Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He didn’t remember how long he sat there, back against the wall of his apartment, staring at nothing. His phone had buzzed endlessly—missed calls, unread messages—but he had ignored them all, unable to summon the will to care. At some point, he had managed to send a brief text to Ribbon, claiming he was sick and would take the next day off.

It wasn’t even a lie.

Whatever this was—this crushing weight in his chest, this sickness curling in his stomach—he needed time to deal with it. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much he wanted to avoid it, he had to face himself.

He had slept with her.

His brother’s wife.

The betrayal sat like acid in his veins, burning him from the inside out. Even if no one ever found out, even if this secret was buried so deep it never saw the light of day, he would still have to live with it. The guilt wouldn’t fade. It would follow him like a shadow, whispering its reminder every time he looked at Diego, every time he saw their perfect family.

And yet—the worst part wasn’t the guilt.

It wasn’t even the betrayal.

It was knowing that, deep down, if she had been the one to instigate it, if she had known it was him all along, he wouldn’t have stopped it. He wouldn’t have been able to. Because loving her had never been a choice. It had always been a current pulling him under, relentless and inescapable.

For years, he had fought against it—clenched his jaw, swallowed the words that ached to be said. Forced himself to keep his hands to himself when all he wanted was to reach for her—pull her close, let his entire being absorb her presence. Her heartbeat against his. Her warmth. Her essence.

That night had been the breaking point. The culmination of years of restraint. A moment where he had finally let himself slip because fighting had become too exhausting.

But it had to end because, deep down, he knew he had fucked up the only good thing that had ever happened to him.

He had imagined a thousand different scenarios where he confronted her, but what could he possibly say?

"Hey, Lila. Remember the night at the masquerade ball, when you were drunk out of your mind? It was me. I was the one who had sex with you. I was the one who fucked you five times. So… do you want to leave your husband—who also happens to be my brother—to be with me? Should we let the whole family know you cheated on him with me?"

It all sounded unbelievably stupid, even in his own head. She didn’t remember anything, and what—he was going to bring it all up just to destroy her?

Five had never considered himself an altruistic person, but with Lila, he couldn’t be selfish. In this newly reset universe—where he had lost his power, his identity, and his goals—he had become purposeless. None of his siblings had cared enough to ask how he felt, how he should live. But Lila had. She had come to him, anchored him, taught him how to enjoy life. She had become his friend. She had made him truly happy. And that was all he had ever wanted—to make her happy, too.

So how could he ever bring himself to add to her burdens? She didn’t have much joy in her life these days as it was, and wrecking it with this secret would be a complete dickhead move. Better to swallow the truth, to bury it where it could never touch her. This way, she would still have the family she had always wanted, still be the perfect wife to Diego. And he—he would not be the one to take that away from her. Because he knew the truth: destroying her family would destroy her. And that, he could never allow.

So there was no point in confronting her, no point in stirring up a mess that couldn’t be undone. If left unspoken, it might as well have never happened. She had so much more to lose than he did. 

He only had to live with this secret, live with the love he could never confess.

He could survive that.

In Pain. In Emptiness. 

But he would live.

If all she ever wanted was a happy family, then he would help her achieve that.

Diego was an idiot, but he wasn’t a bad person. Their marriage wasn’t beyond saving—not yet. Their problems could be fixed, step by step, if they were willing to put in the effort. There was no need to let obligations and resentment rot them from the inside out. There was always a choice. There was always a way out.

Five had spent his entire life fighting against the impossible. He knew better than anyone that most things could be salvaged—if people truly wanted to save them. And their marriage? Compared to what he had endured, their problems weren’t impossible.

With that thought, he finally pushed himself up, forcing his body into motion. He moved through his apartment, picking up the remnants of his sleepless night, forcing order back into his space the same way he tried to impose it on his mind. As he reached down to pick up a napkin from the floor, his gaze lingered on the familiar caricature sketched onto it.

Lila’s drawing.

For a second, he hesitated. Then, without another thought, he tossed it into the trash can.

But as he turned away, something made him pause.

A moment later, he was fishing it back out, shaking off stray pieces of paper and debris. Without looking at it again, he slipped it between the pages of a leather-bound journal and shoved it onto his bookshelf.

Maybe one day, he’d be able to throw it away for good.

But not yet.

Not today.

Pulling out his phone, he composed a message to Leena, asking her to meet him at a coffee shop. When they finally sat across from each other, he got straight to the point.

He wasn’t ready for a relationship. He wanted to break it off. He was sorry for leading her on.

Leena was hurt, but she took it with as much dignity as he could have expected. When she asked about the bandages on his hands, he dodged the question. When she asked where he had disappeared to during the masquerade ball, he lied. Told her he had been tired and left early.

And that was that.

Days later, when he returned to work, he received his next assignment: four months undercover in Afghanistan.

The timing couldn’t have been more convenient.

Before leaving, he sent a brief text to his siblings, letting them know he was going on a classified mission. He considered sending something to Lila, hesitated with his fingers hovering over the keyboard—then decided against it.

He had already made his choice.

There was no point in complicating things any further.

Instead, he blocked her number.

Afghanistan had been grueling, but no worse than what he had endured at the Commission—or when he was alone in the first apocalypse. Yet this time, despite escaping physical pain, the misery ran deeper. His mind still functioned as it always had—calculating, strategizing, directing his body to fire at the right target at the right moment. He executed the mission with textbook precision. But beneath it all, an aching emptiness trailed his every move, a silent specter he could neither shake nor ignore.

The heat was unbearable, pressing down on him like a living thing. The dry wind carried the stench of dust and gunpowder, settling into his clothes, his skin, his bones. He sat on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, watching the sun sink behind the jagged horizon. The sky bled orange and violet, a bruised expanse stretching endlessly above him. In the distance, the distant crack of gunfire punctuated the evening air, but he barely flinched. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

Five had made his choice. He’d severed the last tie that still tethered him to something human, something warm. And now, he was alone—truly, utterly alone.

The loss didn’t come as a sharp, immediate wound. It was slower, deeper, like an ache settling into his marrow. The kind of pain that didn’t announce itself with a scream but with silence, with the quiet spaces between heartbeats. He had lost people before. Lost a world before. But this… this was different.

Lila had been his best friend. That much he could admit, even if the words sounded foreign in his own head. And for a fleeting moment in his life—one he should have never allowed himself to taste—she had been something even more than that. With her, there had been a strange, reckless ease, a kind of happiness he had never known existed. Not the sharp-edged satisfaction of victory or the bitter comfort of solitude, but something lighter, something unguarded. A happiness that wasn’t calculated or earned, but simply was .

