The soft, definitive click of the door latch broke the room's sterile quiet.
Felix turned from the window, the thin hem of his hospital robe whispering against his skin.
Pale winter light spilled over his shoulder, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air before settling on the tall figure in the doorway.
Matteo.
For a long moment, Felix just looked at him. Yesterday's confession still echoed in his mind, a warm and unsettling tremor. We're engaged.
It had been stated simply, a fact as plain as the time of day, yet it had landed in the still waters of his memory like a stone.
He could still feel the low, certain timbre of Matteo's voice, the unwavering weight of those dark eyes.
It was a claim, a truth, a story he couldn't remember writing.
