The night had thinned into silence by the time Kaein and Lior stepped out of the banquet hall. The buzz of laughter and the echo of footsteps slowly disappeared behind them, replaced by the calm hush of the street. Streetlamps glowed faintly, stretching long shadows over the quiet road.
"Feels strange, doesn't it?" Kaein said after a long pause, hands shoved into his pockets. His tuxedo hung a little loose, and he tilted his head toward the empty sky as if looking for something to anchor his thoughts. "One moment you're surrounded by faces from a decade ago, and the next—it's just the two of us again."
Lior smiled faintly, his steps falling in rhythm with Kaein's. "Maybe that's how it was always supposed to be."
Kaein turned his head, an eyebrow raised. "Always? You talk like you planned this."
"I didn't," Lior admitted, chuckling softly. "But back then… even in the noise of the classroom, I always felt like I could only hear you. You were the chaos, the laughter, the one throwing paper planes while everyone else scribbled notes. Somehow, that made everything bearable."
Kaein laughed under his breath, the sound tinged with nostalgia. "I was clumsy. Not serious. Everyone said so. Even the teachers gave up on me at some point." His voice softened as his smile faltered. "High school wasn't all fun, though. You know that. There were… bad days."
Lior didn't answer immediately. His gaze fixed on the path ahead, but his mind drifted back to the boy who had once laughed too loud to hide how much he was hurting. He remembered the way Kaein had brushed things off, the way he had deflected questions with jokes. It was only now, years later, that the cracks showed in his voice.
"I know," Lior said quietly. "I noticed more than you think."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was warm, almost like a blanket wrapped around them. Kaein let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing. "I thought I was good at hiding it."
"You weren't," Lior replied gently, with a smile that softened his words. "But maybe you didn't need to be. At least, not with me."
For the first time that evening, Kaein didn't laugh or make light of the moment. He glanced at Lior , his eyes searching for something unspoken. And in that glance, the years between them folded away, leaving behind only the truth of who they were when they were younger—two boys who had found their world in each other, even without realizing it.
They walked on until they reached a small park. The benches were damp from the night air, but they sat anyway, side by side, the lamplight pooling around them.
"So," Lior began, leaning back, "Professor Kaein. Forensic psychology, huh? I should've guessed. You always loved digging into people's heads, figuring out what made them tick."
Kaein smiled. "And you? Captain of the skies. I never imagined the boy who once got lost finding his way to class would become a pilot."
Lior grinned. "Neither did I. But, I don't know… being up there, away from the noise—it feels like freedom. Down here, it's always people watching, people judging. Up there, it's just me and the clouds."
Kaein studied him for a moment, his expression softening. "You found your escape."
"Yeah." Lior's voice lowered. "But sometimes, even in the sky, it still feels lonely."
That silence stretched again. This time, Kaein broke it. "Then maybe you were never meant to fly alone."
Lior turned toward him, something flickering in his eyes. A smile tugged at his lips, but it wasn't playful this time—it was grateful. "You always say things like that. Do you even realize how it sounds?"
"Probably not," Kaein said, looking away with a small laugh. "I'm not as reckless with words as you."
Lior shook his head, his voice gentle now. "No, you're worse. You don't say much, but when you do—it stays."
The world around them seemed to blur, as if the night itself leaned closer to listen. The laughter and noise of the reunion were far behind them, and in that quiet corner, it felt like only the two of them existed.
"Ten years," Lior said softly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ten years of different roads. I thought we'd never cross paths again."
"And yet we did," Kaein replied, his tone calm but firm, as though that was enough proof that some things were simply inevitable.
Lior chuckled, though his voice carried a tremor. "Feels like the universe wanted us to sit on this damp bench tonight."
Kaein finally looked at him, really looked—the way Lior's grin masked his tired eyes, the way his posture carried both strength and weariness. In that moment, Kaein thought about how fragile yet unyielding Lior had always been.
"Maybe the universe got tired of watching us walk in circles," Kaein said quietly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The night wrapped them in stillness, the lamp above humming faintly. Then, without thinking, Lior leaned back against the bench, his shoulder brushing against Kaein's.
It wasn't deliberate. It wasn't bold. It was simply… natural.
Kaein didn't move away.
And in that quiet, the years of distance didn't matter anymore.
The world might have been full of people, full of stories, full of lives moving in different directions. But here—on this quiet bench under the glow of a single streetlamp—it was just them. Two boys who had always, somehow, belonged in the same world.
Neither said the words. They didn't need to. The silence between them carried more weight than a thousand confessions.