She had given him that. And he had given it up.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if he could force the memories out of his skull. The way she laughed, careless and unrestrained, like the world had never beaten her down. The way she challenged him, pushed him, made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t since before the world ended. The way she had looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching—something unreadable, something he had never let himself name.

He had walked away. He had to. That was the only way to make sure she got the life she deserved, the one Diego could give her. Five had always known how this story would end, even before it began.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

A helicopter thundered in the distance, kicking up a storm of dust, and Five finally exhaled, his breath ragged in his throat. He was a ghost in this world, a man without a past or a future. Lila had been the closest thing he ever had to something real . And now, she was gone.

His fingers curled into fists. He had done the right thing. He had.

So why did it feel like he had just killed the last part of himself that was still alive 

He still threw himself into the mission with mechanical precision, and in the end, it was a success. An anti-American terrorist leader was assassinated. Another war was prevented before it could escalate.

A broken heart had a strange way of sharpening the mind. Pain, when wielded correctly, could be a tool rather than a weakness.

So, he focused. He worked. He survived.

When he finally returned to the States, bracing himself for whatever mess he had left behind, the first thing he learned was that Diego had broken his right arm in a bar fight—defending a stranger against a gang of thugs. With Diego hospitalized for weeks, Lila was left to juggle caring for her careless husband and managing the kids on her own.

Five had had enough of his brother’s reckless stupidity.

A little manipulation, a few well-placed tricks, and soon enough, spyware was installed on Diego’s phone. Now, Five would always know where he was—just enough foresight to pull Diego’s ass out of trouble before he could land himself in it.

Lila, though—he avoided her entirely.

Not because he was angry. Not because he had moved on.

But because he didn’t know how to face her and pretend nothing had happened.

Whenever he saw her at the hospital visiting Diego, he waited. Waited for her to leave, for the coast to be clear before stepping inside. Even from a distance, she stirred something in him—something he had buried, something he refused to let resurface.

He had to be thorough. It was the only way he knew how to cope.

Maybe she had wanted to reach out. Maybe she hadn’t. Either way, he would never know.

No messages. No emails. Nothing.

He severed every thread between them, leaving only silence in its place. He told himself it was for the best. And yet, on sleepless nights when the world was quiet, he found himself staring at the ceiling, haunted by the words she might have said—if only he had given her the chance.

But he hadn’t.

They were no longer friends. Not even acquaintances. And that was his doing.

He hadn’t realized, back then, that the day by the lake—the easy laughter, the water glistening in her hair, that fleeting moment untouched by reality—would be the last time they stood together as friends. He had lost her, lost something irreplaceable, like a piece of himself torn away, leaving behind an absence no time, no distance, no force of will could ever fill.

He hadn’t cut her off because he hated her.

He had done it because he couldn’t bear it anymore.

The easy conversations. The lingering glances. The casual moments that meant everything to him but nothing to her.

Being near her without having her was never enough.

It would never be enough.

Because he would always want more. Always crave more. Always dream of being the one who made her laugh, the one she turned to at the end of the day, the one she looked at the way she once looked at Diego.

But that would never happen.

And he couldn’t live in the shadows anymore, couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep burying his love beneath the weight of false smiles and unspoken words.

So he made his choice.

If he couldn’t have her, at least he could protect her—from himself. From his own selfishness. From the destruction he would inevitably bring into her life.

This was the only way.

And he would not make the mistake of letting himself believe otherwise. Not again.

He started making excuses to avoid gatherings at Diego’s house. If he knew Lila would be there, he found a reason not to show up. On the rare occasions when her presence was inevitable, he kept his distance. If she entered a room, he left. If she was the only one there, he walked out. He never let himself be alone with her, never allowed even a fleeting moment of direct contact.

And Lila, it seemed, took the hint.

She never tried to approach him, never questioned the sudden chasm he had placed between them. She acted as if his absence didn’t bother her, as if his cold detachment meant nothing at all.

It hurt.

But he understood.

He shouldn’t feel hurt—Lila had never shown any romantic interest in him. She had always kept their relationship strictly platonic, never crossing any lines. Even when Leena had shown interest in him, Lila had played the role of the best wingman. She never said anything suggestive, never made inappropriate remarks about their dynamic, never acted in a way that hinted at something more.

It had always been one-sided.

It was always him.

He was the one who had fallen. The one who longed to be near her, to talk to her, to share quiet walks and stolen moments of peace. Every second they spent together had felt like magic to him, but to Lila, they were nothing more than harmless interactions between friends.

And that night at the masquerade? Whatever it had meant to him—to her, it was just a drunken mistake. A wild night she didn’t even remember.

But he didn’t despise her for it. How could he?

She had been trapped for too long in a domestic hellscape, burdened by responsibilities, suffocated by a life that left no room for freedom or for simply being herself. That night had been her way of lashing out, of breaking free, if only for a fleeting moment.

And if that’s all it was—if she needed to erase it—then he would make sure her actions had no consequences.

He would carry the weight of it alone.

He would keep her secret until the day he died.

She wasn’t meant to chase after him. She wasn’t supposed to care. And maybe she truly didn’t.

Either way, he couldn’t afford any more distractions. Not when he had a plan to see through.

There was too much work to do. Too many things to fix. 

To make sure Lila got the only thing she truly wanted in life, he had to be methodical about it.

Diego needed to get his act together—to understand what it truly meant to be a good husband, a good father. But Diego was a stubborn, impulsive fool. A direct lecture would only push him in the opposite direction. Five had to be smarter than that.

So, little by little, he set his plan into motion.

He became a constant presence in Diego’s life—always showing up at the right time, pulling him back from disaster. He earned his trust, subtly steering his choices, planting ideas about how to understand Lila better—without ever making it obvious.

It was slow work. Frustrating work.

But Five was patient.

Because at the end of the day, if it meant securing her happiness, then every sacrifice was worth it.

Present time

“So, how’s the training going?”

Diego has been at the police academy for three months now. The program is grueling—so much so that he only makes it home on weekends, and even then, not always. Five knows how much this means to him, how badly he wants to prove himself in a role that feels like second nature, something he was practically built for. And every time Diego does make it home, he never fails to call, eager to update Five on his progress.

