UNSEEN LOVE

The rooftops of the sleeping city were carved in onyx and pearl—moonlight falling across slate tiles like a silver shroud, cloaking everything in quiet suspense. Beneath that nocturnal canopy, Sevrin Noctis moved like shadow poured into flesh.

His cloak whispered behind him, blacker than midnight itself. Crimson eyes glimmered beneath his cowl like dying embers, sharp and restless. There was an assassin's grace in his spine, and the dagger at his hip glinted with purpose.

He was meant to be alone.

Until a breath—a presence—threaded through the silence like a ghost that refused to die.

"You smell... divine."

A voice, low and unrushed, with the lilt of velvet unraveling.

Sevrin froze.

A weight—soft, deliberate—rested against his shoulder, and with it, a curtain of silver silk hair brushed his cloak like moonlight come alive. He didn't need to turn. He already knew who it was.

Caldris Rheyne.

The man who followed like a vow.

Who haunted not with malice—but devotion.

His eyes, dull-grey like a sky that had forgotten how to storm, were now watching Sevrin as if watching was a religion. His head remained tilted gently on Sevrin's shoulder, breathing in his warmth like a man who hadn't touched spring in years.

Sevrin's cheeks—usually pale, cool, unreadable—flushed with a traitorous bloom. A soft, rosy stain crept across his porcelain skin.

"Caldris," he said, voice steadier than the storm in his chest. "I told you. I'm on a mission."

"I know," Caldris murmured, lips just behind Sevrin's ear. "But the mission doesn't need to steal all of you."

And then—his hand.

Long, pale fingers slipped over Sevrin's shoulder with reverence, curving like a sculptor's final touch. Caldris turned him gently, not with force but with that insistent softness that unraveled Sevrin more effectively than any blade.

"Let me look at you," Caldris whispered.

Sevrin met his gaze.

Their faces now inches apart, framed by the distant glint of cathedral towers and chimneys swallowed in fog. The stars above blinked, watching. Listening.

"You have the most wretchedly beautiful eyes," Caldris said, voice like sighing silk. "Red as forbidden fruit. Red as sin."

Sevrin averted his gaze—bashful, almost. But Caldris did not relent.

His hands—both now—slid forward, wrapping with aching slowness around Sevrin's narrow waist. Possessive, gentle, devoted. His thumbs pressed softly into the folds of fabric, grounding himself in the warmth he refused to let go.

"You'll vanish again," Caldris whispered. "Like you always do."

"And yet you find me," Sevrin replied, barely audible.

The assassin's breath caught as he felt the ghost of a heartbeat in Caldris's touch. Then, as if drawn by the gravity of something inevitable, he rose to his toes—slender fingers pressing to Caldris's chest, feeling the thud of a heart that somehow always beat for him.

Caldris's expression broke open—hopeful, helpless, a boy with a fragile star in his hand.

Then—their lips met.

A kiss not born of fire, but of dusk. Of patience. Of the kind of yearning that doesn't explode, but lingers.

Their mouths touched in silence, their eyes fluttering shut as the world around them fell away. The kiss was soft—achingly soft—as if either might disappear if the other pressed too hard.

The wind danced around them, tugging at their cloaks like jealous ghosts.

Above, the stars watched in reverent stillness.

Two silhouettes on a rooftop—one cloaked in shadow, the other wrapped in twilight silver—bound not by fate, but by choice.

They kissed as if the night were made for them alone.

And in that breathless hush between heartbeats, nothing in this world could tear them apart.

The candlelight flickered across the vellum, casting ghostlike shadows of inked coastlines and creased borders. Sevrin Noctis leaned over the map with a furrowed brow, one slender finger tracing the faint path toward the Unknown border's, where secrets were known to vanish and men did the same.

His black cloak rustled slightly as he moved, the soft sigh of fabric over polished wood. The blade at his hip lay untouched, resting, for now, as his focus sharpened like the very dagger he wore.

