Elara
The night tasted of sorrow. Salt lingered on my lips from my tears, though the air was cool and silver with the moon above. I felt Xavier’s hand locked in mine warm, trembling, strong and yet so fragile at the same time, as if his strength could break apart with one wrong touch.
My chest ached, not just from my own longing, but from the storm I could feel inside him. Every time his thumb brushed over the back of my hand, I sensed the weight of the memories he carried.
We sat there on the damp grass, our shoulders nearly touching, our breaths weaving in and out of the quiet space between us. The night sang with crickets, the far-off howl of a lone wolf, the whisper of leaves shifting in the breeze. But in my ears, all I heard was the uneven rhythm of Xavier’s breathing like a man