“It’s good. At first, I had some trouble with the reports and all the courtroom testimony bullshit, but it’s getting easier. The physical training is nothing compared to what old Reggie used to put us through, so that’s no big deal. Honestly? I think I’m one of the best,” Diego fires off, his confidence unmistakable.

“Yeah, good for you,” Five replies dryly. He hesitates for a second before adding, “How’s everything at home?” He’s glad this is just a phone call—at least Diego can’t see the way he’s gripping the receiver.

“It’s all good. Lila’s handling everything fine. She always does, so I don’t really worry about anything.”

That hits a nerve. Diego’s blase attitude toward how much Lila manages is infuriating. It’s been months since he started training, and in that time, her three kids have already been sick—twice. Some nights, she’s been up till morning making sure their fevers didn’t spike. And when Diego comes back on the weekends, the kids are already better, so in his head, everything at home is just fine.

“Gracie and Coco both caught the flu last week, didn’t they?” Five asks quietly, keeping his irritation in check. He knew from Klaus that Lila was completely burnt out for four days straight.

“Oh, yeah. They’re better now. Wasn’t that serious—just kids’ stuff.”

Five clenches his jaw. Diego’s obliviousness grates on him, the way he brushes past things he doesn’t see firsthand. He needs to do something . It’s not the first time Five has had to break through that thick wall of Diego’s insensitivity —he’s done it before, back when Patch died and Diego was spiraling toward blind revenge against Hazel and Cha Cha. 

Just because he wasn’t there to witness something doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Lila wouldn’t complain, wouldn’t say a word about how drained she is. But Diego should know —he should be able to feel her exhaustion, even if she never says it out loud.

Five exhales sharply. “So, you’re happy? You get to chase your dream now?”

“Yeah. I am, Five. I’m not gonna screw this up. Being back in the academy makes me hate that delivery job even more. It was so damn boring. Soul-crushing, honestly.”

“Must be nice.” Five keeps his tone neutral, almost indifferent. “Not everyone gets that luxury”

Diego frowns slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Five shrugs. “Nothing. Just saying—you weren’t the only one forced into an ordinary life.”

Diego exhales. “You mean… Lila?”

Five doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

Diego runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know she doesn’t get to be wild and crazy like she used to. I’m sure it’s… different for her now. But she loves the kids, man. I don’t think she’d ever want to be away from them.”

“That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t want a break or do something else for herself for a change.” Five says it like it’s just an observation.

Diego exhales sharply. “Yeah, I know. I’ll make it up to her when I get back.” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not like it’s easy, though. The house is always packed. Even when I try to do something nice for her, there’s no space. No time. It’s just constant noise.”

Five doesn’t respond, just waits. He knows there’s more.

Diego lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Man, I swear, sometimes it feels like we’re just visitors in our own damn home. Between the kids, her parents, and the cousins dropping by every other day, there’s never a moment where it’s just us. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they help out a lot, but—” He sighs. “I didn’t realize how much I’d miss just… being alone with her. Actually talking, actually—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “You know what I mean.”

Five doesn’t react, but he understands—probably better than Diego realizes. The idea of being constantly surrounded, of never having a space to just be , sounds unbearable. Five has spent too many years in isolation for privacy to be anything less than a necessity. The thought of always having to answer to someone, to adjust, to explain himself, is suffocating.

And Diego, for all his bluster, isn’t immune to it either. He’s always been the more social one, sure, but even he wasn’t raised in a typical home. None of them were. The unspoken rules of family life—the courtesies, the compromises, the silent negotiations of personal space—were never things they learned growing up. And now, Diego’s living in a house full of people who expect that kind of normalcy from him. It’s no wonder there are clashes, frustrations, unspoken tensions simmering beneath the surface.

But little does Diego know, Lila may have felt the same way. Yes, in this reset universe, her birth parents are still alive, and she must be overjoyed to have them back after so many years. She’d never say it outright, but Five can see it—the soft smiles she wears, the warmth in her eyes. But deep down, Lila is still that orphan who lost everything when she was four and was molded into something unrecognizable.

She’s not equipped for all these ordinary domesticities, the routines, the expectations. Lila never had the chance to learn how to navigate that—she was trained for survival, for violence, for a life on the edge. And now, she’s expected to take it all in stride, to settle into a life she never imagined.

She made her choice, though. She made her commitment, and Five knows she believes she has to stick to it. She probably thinks she’s in no position to complain. After all, this is what she always wished for: a family, a place to belong. But Five knows better. A life like this—this constant noise, these unspoken obligations—is nothing like she imagined. She might have wanted a family, but she wasn’t prepared for the reality of it. Lila is no more equipped to be a normal daughter or housewife than she is to be an assassin. And this life—this quiet, predictable, domestic existence—is a far cry from the chaos she once thrived in.

Diego sighs again, quieter this time. “I just wish they could live close by instead. Be there when we need them, but not in the house all the time.” He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Not like that’s an option.”

Five doesn’t say anything, but there’s something unreadable in his expression.

Diego exhales. “Anyway. It is what it is.”

Five hums in vague agreement, but the conversation lingers.Five doesn’t say anything, but there’s something unreadable in his expression. The wheels are already turning in his head. He knows exactly what he could do, and it’s not the first time he’s been in a position where action is the only way to fix things. Diego might think it’s impossible, but Five has a way of making things happen.

“So the thing I asked you about around the corner of that street, it’s still there, right?”

“Yes, it’s still there.”

Five presses the phone tighter against his ear, pacing the length of his dimly lit apartment. His mind flickers briefly to the house—he hasn’t made a decision yet, but knowing it’s an option settles something restless in him.

Still, it’s not why he called.

“Is she holding herself up?” he asks, keeping his voice level despite the tightness in his chest.

On the other end, Klaus sighs. “Barely,” he says. “She’s running on fumes, man. Ronny’s got kidney stones, so Anita’s tied up looking after him. Just bad timing overall.”

Five clenches his jaw. Of course. Just when Lila needed support the most, life found a way to pile on more weight.

Klaus continues, his voice softer now. “I tried to help as much as I could, but the twins are especially attached to her. It wasn’t easy to separate them from her sometimes.”

Five exhales through his nose, pressing two fingers to his temple. He can picture it too well—Lila stretching herself thin, carrying more than she should, not letting herself break even when she’s on the edge. She’s stubborn like that.

“She’s not getting much rest, is she?”

A pause. Then: “Nope.”