Yet beside him, Caldris Rheyne seemed untouched by the weight of the world sprawled across parchment.

He sat reclined, one hand tucked beneath his jaw like a lover's cradle, and the other draped carelessly over the chair's arm. His silver-silk hair fell against the curve of his shoulder in gentle waves, and his grey eyes—dull only in name—were fixed not on the map, but on Sevrin.

He watched him with the silent reverence of a man who'd already fallen once and never wished to climb back out. A gaze that spoke not of distraction—but devotion beyond usefulness.

Sevrin looked up. "Caldris," he said, "focus. We don't have time to daydream."

No answer.

Caldris continued to gaze at him—like a poet drunk on a stanza he couldn't write down.

Sevrin exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.

"Caldris," he repeated, sharper this time. "You're not paying attention."

At last, Caldris stirred—languid and unapologetic. He rose from the chair like smoke uncurling from a dying flame.

"I heard you," he said with a faint smile. "I memorized everything."

Sevrin arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?" he said coolly. He gestured to the eastern corner of the map. "Then tell me—what is this region called?"

Caldris glanced at the paper, then back at Sevrin. And with zero interest in the answer, he reached out and took Sevrin's hand.

"What are you—?"

But Caldris didn't let him finish. He pulled him forward, closing the space between them until they stood inches apart, breaths mingling like secrets.

Sevrin's eyes flickered with both resistance and softness.

"This again?" he murmured. "We're working. You can't— you shouldn't—"

But Caldris only smiled, that faint curve of mischief and longing.

"You talk like time obeys you," he said quietly. "But you never see yourself the way I do. When you read a map, you don't see lines—you see escape. When you plan a mission, you don't think of survival—you think of silence. You wear shadows like a second skin, Sevrin. You disappear even when you're right in front of me."

Sevrin's throat tightened, his hand still caught in Caldris's gentle grip.

" calm down it's not like I'm going to die," he whispered, the words delicate but firm.

"I know," Caldris said. "But you could."

And with that, he wrapped his arms around Sevrin—a real, aching embrace that didn't ask permission. Not rough, not frantic—just real. The kind of hold that a man offers only once: when he knows he might never get another chance.

His head rested gently on Sevrin's shoulder once more, as if the world could be muffled there.

Sevrin did not speak.

But slowly, as though surrendering to something larger than either of them, he pulled himself from him and raised a hand to Caldris's cheek—cool skin meeting warm fingers.

"I'm here," Sevrin murmured, voice soft as falling dusk. "Not gone. Not yet."

But that wasn't enough for Caldris.

He held him tighter.

As though letting go might unmake him.

Outside, the wind hummed through the stone arches, and the stars blinked behind drifting cloud. But inside, in the hush between breath and heartbeat, two men stood still—locked in the kind of silence only love can make sacred.

Maps could wait.

For now, this was the only territory that mattered.

The alleyway was narrow, cloaked in the hush of twilight, broken only by the clash of steel and the sound of heavy breathing. Sevrin Noctis moved like a shadow, swift and elegant despite the odds. His blade danced—sharp and loyal—but even grace must bend when numbers betray the soul.

They were stronger. Not in skill, but in force. Three to one. And the fourth—the smug-eyed brute with rings on his knuckles and laughter like gravel—landed a cruel kick to Sevrin's abdomen. The breath fled his lungs, a white gasp into the dimming air.

His feet left the ground.

A fist clenched the collar of his cloak and hoisted him upward, like a trophy on display. Pain seared through his leg where another blade had found its mark—just shallow enough to mock him. The man grinned.

"You're losing your touch, assassin," the brute hissed, but the last syllable never reached the air.

Because behind him came death on silent feet.

Caldris Rheyne.

He emerged like vengeance—silver hair unbound, grey eyes glazed with fury, and his twin daggers hummed like music forged in rage. In the time it takes a breath to weep, he moved. A blur. A storm.

