Crossed paths.

They talk for another hour, the air between them still thick with the weight of their confessions. Though the hardest words have been spoken, neither of them seems ready to let go of this moment just yet.

Diavolo's gaze never wavers from Doppio as he speaks, watching him with quiet admiration. He studies every expression—the way his eyes shine when he gets excited, the subtle curve of his lips when he smiles, the soft creases that form when he laughs. Every detail, every sound, every fleeting moment—he memorises them all, as if afraid they might slip through his fingers.

Then, Doppio lets out a small yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Diavolo blinks, momentarily pulled from his thoughts, and glances at the clock hanging on the wall. His eyes widen.

"Doppio? Do you have work tomorrow...?"

Doppio follows his gaze, and as soon as he sees the time, his entire body tenses. "Shit... I have to be up in three hours."

Diavolo frowns, guilt creeping in. "You should have told me—I didn't mean to keep you up this late."

Doppio waves a dismissive hand, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. "It's fine. I didn't even notice the time... I didn't want to stop talking."

Diavolo's heart clenches at that, a warmth settling in his chest. But still, he knows Doppio needs sleep.

"Come on," he murmurs, standing and offering his hand. "At least try to rest a little."

Doppio hesitates, then nods, letting Diavolo pull him up. His body sways slightly from exhaustion, and for a brief moment, Diavolo steadies him with a firm grip on his shoulders. Their eyes meet, something unspoken passing between them in the stillness of the night.

"...Goodnight, my Doppio..." Diavolo finally says, his voice softer than before.

Doppio lingers for a second, then offers a drowsy smile. "Goodnight, Diavolo..."

He watches as Doppio heads to his room, lingering for a moment as the door clicks shut behind him. A quiet sigh escapes his lips as he turns away, running a hand through his hair. The warmth of their conversation still lingers in his chest, but now, in the silence of the apartment, a familiar restlessness creeps in.

Slowly, he makes his way to the guest room opposite the bathroom, pushing the door open with a quiet creak. The room is simple but comfortable, a neatly made bed waiting for him. He steps inside, closing the door behind him before leaning against it for a moment, exhaling.

His mind is still racing, replaying every word, every glance, every touch from the night. Despite the exhaustion tugging at his body, he knows sleep will not come easily—not with the weight of everything that has happened.

After a few moments, he moves toward the bed, sitting on the edge as he stares at the floor. His fingers idly trace the fabric of the blanket, his thoughts drifting to Doppio in the next room. Is he sleeping already? Or is he lying awake, thinking about everything, just as I am?

He never imagined they would end up here—together again, speaking openly, sharing quiet moments like this. It feels almost unreal.
He lies back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Even if sleep refuses to come, he finds comfort in one thing—Doppio is just beyond that wall, within reach.

Diavolo shifts onto his side, staring at the dimly lit walls as the quiet hum of the apartment settles around him. He listens closely, straining his ears for any sound from the other room—footsteps, the creak of a mattress, anything to tell him that Doppio is still there, still real. But the silence lingers, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

—

Doppio lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his heart feeling lighter than it has in years. A soft, almost disbelieving smile lingers on his lips as he reflects on how drastically his life has changed in the past 24 hours.

Just last night, he had been curled up beneath these same sheets, an unbearable ache weighing down his chest. He had dreaded the morning, knowing it would bring another day of empty routine, another day of pretending he was fine. But now... now, he feels giddy, almost restless with anticipation. For the first time in what feels like forever, he is actually excited to wake up—to see Diavolo again.

Yet, beneath the excitement, an unease lingers. The fear of the unknown, of what comes next, settles like a weight in his chest. So much has changed so quickly. Can they move forward without being pulled under by the past? Can they truly rebuild what was lost? Or is this just the temporary high before an inevitable fall?

He squeezes his eyes shut. No. Stop it.

He refuses to let doubt ruin this for him.

His fingers tighten around the blanket as he exhales, trying to push away the doubt.

The truth is, he still holds anger toward Diavolo. The scars of their separation haven't faded entirely. But knowing that Diavolo had suffered just as he had, that he had never truly forgotten him—that changes everything. It makes the pain easier to process, easier to accept.

Deep down, Doppio knows he never stopped hoping, never stopped praying that somehow, some way, their paths would cross again.

And now that they have... he refuses to let go.

With that final thought, his body finally begins to relax, exhaustion creeping in. A small, content sigh escapes him as sleep slowly takes hold.

For the first time in years, he falls asleep looking forward to the morning.