Something unsettles him. It’s not just exhaustion. There’s a limit to what a person can take before they collapse. And Lila? She’s way past that limit.

He glances at the clock. Saturday. Diego should be home by now, but he isn’t—he mentioned something about mandatory overtime this weekend, another round of extended training. Which means Lila is on her own again.

“Where is she now?” he asks, already reaching for his coat.

“Dunno,” Klaus says. “She put the kids down for a nap and said she needed air. I think she went to the park.”

The park.

Five grips the phone harder. She’s alone. She’s exhausted. And it’s cold.

“I’ll take it from here,” he mutters and hangs up before Klaus can ask questions.

By the time he steps outside, the sky is painted in muted grays, the kind that make everything feel heavier. He shoves his hands into his pockets, moving briskly toward his car, his pulse drumming a little too fast against his ribs.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say to her when he gets there.

He just knows he has to go.

It doesn’t take long for him to spot her after he parks his car and walks toward their usual spot.  

Here she is, in her puffy white jacket, her hair in a messy bun at the top of her head. It’s still her, but a far cry from the drummer Lila he saw two years ago, or the seductress in the golden dress. She’s still beautiful—but now, exhaustion clings to her like a second skin, and it clenches his heart to see her like this.

He knows she’s been hanging on by a thread, waiting for the day Diego would return and share the weight of their life. But today, something is different. She’s more than just tired. There’s something heavier in her posture, in the way she drags her feet forward, each step seemingly harder than the last.

She doesn’t pick up her usual latte. Instead, she walks straight to her favorite spot under the oak tree, right by the water. Five watches as she lowers herself onto the bench, elbows on her thighs, her head sinking into her hands. Defeated.

He can’t see her face clearly from this distance, but he doesn’t need to. He feels it—the crushing weight pressing down on her, the quiet unraveling.

For a long time, she just sits there, unmoving. The air around her thickens, charged with something invisible but suffocating. She doesn’t make a sound, but somehow, it feels as if she’s muffling a silent scream.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

He debates whether he should go to her, break whatever fragile barrier is keeping her from acknowledging the world around her. But before he can move, she lifts her head, her gaze drifting toward the far side of the lake.

The sky is gray, heavy with the threat of rain. The water is dark and cold. A complete contrast from that day—the last time they were here together. Back then, they had lain side by side on the grass, staring up at an impossibly blue sky, the kind so vivid it looked like a painting. That day had been warm, lighthearted, unreal in its brightness. Now? Now, everything is muted. Cold. Distant.

Lila is slipping away. He can feel it. And for some reason, it terrifies him.

He takes a step closer. He has to do something—say something. But just as he moves, Lila stands from the bench. She walks around it, and for a moment, he assumes she’s heading home.

But then he hears a scream.

“AAAHHH, GET OUT!”

The roar rips through the air, high-pitched and frantic, just as the sound of wheels on concrete skids toward them. Five’s heart lurches, adrenaline spiking in his veins as he snaps his attention to the source. His eyes go wide, instinctively calculating the distance, the angle, but it’s too late. The skateboarder is coming fast, too fast for Lila to move. She barely has time to lift her head, eyes wide with surprise, before the skater slams into her.

The impact is jarring, sudden, but not brutal—not at first. But it’s enough. Enough to send Lila stumbling backward, her arms flailing as she struggles to regain her balance. The shock of it—the sheer force, the speed of the collision—sends her reeling, her body unable to right itself in time.

Five watches it in slow motion.

One second, she’s standing. Next, she’s gone.

She hits the water with a splash, and Five’s stomach drops. His heart skips a beat.

“LILAAAAA!” His scream rips from his throat, the word tearing through the air. He breaks into a sprint, heart thundering in his chest, but it’s too late. He’s too far. The distance between them feels like a chasm. He curses himself, curses the loss of his powers. This is when he needs them. Right now.

She should be swimming. She knows how to swim. She’s a great swimmer. But she’s struggling—her arms barely slicing through the water before they slow, weaken. Then she stops altogether.

And starts sinking.

Five runs harder. His pulse slams against his ribs, his breath ragged. People are gathering now, murmuring in shock, but no one moves.

No one jumps in.

He doesn’t hesitate. The moment he reaches the edge, he dives headfirst into the icy water.

The cold is like a knife, cutting through his chest as he plunges into the lake, the murkiness swallowing him whole. His body is a shock of tension, muscles stiff from the cold, the water dark and choking. He can barely see, only the white of her jacket fading into the abyss, tangled in trailing cocoon tail bushes. Panic claws at his throat, his mind screaming. Where is she? His arms stretch out blindly, every second an eternity. No. No, not now.

His heart pounds louder than the water rushing in his ears.

He reaches her in seconds, looping his arm under hers, dragging her up with everything he has. His heart hammers, panic clawing at his chest. Why did she stop swimming? The thought is loud in his head, deafening.

The second they break the surface, he gasps for air, his grip on her tightening. He kicks hard, fighting against the weight of her limp body and the drag of the water.

By the time he hauls her onto the grass, hands reach out to help, but his focus is only on her. Lila is pale, her lips slightly parted, her chest still.

No. No, no, no.

He presses his hands to her chest, starting compressions. “Come on, Lila. Come on.” His voice is tight, desperate.

Nothing.

His hands move faster. He leans down, seals his mouth over hers, breathes for her.

A beat.

Then another.

Then—

A cough. A sharp, choking gasp as water spills from her lips. She jerks, coughing hard, and a wave of relief crashes over him so violently he almost collapses next to her.

Cheers erupt from the small crowd, but Five barely hears them. His ears ring as he watches her, his own breath still uneven. Her eyes flutter open, and she grimaces, squinting at the sky before her gaze shifts.

“Five… is it you?” Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

He swallows hard. “Yeah.”

Someone kneels beside him. “Should we call an ambulance?”

Five blinks, remembers himself. “Yeah. My phone’s soaked.”

“I got it.”

Within minutes, the medics arrive, lifting Lila onto a stretcher. Five lingers at her side, hands clenched into fists, the adrenaline still roaring through him.

A paramedic turns to him. “Who are you to her?”

The question catches him off guard. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“I—I’m her brother-in-law.” The words taste strange, foreign, but the medic doesn’t question it.

“Do you want to ride with her?”

Before he can answer, Lila’s hand shoots out, weak but firm, her fingers curling around his.

“Five,” she murmurs, eyes still closed. “Stay.”

His breath catches.

There’s no decision to make.

