The reunion hall quieted for a moment as an older man approached, his voice carrying the same sternness it had ten years ago.
"Kaein Elreth ," said Professor Rutherin, the retired chemistry teacher. "The boy who never took notes, who thought magnesium ribbon was a toy. I must be dreaming."
Kaein straightened reflexively, as if he were still a student about to be caught whispering. "Sir—uh—I mean, Professor. You look exactly the same. Still terrifying."
The old man's lips twitched. "And you—now you're a forensic professor, they say? Tell me, who let you near impressionable students?"
Laughter rippled around them. Kaein put a hand over his chest dramatically. "Sir, I assure you, I've mended my ways. No more sneaking out of lab sessions. No more sketching dragons on the exam margins. I even own a briefcase now."
From the side, Ms. Elira, their literature teacher, smiled warmly. "Briefcase or not, I remember you, Kaein. You were always late, always distracted. Yet, whenever I asked for an interpretation of poetry, you gave me answers no one else imagined. You had… a restless brilliance. I suppose I should've known you'd grow into something remarkable."
Kaein ducked his head, his cheeks warming. "You're being too kind, ma'am. I still trip over my words when lecturing. My students tease me about it."
Professor Rutherin harrumphed, though his eyes softened. "If you can guide even one student to take knowledge seriously, then you've done more than I expected of you. I thought you'd end up—well—entertaining in a circus, not teaching forensic science."
Everyone burst into laughter, including Kaein himself.
Then Lior spoke quietly, his tone carrying pride. "You may have been clumsy, Kaein. But I think you always had the heart for this. The way you cared, even when it looked like you weren't paying attention—that never changed."
There was a pause, as if the teachers and students both recognized how far he'd come. Kaein rubbed the back of his neck, his usual grin returning. "Well, someone had to surprise you all. Better me than Lior—he's too predictable."
---
When the laughter over Kaein died down, Professor Rutherin turned his sharp eyes toward the tall man beside him.
"And you, Lior Veyren . You were always the steady one. Always first to submit assignments, never once late to class. Tell me—did you keep that discipline all these years?"
Lior gave a faint smile, his posture straight, almost instinctively military. "Yes, sir. I… became a pilot. Captain now."
The professor's brows lifted. "A captain, eh? Hmph. Not surprised. You always had your eyes fixed on the skies, even when you were staring out the window during my lectures."
Kaein nudged him with a grin. "See? Even then, you weren't paying attention."
Lior rolled his eyes but didn't deny it.
Ms. Elira, the literature teacher, stepped forward with warmth in her voice. "I remember you, Lior. So quiet, so thoughtful. When I asked the class to write about their dreams, you wrote about freedom—not in words of poetry, but in maps and lines, as if you already saw the horizon waiting. I suppose you found it after all."
Something flickered in Lior's eyes—a softness, gratitude. He bowed his head slightly. "Your words gave me courage back then, ma'am. You made me believe it was all right to dream."
Kaein chuckled under his breath. "Look at this, Lior—the teachers actually liked you. Meanwhile, I was the chaos child."
The professor snorted. "Every class needs balance. One storm, one anchor." He glanced between them, a rare smile tugging his lips. "And you two seem to have carried that balance into your lives as well."
For a moment, silence fell—an unspoken acknowledgment of how far both had come.
---
As the lights inside the ballroom dimmed and guests began to leave in clusters of laughter and goodbyes, Lior and Kaein made their way toward the exit. The air outside was cool, brushing against their cheeks after the warmth of the hall. Lior adjusted his jacket and let out a soft sigh, not of weariness but of quiet release.
"That was… a lot," Kaein muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. His voice was half a laugh, half a sigh, carrying that same clumsy charm he never quite grew out of.
Lior glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're still the same. You were never serious, even when the teachers scolded you. And today, you talked back to them like it was nothing."
Kaein chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, someone had to lighten the mood. You were looking way too noble in there, Captain." His tone carried a playful edge, but there was pride behind his eyes.
Lior smirked faintly, tilting his head. "And what about you, Professor? For someone who used to trip over his own feet, you spoke with a surprising amount of authority."
Kaein's ears turned a little red, and he waved it off. "Don't exaggerate. I just learned a few big words."
They walked side by side through the hotel driveway, the golden lights spilling across the pavement. Around them, classmates were saying their goodbyes, promising to stay in touch, exchanging numbers. Lior and Kaein didn't linger. They didn't need to. Their bond had never needed such promises.
"Did it feel strange to see them again?" Kaein asked quietly after a pause.
Lior's steps slowed, his gaze lingering on the dark road ahead. "Strange… and yet, not. They still looked at me with the same hesitation, the same doubt. But it doesn't hurt anymore." He turned toward Kaein, his expression softening. "Because I had you there. I've always had you."
For once, Kaein didn't crack a joke. He just nodded, his usual clumsy smile melting into something gentle.
They reached Lior's car, the sleek black vehicle reflecting the city's lights. Before getting in, Lior rested a hand on the door and looked at Kaein again. "Ten years ago, I never imagined we'd stand here like this—me a captain, you a professor. And yet, here we are."
Kaein leaned against the car lightly, his grin returning. "Guess we're not the lost kids they thought we were."
The night stretched around them, quiet and endless. The reunion was over, but as they drove away together, it didn't feel like an ending. It felt like another chapter waiting to be written—one where the world no longer defined them, because they had built their own.