With no lingering trace of the love he had once held so relentlessly, so painfully, and so unconditionally for the one he had called his husband, Aaron finally made a quiet yet irreversible decision deep within himself—that he would no longer allow his heart to wander back into that endless cycle of yearning, of waiting, of silently breaking while hoping for something that was never meant to be his.
And so that night, when he laid down upon his bed, the soft silk sheets rushed gently against his skin, wrapping around him with a comforting smoothness that should have brought him peace, should have lulled him into a restful slumber, and for a fleeting moment it did, as his body relaxed instantly into that familiar softness, releasing the weight it had been carrying for far too long.
Yet, what followed was not peace.
Nor was it unrest.
It was something in between—
a strange, hollow calm that did not come from healing, but from letting go of something he once thought he could never live without, and somewhere deep within that quiet mind of his, he knew the truth he had always tried to deny—that no matter how many lives he lived, no matter how much he longed, he would never truly have him.
And still… sleep took him.
Too quickly.
Too suddenly.
Almost unnaturally.
And when he opened his eyes again—
he was there.
The forest.
Once again.
Not as a memory, not as a dream that gently replays itself, but as something far more real, as if he had been pulled, dragged, and placed back into that very moment, into that very place where everything had first begun.
The same place.
The same night.
The same inexplicable encounter.
The air was different.
It was silent—
but not the natural silence of night.
It was a dangerous silence, the kind that presses against your senses, suffocates your awareness, and makes every instinct within you scream that something is wrong, that something is watching, waiting, existing just beyond what your eyes can perceive.
There was no wind.
No rustling leaves.
No distant insects.
No sound of life.
Only stillness.
An unnatural, heavy stillness that carried an inexplicable supernatural weight, as if the entire forest had been frozen in time, stripped of its breath, leaving behind nothing but an eerie emptiness that wrapped around Aaron like invisible chains.
And then—
he looked up.
The moon.
It was red.
Not softly tinted, not dimmed by clouds—
but vividly, unnaturally crimson, casting a haunting glow across the forest, painting every tree, every shadow, every inch of ground in a color that did not belong to the night.
A chill ran through him instantly, not just along his skin, but deep within his bones, spreading outward until his entire body felt drenched in cold, his fingers trembling slightly as goosebumps rose across his arms, and in that moment—
he felt it.
That presence.
Close.
Too close.
As if someone stood just behind him, breathing in sync with him, watching him with unwavering attention, yet no matter how quickly he turned, no matter how sharply his eyes scanned the darkness—
there was no one.
"Is… anyone there…?"
His voice came out softer than he intended, unsteady, barely breaking through the suffocating silence that surrounded him, and as he swallowed, trying to ground himself, trying to convince himself that this was nothing more than a dream—
the forest remained unchanged.
Still.
Silent.
Watching.
His heartbeat began to rise, slowly at first, then faster, louder, echoing within his ears until it felt as though it no longer belonged inside his chest, but instead filled the entire forest around him, becoming the only sound that existed in that dangerously quiet world.
And then—
a voice.
"...Is that you?"
Low.
Deep.
Unfamiliar—
yet disturbingly familiar at the same time.
Aaron froze completely, his breath catching in his throat as his mind scrambled to recognize that voice, to grasp onto something, anything, that could explain why it felt so known, yet so distant.
"Who are you?" he demanded, forcing strength into his voice despite the trembling that had already begun to take over his body, "If you're there, then come out… don't hide."
But once again—
nothing.
Only silence.
Heavier than before.
And then—
like a sudden strike—
the memory returned.
That night.
That moment.
The way his lips had been taken—
not gently, not hesitantly, but with a hunger that had lingered far longer than it should have, a sensation that had refused to fade no matter how much he tried to forget it.
His body trembled again.
Not just in fear.
But in something far more dangerous.
And suddenly—
everything shattered.
"MASTER!"
Aaron's eyes flew open as his body jerked upright, his breath uneven, chest rising rapidly as reality rushed back to him, replacing the forest with the familiar warmth of his room, the morning light spilling through the windows, and Vivan standing beside him, visibly worried.
Yet even then—
even in reality—
his fingers slowly lifted toward his lips.
They still felt warm.
As if that moment—
had truly happened.
🌙
The day passed.
Normal.
Too normal.
Until—
without warning—
darkness returned.
Not around him.
But over his eyes.
A blindfold.
His breath hitched instantly as his vision disappeared, his body freezing in place as that same overwhelming presence returned, closer than before, stronger than before, and before he could even gather his thoughts—
a voice whispered—
"...Can I… taste it again?"
And then—
without hesitation—
his lips were taken.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
But with an immediate, undeniable hunger, as the other person's lips pressed firmly against his, first capturing his lower lip, holding it, dragging lightly as if savoring the texture, before shifting upward, brushing against his upper lip, lingering there just long enough to make his breath falter—
and then again—
lower.
Upper.
Lower.
A continuous motion.
Not rushed.
Not careless.
But deliberate.
As if memorizing him.
As if tasting him over and over again, unable to stop, unable to pull away, each movement flowing into the next in an unbroken rhythm that left Aaron's entire body frozen in place, his fingers tightening, his breath growing uneven as he tried—tried—to push him away.
But he couldn't.
The grip holding him was far too strong.
Firm.
Unyielding.
And even as his mind resisted, his body betrayed him, reacting to that dangerous closeness, that overwhelming presence that carried both warmth and something far darker beneath it.
"…Sorry…"
the voice came again, strained, as if fighting itself, "…I can't… stop…"
And once again—
those lips returned—
moving between his upper and lower lips, continuously, repeatedly, slowly deepening that same consuming rhythm—
as if he had been starving—
as if Aaron was the only thing that could satisfy that hunger.
And in that moment—
Aaron realized—
This was no longer just a dream.
This was something else entirely.
And it wasn't over.