He climbs into the ambulance, settling beside her, his hand never leaving hers the whole ride to the hospital.

The whole time Five waits in the sterile hospital room, his mind is consumed with the memory of what just happened. Lila—drowned. The word keeps repeating in his head, echoing like a drumbeat. The doctor told him she had the flu, that exhaustion was the cause of her collapse in the lake. If he hadn’t been there today, she would be gone. The thought sends a chill through his veins, a gnawing terror that he nearly lost her for good. How did this happen? How could he have let it happen?

She had been pushed to her limits, hadn’t she? Six months of silently carrying the weight of everything—taking care of her kids, managing the house, keeping everything intact while Diego followed his ambitions. And he, he had suggested it. He had been the one who told Diego to chase his goals, underestimating the toll it would take on Lila. He’s the one who pushed her, unknowingly, into this suffocating corner.

Five presses his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the haunting image of Lila sinking into the cold, dark water. It flashes in front of him—her body limp, her face pale, her chest unmoving. He’s never been this scared in his life. Not even when the world was collapsing, when the threat of annihilation was always just around the corner. This fear? It’s unbearable. And the thought of losing her? He can’t even let himself imagine it. He had almost lost her today, when her breath had stopped, and for a split second, the world had gone still. It had been as if his own heart had stopped beating.

How could he have failed her like this? He promised himself that he’d protect her, that he’d keep her safe from afar. But all he’s done is push her closer to the edge. He nearly cost her life. The weight of that truth crushes him.

He shouldn’t have tried to meddle, even with the best of intentions. He should’ve never gotten involved in the first place.

He forces himself to move, to act. His hands feel numb as he reaches for the hospital phone and dials Diego’s number.  Diego’s voice cracks on the other end, nearly shrieking as he demands to come immediately. His panic matches Five’s own, but it doesn’t ease the suffocating guilt in his chest. 

Five looks at Lila—lifeless, pale—and his heart feels like it’s being slowly squeezed. The steady beeping of the heart monitor should be reassuring—it means she’s alive. But to Five, it feels like a countdown. A reminder of how close he came to losing her. 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, looking out the hospital window at the cold, indifferent light. It’s as if the very air around him is closing in, suffocating him. He feels like all he’s done is bring harm to her. In the original timeline, he took away her parents, destroyed her childhood, her home. And now, in this timeline, he’s done this—he’s meddled, he’s gotten too close, and he’s pushed her to the brink. What was he thinking? Was he trying to play God? No. He shouldn’t have done anything. He should’ve stayed away, let her live her life without him. She’s better off without him. Her life would have been happier. Easier. Safer.

His thoughts are cut off by the sound of his name.

“Five.”

He turns sharply, instinctively straightening, only to see Diego barreling toward him. His brother’s face is pale, frantic, panic etched into every line of his expression.

“Where is she?” Diego demands, his voice sharp with fear.

Five tilts his head toward the window of Lila’s hospital room. “She’s stable. But she hasn’t woken up yet.”

He barely gets the words out before Diego shoves past him, gripping the door handle and stepping inside. Five takes a step forward, intending to follow—but then he stops.

What is he doing?

He shouldn’t go in.

This is their moment.

He lingers just outside the doorway, staring past the glass at Lila’s still form. Diego is already by her side, grabbing her hand, pressing it against his cheek. His voice drops to something softer than Five has ever heard from him.

“Lila, I’m here. I’m so sorry. Babe, I’m so sorry.”

There’s something raw in Diego’s voice, a sincerity that catches Five off guard. No matter how much of an idiot Diego can be, no matter how many times Five has cursed his obliviousness, there’s no mistaking it—he loves her. He just never knew how to show it the way she needed.

A part of Five wants to scoff, to resent him for realizing it too late. But another part—the part that aches like a wound that won’t close—knows this is what he’s been waiting for. Diego is finally seeing her.

Five should leave. He should turn away. But he doesn’t.

Then Lila stirs.

Five goes still, his breath catching as her fingers twitch in Diego’s grasp. Diego leans in, his voice lighting up with desperate hope.

“Babe? Lila?”

Five’s heart slams against his ribs as she tries to open her eyes, lids fluttering weakly. He watches, unable to move, unable to breathe.

And then—

“Fiv…”

His chest caves in.

But before he can react, Diego squeezes her hand tighter. “I’m here, babe.”

Lila’s eyes finally open fully, blinking up at Diego’s face. “Diego.”

Five sways slightly where he stands, the aftershock of what almost happened—the name that almost left her lips—reverberating through him.

From the corner of the doorway, he watches as Lila glances around the hospital room, taking in her surroundings. Instinctively, he shifts backward, pressing himself against the wall, just enough to stay hidden. 

Why?

Why is he hiding?

Inside, Diego is still talking, his words spilling out in a rush. “Babe, you scared the hell out of me. I was so scared I was gonna lose you.”

Lila exhales shakily, her voice weak but steady. “It’s okay, Diego. It was just an accident. I’m fine now.”

“No, Lila, you almost drowned,” Diego insists, shaking his head. His voice is thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. You were exhausted. And I—I was too caught up in chasing my dream to see it.”

Lila’s lips part, her eyes widening slightly. For the first time, real emotion pools in her gaze, a tear glistening at the corner of her eye. She hadn’t expected this—Five can tell.

It takes a near-death experience for him to finally see that she’s been drowning this whole time.

“It’s been so long, Diego,” she whispers, her voice cracking. Five’s stomach twists violently at the sound. “Sometimes I think you don’t even see me.”

Diego shakes his head, gripping her hand like he’s afraid she’ll slip away. “I see you, Lila. And I’m so sorry I made you feel like I didn’t.” He exhales sharply, his voice shaking. “It’s over. I finished the program. I’m coming home. Things will be different now, I promise. I’ll help out more. I won’t complain. You’ll have time for yourself—to do what you want. We’ll hire someone to help when you need it. Whatever you need, Lila. I swear to you, things will change.”

He looks at her with more sincerity than Five has ever seen from him, his forehead nearly touching hers.

Tears spill down Lila’s cheeks.

She tries to steady her breathing, but her shoulders shake.

“Please trust me,” Diego begs. “I’m not losing you again. I love you, babe. It’s gonna be okay.”

Lila exhales shakily, nodding through her tears. “Okay.”

Five closes his eyes.

And then he turns, quietly slipping away.

With every step down the hospital corridor, his chest hollows out further.

