Lucien let out a soft sigh, the earlier incident with Roselyn now entirely pushed from his mind. Whether it was his own will suppressing the memory or his fractured psyche choosing to forget, he didn't know. Either way, for the first time in a long while, Lucien felt peace.
Vivienne turned to face him, caught off guard by the sound. Her silver eyes narrowed with quiet concern.
"Is something the matter…?" she asked, voice gentle.
But before she could continue, Lucien crossed the space between them in two purposeful strides.
Without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace—one arm pressing against the small of her back, the other curling around the back of her head with a trembling certainty.
Vivienne stiffened, breath catching. But only for a second.
Lucien teared up, his throat tightening. He didn't know why. In his past life, sure—they'd been close. Trusted comrades. War-forged allies. But had their bond ever been this intimate? This aching?
It hadn't been.
At least, not to Lucien.
But Vivienne—Vivienne had been the only woman who never outright betrayed him. The only one whose loyalty hadn't cracked, whose memory hadn't soured. The one connection severed not by her deceit, but by his hand.
The emotion swelling in his chest felt raw, untamed—a storm inside a fractured mind latching onto the only calm it had ever known.
"Thank you, Vivy…" Lucien whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. It was a name he hadn't spoken in years. Not since the battlefield. Not since she'd died.
Vivienne let out a soft, surprised chuckle and slowly returned the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, fitting there like it had a hundred times before beneath war-torn skies.
"What's got you so emotional?" she murmured, her tone light but touched with something deeper. "It's not like we haven't seen each other for that long—"
Lucien chuckled, the sound shaky but warm, and gently ended the hug. His hands lingered for a moment, one cupping her cheek, the other resting on her shoulder. His touch was reverent—like he was afraid she might vanish again.
"It's been too long," he said softly.
Vivienne gasped, the words catching her off guard more than his touch had. Her hand rose instinctively to her cheek as he stepped back, beginning to dress once more—pulling up a pair of black pants finely lined with crimson thread.
Her fingers lingered where his hand had been.
"What was that for…?" she asked under her breath, voice barely louder than a heartbeat.
"I never expected you to be someone… interested in me." She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, clearly flustered but trying to mask it. "Not that I'm complaining."
Lucien paused mid-motion. The shirt was half-done, and for a moment he didn't move. Then slowly, he smiled—a small, lopsided thing—and finished buttoning the dark fabric before slipping into the tailored coat Vivienne had chosen.
"Well…" he said, turning his head just enough to meet her gaze. "You don't really know how good you have it until you lose it."
Vivienne laughed, her voice unguarded and musical, the kind of laugh that filled empty halls and quiet hearts. She playfully slapped his shoulder, shaking her head.
"Don't be vague with me!"
Lucien froze again.
That laugh.
This is familiar…
Rosi—
The thought never finished. A sharp throb lanced through his skull, as though his mind rejected the name outright.
No…
He inhaled slowly, grounding himself in the here and now.
I won't let the past burden me.
The words felt strange, as if borrowed from a version of himself who still believed in healing. Still, when his eyes found Vivienne's once more—bright, steady, alive—he clung to the fragile thread of hope inside him.
Maybe…
Just maybe…