And when it passed, none were left standing.

Only one body remained upright—and that was Sevrin, still dangling by his cloak from dead fingers. The brute's eyes were blank now. Caldris reached out, gently pried his lover free, and let the corpse collapse to the earth like a forgotten coat.

"Sevrin," he breathed, voice unsteady.

Sevrin's eyes opened faintly, his mouth curled in a soft, worn smile. "Took you long enough…"

But then Caldris saw the blood.

It had already soaked into Sevrin's trouser leg, a vivid crimson against the black, pooling where his boot met the dust.

"You're hurt," he said, his voice breaking like porcelain beneath pressure.

Sevrin glanced down. "Ah," he said lightly, "that? Doesn't hurt."

But Caldris didn't answer.

He simply stepped closer, knelt down, and in one fluid motion slid an arm beneath Sevrin's knees, another around his back, and lifted him—as though he were both prince and precious thing.

"Wh–what are you doing?" Sevrin asked, startled, his cheeks tinted like the dusk above.

Caldris didn't answer—not with words. He leaned his forehead gently against Sevrin's, closing his eyes as if to press their souls together for just a moment longer than time allowed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

And for once—Sevrin's defenses fell like petals.

His hand rose, brushing along Caldris's jaw before settling upon his cheek. His thumb moved, tender, reverent, tracing the warmth there as though memorizing the texture of forgiveness.

"I told you," Sevrin said softly, "I'm fine…"

Then he leaned in, not out of weakness but choice, and his lips pressed against Caldris's—a kiss slow and quiet, not born of fever or haste, but of recognition. Of safety. Of love surviving the wreckage.

Caldris kissed him back with a tremor in his breath, one hand still cradling Sevrin's thigh, the other shifting to the small of his back. And there—in the arms of the only man who made the world feel bearable—Sevrin let the moment deepen.

One hand curved around Caldris's shoulder, the other stayed where it belonged—on the cheek of the only home he'd ever truly known.

And under the watching stars, two hearts kissed like men who knew how fleeting life could be.

Their lips parted like the hush between lightning and thunder—full of things still unspoken, still trembling.

Sevrin lingered close, his breath soft and uneven, his cheeks still kissed pink from their embrace. Slowly, he let his head rest upon Caldris's chest, where the steady rhythm of his heart beat like a lullaby meant only for him. The black fabric of Caldris's tunic was warm against Sevrin's temple, the scent of leather and sandalwood and rain clinging to him like the memory of safety.

"I don't deserve this…" Sevrin murmured, voice no louder than a ghost's sigh. "You're so kind to me… every time. Always keeping your promises. Always carrying my weight when I fall. And there I am—" his voice faltered, "—never returning your kindness. I am always the sword, never the hand that offers."

Caldris stilled. Then slowly, gently, he drew his arms tighter around Sevrin, as if the air itself might try to steal him away.

"Don't say things like that," Caldris whispered, his voice low and stern, yet aching with love. "If you only knew how many worlds I would burn just to keep the smile on your lips. As long as I'm alive, Sevrin, no one will touch you—not with a blade, not with cruelty, not even with doubt."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sevrin's forehead, soft as the first snow on forgotten rooftops. It lingered, warm and wordless, a promise carved in silence.

"Because I only choose you," Caldris whispered against his skin. "No one else. Never anyone else."

And then—Sevrin's breath caught. The trembling in his fingers faded as he curled one hand against Caldris's chest.

"I love you," he said. Simply. Purely. Without defense or shield or mask. "I love you."

Caldris didn't hesitate.

His hand came to rest over Sevrin's heart, and with eyes that held no jest, he replied—

"I love you too. A thousand times. In this life and the next."

For a moment, the stars above seemed to flicker closer, as if they, too, leaned in to listen.

And beneath that celestial silence—on a rooftop where shadows dared not tread—two souls found the quiet after war, the warmth after storm, and the kind of love that did not beg for return… only recognition.