This is how it should be.

This is what he wanted.

As Five approaches the entrance of the hospital, Klaus, Allison, Claire, and Luther are walking in, their expressions immediately shifting to worry as they recognize their younger brother.

“Five?” Klaus calls, quickening his pace. The others fall in step behind him.

Five doesn’t want to deal with them right now, but the encounter is unavoidable.

“How is she?” Klaus asks, his voice tense with concern.

“She’s awake now. Her condition is stable. Diego’s with her,” Five replies, his tone flat, betraying little emotion.

“Oh, thank god,” Allison breathes out, her shoulders relaxing as relief floods her face.

“That’s... scary. How did she fall into the water?” Luther asks, frowning as he looks at Five.

The image of Lila falling into the water resurfaces in Five’s mind, his stomach twisting. He clenches his fist, the memory fresh and raw. His jaw tightens before he answers.

“It was a skateboarding accident,” Five says, his words sharp. “She got knocked out and fell in.”

His siblings wince in unison, an uncomfortable sound rising from them.

“Lucky you were there to save her,” Klaus adds, a flicker of suspicion crosses Allison’s face.

“Yeah, just a coincidence. I happened to be close by,” Five replies quickly, his gaze flickering to Klaus, silently urging him not to reveal the truth—that he’d asked Klaus to look out for Lila over the last six months, that he had called earlier to check on her and Klaus had told him she’d be at the park. Klaus’s bright green eyes widen slightly, an unspoken confusion passing through them. Why does Five feel the need to lie again?

“You leaving now?” Klaus asks, his voice cautious but probing.

Five doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah, there’s nothing left for me to do here. She’s on level thirteen, room 508-S4.”

With that, Five turns, eager to escape the conversation, but Klaus’s hand touches his arm, stopping him mid-step. Before he can say anything, something clicks in his mind, and he looks at Five, his eyes widening with realization.

“You’re all wet, Five,” he says, his voice almost tentative.

Five pauses, suddenly aware of the cold, soaking wet clothes clinging to him. The chill from the icy water still lingers on his skin, but he hadn’t even thought to change.

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters, shrugging it off. “I need to go home and change. See you guys around.”

With that, he pulls away from Klaus, walking quickly, desperate to escape before anyone presses further. Only Klaus watches his retreating figure, confusion deepening in his expression. Why is Five in such a hurry to leave?

Klaus stands there for a moment longer, his mind racing, before he joins the others to see Lila.

The air in the dimly lit briefing room is thick with tension, the kind that settles in the lungs and weighs heavy on the chest. The monitors flicker with intel reports—scattered images of men in suits, offshore bank accounts, and grainy surveillance photos of one man in particular—Dmitry Sergeyevich Kuznetsov. A name that sends ripples through the intelligence community, a name tied to weapons manufacturing, Kremlin loyalty, and power that stretches far beyond Russia’s borders.

Five exhales sharply, crossing his arms as he stares at the latest update. "It gets worse than we expected."

Ribbon leans forward, eyes narrowing. "Because of Kuznetsov? The Dmitry Sergeyevich Kuznetsov?"

"Yes," Derek confirms, his voice tight. "Bassam’s been playing the long game, and we never saw it. His connection to Kuznetsov changes everything."

Five processes that quickly, his mind already working through contingencies. A man like Kuznetsov doesn’t just have resources—he is a resource, a direct link to arms supplies, international contracts, and most dangerous of all, the Kremlin itself. If Bassam has an open line to him, this operation is no longer a regional issue. It has global implications.

Ribbon shakes his head. "We need to be super careful. This is going to drag on a lot longer than expected."

Five doesn’t hesitate. "A field operation is essential. I’ll go."

Silence. Both Ribbon and Derek turn to him, measuring his words, the unwavering certainty in them.

"This is not going to be short, Five," Ribbon cautions. "We have no idea how long it’ll take. Could be months. A year. Maybe more."

"I know. And it’s fine." Five’s tone is steady, almost indifferent. Then, as if to justify the ease of his decision, he adds, "It’s not like I have anyone I should worry about when I’m gone, anyway."

There’s no bitterness in his voice, no self-pity. Just a simple fact, resigned and final. Derek looks like he wants to challenge that, to remind Five that there are people who care—his siblings, even the handful of agents who know him. But the look in Five’s eyes is unreadable, an iron wall no one can break through.

Ribbon exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "If you say so. Then we start preparations now. You may have to leave in a few weeks."

Five gives a curt nod. "That’s plenty of time."

The decision is made. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Five is going to Lebanon.

And this time, he has no reason to come back.

"Mr. Five, the candidate you recommended for the Civilian Informant Program—the one for the Children of the Sun cult—has agreed to take it," Derek says, catching up to him.

Five stops mid-step. He turns, giving Derek his full attention.

"That’s good to hear."

"Yeah, she accepted pretty quickly. Honestly, I’m impressed. Hard to believe she’s a mother of three, but it makes for the perfect cover story."

"Yeah." It doesn’t surprise him. Once Derek gets to know her—once anyone does—they’ll see what he already knows. She’s an extraordinary person. 

"Your brother’s a lucky man, huh?"

The offhand remark is sharp, like a needle prick. Small but impossible to ignore. Five doesn’t react, just moves past it with the ease of someone who’s learned to compartmentalize pain.

Instead, he asks, "You didn’t tell her I recommended her, did you?"

Derek raises an eyebrow, just slightly. "No. But that’s an interesting thing to ask. She was already noticing their activity on her own, anyway—sharp as hell."

"Good."

Derek watches him for a beat longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between them. He doesn’t press, but Five can tell he’s curious—maybe even suspicious. But Five offers nothing else, just a curt nod before moving on.

When Klaus steps inside Five’s apartment, it feels like stepping into a place that’s already been abandoned. His suitcases are packed neatly on the bed, clothes folded with meticulous care—a quiet testament to the finality of what’s about to happen. The furniture is covered in white cloth, protecting it from dust, but it only adds to the sense of emptiness, the stillness that hangs in the air. Klaus feels it immediately.

“Are you going for a long time?” he asks, his voice soft but unsure.

“Yeah,” Five responds, his hands moving in precise, almost mechanical motions as he folds his clothes. His focus is complete, his eyes never leaving the fabric.

“How long?” Klaus presses, his gaze never leaving his brother.

“I don’t know yet. A year. Maybe longer. After that, I might get transferred to Europe permanently.”

