hand shook as I reached for the note — fingertips brushing the corner like it might burn me.
The paper was cold.
Too cold.
I unfolded it slowly, breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat. The handwriting was neat. Slanted. Familiar and foreign all at once.
You shouldn't let people get close to you.
I don't like sharing what's mine.
They don't deserve to be near you.
You belong with me. You always have.
I swallowed hard. The room felt smaller.
My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears.
He'd never done this before.
Whoever it was — he always watched, always stayed in the shadows.
I'd felt him. For years.
Like a breath just behind me. Like eyes that turned away the second I looked.
But he never crossed the line.
Never touched anything.
So why now?
Why this?
My fingers tightened around the paper.
My chest felt tight. I didn't want to read the last line. I already knew it was meant for me.
"Don't make me remind you again."
That was when the cold really sank in.
The kind of cold that lives under your skin. That no amount of heat fixes.
My knees felt weak. My vision blurred for a second.
I backed away from the bed without realizing it, the note slipping from my hands and floating to the floor.
This wasn't some harmless fixation.
This was a warning.
And the worst part?
I still didn't know who it was.
But some part of me — the part that had never stopped looking over its shoulder — had always known:
He was real.
He was close.
And now…
He wasn't hiding anymore.