---
The car ride back from the hotel was unusually quiet. The city lights spilled through the window, painting Lior's sharp features in gold and shadow. He sat back, shoulders relaxed, as though the weight of the evening had slid off him the moment the reunion ended. Kaein, on the other hand, was restless—drumming his fingers against his knee, humming under his breath, like he had too many words caught inside him.
"You didn't talk much tonight," Kaein finally said, tilting his head toward Lior. "You just nodded and smiled at everyone. Not like you didn't want to talk, but… like you were letting them talk around you."
Lior's lips curved faintly. "That's how reunions are. Everyone wants to show how far they've come. I didn't feel the need to explain myself." He paused, glancing at Kaein with quiet amusement. "Besides, I knew you'd talk enough for both of us."
Kaein grinned, unashamed. "Well, someone had to fill the silence. I can't let people think Captain Lior Veyren has turned into a brooding statue."
Lior chuckled under his breath. "I've been called worse."
They drove on, the silence now softer, more companionable. When they reached Lior's apartment, Kaein followed him upstairs without question. This was their routine—Lior's place was always where the night ended.
Inside, the air was calmer than the noisy hotel hall. Lior set down his jacket neatly on the arm of the couch, while Kaein immediately sprawled across it, tie loosened, shoes kicked off with careless thuds. The contrast between them hadn't changed since high school: one was meticulous, composed, every movement deliberate; the other was untidy, impulsive, like he was allergic to seriousness.
And yet, they fit.
"Remember Mrs. Rynes?" Kaein started suddenly, staring at the ceiling. "She still thinks I'm a clown. Told me tonight she was shocked I managed to survive university, let alone teach at one." He laughed, though there was a faint bitterness in it.
Lior sat beside him, resting his elbow on the back of the couch. "She never understood you. You were clumsy, yes. You goofed around. But that didn't mean you were any less capable." His eyes softened, as if he were speaking not to the present but to their younger selves. "Back then… even when everyone else thought I was a lost cause, you were the only one who stood by me. The only place I felt… safe."
Kaein blinked at him, his usual grin faltering into something gentler. "Safe? From what?"
"From everything," Lior said simply. He leaned back, gaze drifting toward the window. "The teachers. The stares. The whispers. Do you know how many times I thought about quitting school altogether? But then… I'd see you laughing at something stupid, or pulling me along to the canteen, or standing up for me when I had no words. And suddenly, it felt bearable. Like I could get through one more day."
The room fell quiet, heavy with unspoken memories. Kaein sat up a little straighter, his voice unusually soft. "I didn't know it was that bad for you."
Lior gave a small smile. "Of course you didn't. I never told you. But you were the reason I stayed. My world… it revolved around you more than you realized."
For once, Kaein didn't make a joke. He didn't deflect. He just looked at Lior, his expression serious in a way that reminded Lior this wasn't the boy who used to skip homework or get scolded for pranks. This was the man who had grown, who now carried his own quiet strength.
"You say that," Kaein said after a moment, "but it wasn't one-sided. You kept me grounded. I'd play around, make a fool of myself, but when things got tough—you were the one I looked for. I may have laughed at everything, but you were the reason I didn't completely drift away."
Their eyes met, a silent recognition passing between them. The years apart, the changes in their lives, the distance of growing into separate men—all of it seemed to shrink in that moment, until only this truth remained: they had been each other's anchor all along.
"Do you ever think," Lior murmured, "what life would have been like if we hadn't had each other?"
Kaein scoffed lightly, though there was no humor in it. "I'd probably still be lost somewhere, making a mess of everything. And you…" His gaze lingered, earnest. "You'd be carrying everything alone. That thought doesn't sit right with me."
Lior didn't answer immediately. He simply leaned back against the couch, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The faint contact was grounding, warm in a way that words couldn't capture.
"You know," Kaein added, voice low, "we don't really need the world to understand us. Tonight proved it. Teachers can think what they want. Classmates can brag about their lives. Let them. For me, the only thing that feels real is this—sitting here with you."
Lior's chest tightened at the simplicity of it. No declarations, no grand gestures—just that quiet certainty. He turned his head slightly, meeting Kaein's gaze.
"And that," Lior said softly, "is enough."
The night stretched on, not with noise but with comfort. They spoke of little things—Lior's flying routes, Kaein's quirky students, the places they wanted to see, the futures they hadn't yet shaped. Somewhere between the laughter and the silences, the heaviness of the reunion faded away.
Outside, the city kept moving, but in here, time belonged only to them.