Klaus freezes, his heart dropping into his stomach. “Wait, you’re not coming back?”

Five doesn’t answer, but Klaus knows. The silence says everything. A heavy weight hangs in the room, and for a long moment, neither of them speaks. Klaus feels a pang of something unrecognizable, the quiet sinking deeper. Five finally sighs and continues packing, his movements still precise and restrained.

“Why? Five... because of her?” Klaus can’t help it now; he needs to know. This mystery has been burning inside him for months.

The question lands like a blow. Five’s hands stop. He doesn’t look at Klaus, but his voice cracks with exhaustion. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Klaus isn’t having it. His patience snaps. “Oh, don’t bullshit me, Cinco,” he says, his voice rising. “All the things you’ve done for her over the years—helping Diego, asking me to look after her, jumping into the water to save her—who would do that?”

Five’s back goes rigid. His posture stiffens, his whole body frozen. Klaus sees it. He’s hit the mark.

“You’re in love with her,” Klaus says, the words slipping out almost too easily, like it’s a fact he’s always known. It’s not a question—it’s a quiet realization. “How long?”

Five lets out a deep breath, like he’s been holding it for years. He could keep denying it, keep pretending, but the truth is louder than any lie he’s ever told. “Too long,” he admits bitterly, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Hotel Obsidian, maybe.”

Klaus looks up, startled. “That’s six years ago... all this time?”

Five turns, meeting Klaus’s gaze. “Yes. Apparently, being a fool in love runs in our stupid family.” The smile he offers is cold, distant—empty. “You know, I thought I was the exception. Smarter, more self-controlled. But I’m the biggest fool of all. Falling for someone I should’ve never fallen for.”

Klaus opens his mouth, probably ready to make some offhand joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t. He sees Five, really sees him—shattered, vulnerable in a way he’s never seen before. The great, unbreakable Five is broken, cracked wide open.

“Does she know?” Klaus asks quietly, his voice almost afraid to ask.

“No,” Five answers, shaking his head. His voice cracks slightly. “And she never will.” There’s a quiet desperation there, an unspoken plea. He’s begging Klaus not to let this secret slip. Not to her. Not ever.

Before Klaus can respond, the phone rings, and Five’s posture stiffens. He glances at the screen.

“It’s a work call from Derek,” he says quickly, as if he’s been waiting for this distraction. He steps away, walking briskly toward another room, his movements sharp and purposeful, as though he can’t get out of the conversation fast enough.

Klaus is left standing there, his mind reeling. The weight of the secrets suddenly laid bare is almost too much to process. He tries to collect his thoughts, but something catches his eye. A leather-bound journal, half-hidden in the corner of Five’s open suitcase. A piece of white paper slips out from its pages, and Klaus’s curiosity takes over. He glances quickly toward the other room, but Five is completely absorbed in his conversation.

Klaus tiptoes over to the journal, opening it slowly. There are two pieces of paper tucked inside. One is a sketch on a napkin, the other a letter. Klaus, without really thinking, takes out his phone and snaps two pictures—one of the sketch, one of the letter. He doesn’t know why, but something about the sketch feels familiar, like he’s seen it before, though he can’t place it at this moment.

He quickly slides the journal back into place, just as Five walks back into the room.

Klaus quickly masks his curiosity, pretending nothing’s out of the ordinary, as though he never snooped through his brother’s personal things. Five doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on his own task. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys, handing them to Klaus without hesitation.

“Give these to Diego when I’m gone,” he says.

Klaus quirks an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“That’s the key to the house on the corner of his street,” Five replies flatly.

“You bought that house?”

“Yeah.”

“For Diego?”

“His in-laws can move there if they want.”

“What? Five, it’s a freaking house.”

“They need the space, don’t they?” Five replies sharply. “And I don’t need the money,” he adds quickly, as if to justify the whole thing.

Klaus stares at him, incredulous. “You’re really insane, man. All this, and you don’t want her to ever know?”

Five doesn’t meet his gaze, his voice distant. “What’s the point in her knowing about this, Klaus? She has a family, a happy one. She doesn’t need to be burdened by my misguided feelings. It’s pointless and unnecessary.”

Klaus shakes his head, exasperated. “But what can I tell Diego?”

“Make something up. You’re good at that,” Five scoffs. Then, his tone softens, as if asking Klaus for a favor that goes deeper than the request. “Please.”

Klaus sighs, glancing at the keys in his hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He slips the keys into his vest pocket, and there’s a beat of silence.

“When are you going?” Klaus asks, his voice quieter now.

“Saturday afternoon,” Five answers quickly.

“But isn’t that Diego’s party?”

“Yes,” Five responds curtly. “I’m not going to be there.” It’s the day Diego celebrates becoming a police officer again. When Diego asked him to come, Five lied, saying he would, even though his flight was already booked for that day. He doesn’t want to drag out his departure. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to his siblings or risk seeing her again. He’s made his decision. There’s nothing left to say.

Klaus groans loudly. “Why do you have to be such an asshole, even to yourself, Five?”

Five doesn’t answer. He’s already too far gone in his thoughts.

The day he flies out, Five makes one last trip to check up on her. A part of him tells him not to do this—that it's pointless, that he's only making it harder for himself—but he ignores that voice. One last time. That’s all he needs.

He still has tracking software installed on Diego’s phone, an old habit he never bothered to break. It tells him they’re still at home, but a quick phone call under the guise of a casual conversation confirms what he needs to know. They’re heading to the supermarket. He knows exactly which one.

It’s a joke, really, how much he knows about them. Their routines, their habits, their lives. This is what it means to be a supporting character in someone else’s story. And he understands better than anyone—the side character never gets the girl. But she has given him something—the most beautiful memories of his 63 years. And for that, he’ll always be grateful.

He parks his car in a secluded corner of the lot, angled just enough to give him a clear view of the supermarket entrance. It’s the same thing he’s been doing for the past two years—watching from a distance, unseen, just to make sure she’s okay. But today is different. Today is the last time.

When she finally steps outside, the sight of her knocks the breath from his lungs.

Lila walks out, pushing the double stroller with Coco and Stan inside, while Gracie skips beside her, chattering away. She looks radiant. The dark circles beneath her eyes are gone, and the exhaustion that once weighed her down has lifted. She looks… happy.

The sight of her is a punch to the gut. His heart flutters despite himself—despite everything. It’s ridiculous how easily she still affects him. How she always will. Five has come to accept it now; this feeling isn’t something that will ever leave him. Not in ten years. Not in twenty. Not even if they never meet again.

His fingers dig into his pant leg, an unconscious attempt to steady himself. He should feel relief—this is what he wanted, isn’t it? To make sure she’s in a good place before he leaves. And yet, staring at her now, he only feels the familiar ache pressing against his ribs, something raw and unbearable that he’s carried for years.

He forces himself to memorize everything. The way her hair catches the sunlight. The way she rolls her eyes when Gracie tugs at her sleeve, only to give in and ruffle the girl’s hair a second later. The way she absently hums as she moves, completely unaware that someone is watching, drinking in every last detail like a dying man savoring his final breath of air.

Then, suddenly, Lila sweeps her gaze across the parking lot, as if searching for something.

Five’s breath catches.

For one agonizing second, it feels like she sees him. Like she knows he’s here. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, pulse hammering in his ears. But no—she doesn’t spot him. She just lingers for a moment longer, then turns back, oblivious to the way his entire world has just shifted in his seat.

A sharp pang of longing grips him, an urge to do something—step out of the car, call her name, say goodbye properly. But before the thought can take root, Diego appears, pushing a full shopping cart toward her.

They exchange words—something light, easy, familiar. Then, Lila laughs.

It’s not just any laugh. It’s one of those deep, unguarded ones, the kind she rarely lets slip, the kind that used to feel like a victory when he was the cause of it.

Diego grins, looping an arm around her waist, pulling her in close before pressing a kiss to her cheek. She swats at him playfully but doesn’t pull away.

Five’s stomach twists.

For a moment, jealousy rises, sharp and searing. But then, he exhales. This is what he came for. She is happy. She is loved. She doesn’t need him.

A memory stirs, unbidden—six years ago, the night he held her hand and spun her beneath the soft glow of the wedding lights. It was the moment he first realized he had fallen for her. If he had known then just how deeply his heart would become entwined with hers, he would have never hesitated. From the very first moment he saw her, he would’ve stepped forward, pursued her with everything he had, making sure Diego never stood a chance. But it’s just wistful thinking now. She’s never looked at him like that. She never would.

A sad smile tugs at his lips as he leans back against the seat, closing his eyes for just a moment.

This is the end of his story. And it’s time to let go.

After leaving the supermarket, Five drives the 30 miles to a sea pier, his mind still tangled with the image of Lila and Diego. The decision to come here feels almost automatic—his body steering him toward this place of solitude, just as he’s done countless times before.
Five steps out of his car, the wind immediately cutting through his coat as he makes his way toward the end of the vacant pier. The sky is a dull, unyielding gray, thick with rolling clouds that stretch endlessly over the horizon. Even on his last day here, it refuses to give him a shred of sunlight.

He huffs a laugh under his breath, the sound vanishing into the empty expanse ahead. It figures. No parting gift. No bright blue sky like that day by the lake.

The sea is restless, the waves churning in chaotic, overlapping rhythms, crashing and collapsing into each other as if they, too, are trying to drown something. The air smells of salt and rain, heavy and uninviting.

From his chest pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper, already creased and worn from the number of times he’s opened it. The letter. The one he wrote on a night when the silence was too much, when the ache in his chest had nowhere to go but onto the page. He never intended to send it—he never even intended to read it again. But still, on the nights when the pain was unbearable, this stupid, pathetic letter helped. At least here, on paper, he could say everything he never could out loud.

He smooths it open one last time. His eyes skim the words, but he doesn’t need to read them. They are burned into him. Every confession. Every desperate plea. Every dream of a life that was never his to have.

How many times have I stood in front of you, yearning to reach out, to pull you into my arms and keep you there forever?

I want to whisper in your ear that it doesn’t have to be this way—that you deserve love, happiness, and everything good the world has to offer, if only you would let me. I would love you, treasure you, for exactly who you are. To me, you’re perfect—flaws, imperfections, craziness, stubbornness, and all.

I love you. I love you so much that it feels unbearable, and I want to scream it out at the top of my lungs. Anything would be better than enduring this painful, one-sided love.

Even if it meant destroying my family, severing all ties, and losing the title of the good brother, I wouldn’t care. Even if it meant being exposed as selfish and self-serving, none of it would matter—so long as I could be with you. If you told me, just once, that you wanted to abandon everything and run away, I’d take your hand and never look back.

I would go to the ends of the earth for you. I would burn the world for you—or save it, if that’s what you wanted. I would do anything, anything, just to have you look my way.

I know I’m pathetic. Weak. How did I become this way? How did I turn into the exact opposite of what I thought I was? How did I become this fucking pathetic—at 63 years old?

Lila. Lila, Lila, Lila.

I want to say your name a million times. Every day, every morning when we wake up together, and every night when we go to bed together. I want to kiss and taste every inch of your body, your skin, so you know how much I treasure you. I want to bury my face in your hair and trap your scent in my lungs, in my mind. I want to gaze into your eyes for hours, committing every fleck of amber in your irises to memory. I want to etch every feature of yours into my soul.

I would give anything to play music with you one more time. If the world were to end again, that’s exactly how I’d want to spend it—playing the wildest rock song with you by my side. And when the final note fades, I’d smash the guitar and hold you close until everything else disappears.

But that is just all a dream. A beautiful dream that hurts me so badly when I wake up.

Because I want you so badly it hurts.

Why can’t you see me?

I’m right here.

I’ve always been here, waiting for you.

Forever.

The paper trembles in his grip, caught in the wind’s greedy fingers.

His thumb drags over her name, written over and over like a desperate prayer, like an anchor to a life he will never have.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he tears it in half.

The sound is quiet beneath the wind, a whisper of finality. He keeps going, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces, his fingers moving with methodical precision. The scraps catch in the wind before he can even let go, snatched away like they were never his to begin with. He watches them scatter over the water, drifting downward in slow, uneven spirals before the waves swallow them whole.

He waits. As if expecting something to change. As if expecting the weight in his chest to lift.

It doesn’t.

But it’s done.

With one last glance at the horizon, he turns and walks away.

Later that day, he sits in his airplane seat, staring at his phone screen. The tracking software is still there. A single app, a single connection to the life he is leaving behind.

His thumb hovers over the screen.

Then, with one final breath, he presses down.

Uninstall.

Gone.

The airplane lurches forward, the engines roaring as it lifts into the sky. The city below shrinks away, swallowed by the clouds.

And Five finally lets go.