Yuletide

Dean knelt beside Roman, his hands steady as he cradled the back of Roman's head with one hand, mindful of the injury that had caused him distress. With the other hand, he gently dabbed a cool, damp towel across Roman's face, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there.

Dean carefully rinsed it out in a nearby bowl of fresh water. He wrung the towel out gently before turning his attention to Roman's arm, where he softly glided the wet cloth along his skin, ensuring each stroke was delicate yet reassuring.

The quiet atmosphere was filled with a sense of care, as Dean focused intently on providing comfort in this moment of vulnerability.

Although loving the gesture, Roman said, "Dean, my leg got fractured, not my hand."

"I'm asking you to be quiet again. Can't you listen to me?" Dean says, taking a comb from his pocket.

He carefully parted Roman's hair from the middle and laughed looking at his face. "You look so cute."

Roman beams with delight, his eyes sparkling as he watches the man skillfully arrange his hairstyle. The laughter that bubbles up from his chest fills the air, warm and contagious, making the atmosphere light and cheerful.

With each playful twist of the comb and every teasing flick of the scissors, Roman feels a sense of joy, reassured that as long as this infectious laughter continues, he can happily surrender to the man's styling expertise.

"Hey, aren't you enjoying it too much?" Roman asked playfully while keeping his right hand on his lap, which was almost going to hold the man instead.

Dean pressed his lips tightly together, feeling the tingling urge to laugh bubbling just beneath the surface. Despite his efforts to suppress it, a light chuckle escaped him, echoing with a mix of amusement and disbelief. He could feel his cheeks lift involuntarily, betraying his attempt at composure as a playful grin spread across his face.

Roman took the comb from his hand and wriggled his eyebrows.

Dean lowered his gaze, surrendering to Roman's skilled hands as they worked on his hairstyle.

A wave of warmth washed over him when he felt a soft hand cup the back of his head, its gentle pressure guiding him to turn.

He hesitated for just a moment before meeting Roman's gaze, the tender touch gliding over his cheek feeling both reassuring and intimate, beckoning him to reconnect.

Roman's gaze met Dean's, an unspoken connection igniting between them. The world around them faded as their heartbeats synchronized, creating a rhythmic pulse that filled the air.

Roman slowly closed his eyes, feeling the warmth radiating from Dean. He delicately guided Dean's head closer, their foreheads touching softly as if they were two pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together.

They both inhaled sharply, their breaths mingling, lips trembling with the electricity of the moment, as a sense of vulnerability washed over them.

Dean's fingers clenched the fabric of the bedsheet tightly, the crisp linen twisting under his grip as he fought against the tumult of emotions brewing within him.

Every tug and pull of the sheet was like a silent battle, a desperate effort to suppress the feelings that roiled deep in his heart. He could sense the warmth of anxiety pooling in his chest, accompanied by an unshakeable tension that made his lips tremble slightly.

"Even now, will you not tell me what's bothering you?" Roman asked with a tender voice, his breath mingling with the air that moved towards Dean with a force that sent shivers.

"Do you not feel I'm trustworthy?"

Dean quickly shook his head. "You-you are everything I could ever ask for in a friend."

The word 'friend' sends pangs to their hearts. One doesn't know why it hurts; the other is afraid of the reactions.

Roman smiled, "A friend in need is a friend indeed."

Dean nodded. "I should go to school. Mrs. Roma will be here soon. I have a photo-shoot too."

Roman nodded, "Quite a busy schedule. Mr. Popular."

Dean offered a timid smile, the corners of his lips lifting just enough to convey a hint of warmth. His gaze flicked back to Roman, who sat staring out the window, lost in thought.

The sunlight filtered through the glass, casting gentle patterns across Roman's face, illuminating his concentrated expression as he gazed at the world outside, seemingly oblivious to everything else in the room.

Dean frowns, "What's so interesting-"

There on top of the opposite building, there was a billboard that had an advertisement for perfumes named La Scenté.

"The astonishing fact is that this was the same as the banner I saw in the company and..." Roman stopped himself from adding further details.

However, looking at Dean's brown eyes watching with curiosity and patience.

Roman looked at his plastered leg and said, "When the doctor plastered my leg, I felt life was short. You never know when it's going to end. It could be the next moment too. Perhaps we won't wake up after going to sleep."

Dean couldn't utter any words. He recalled the last time he experienced this feeling on the sterile hospital bed, surrounded by the antiseptic smell and the distant beeping of machines, the starkness of the situation settling in.

In those dark hours of uncertainty and despair, he had faced the looming shadow of his own mortality, feeling trapped in a cycle of anxiety and resignation. Now, that same haunting awareness washed over him, leaving him paralyzed and lost in a sea of unspoken thoughts and emotions.

"However, there are miracles in this world for a reason," Dean uttered while placing a hand on his chest. "Life is unpredictable. When you feel everything is ending." He looks back at Roman. "Perhaps, that's the beginning of the next chapter."

Roman nestled into the comforting ambiance of the moment, fully enveloped by the soothing cadence of Dean's thoughts.

With a gentle motion, he extended his hand, fingertips grazing the cool air before finally resting it softly over Dean's warm hands, feeling the warmth radiate between them.

The touch was tender, a quiet connection that spoke volumes in the stillness surrounding them.

Sinking into the cozy warmth of the sunlit room, Roman found himself captivated as he gazed deeply into Dean's eyes.

The rich, warm hues of Dean's brown irises seemed to hold a universe of unspoken thoughts and feelings. Roman's gaze drifted back and forth, lingering on each eye in turn, taking in the subtle variations in shades, the delicate flecks of gold and amber that danced within them.

In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving just the two of them in a world defined by the intensity of a shared connection.

"Thank you," Roman whispered, closing his eyes and bowing. "Thank you for everything." He looks up at Dean's wide eyes.

"I'm saying again. You have become very important to me. You know, Cal is saying I'm changing. I have become better." Roman's eyes fill with warmth. His heart felt heavy, he couldn't agree more, because, he was noticing the difference.

Roman waits for Dean to utter something, anything as long as the man talks. He wants to know what is he thinking. What's going on inside his mind?

Dean can't quite wrap his head around the fact that he's still alive. It feels surreal like he's caught in a whirlwind of emotions and experiences that have led him to this moment.

The reality of his situation weighs heavily on him; he has somehow become significant to Roman, a person who has a way of drawing people into his orbit. The bond they share seems to pulse with an intensity that Dean never expected, leaving him both grateful and bewildered.

Every breath he takes is a reminder of how intertwined their lives have become, and he can't shake the feeling that this newfound importance is both a blessing and a source of anxiety.

At this moment, the bond they share feels strong and unbreakable, but the reality is that it will not last forever. Soon, after the judgment is rendered, Roman will find himself in one place, facing his challenges and struggles, while Dean will be miles away, grappling with the consequences of their choices.

The paths they take will diverge, leaving them in separate lives marked by distance and uncertainty, reminding them of the fleeting nature of their connection.

The eyes that look at him with so many emotions.

So many people in this world. Why? Why does it have to be Roman?

Dean stood up abruptly. "I'm getting late for school."

He tries to steer clear of Roman's penetrating gaze, focusing intently on the floor as he shifts his weight, preparing to walk away. Just as he takes a step, he feels a gentle tug on his hand, a subtle but undeniable pull that stops him in his tracks.

"Did I make you uncomfortable?" Roman asked, trying to peek at his face as he was unable to move.

Dean shut his eyes with a fierce determination, drawing in a sharp breath that felt weighted with sorrow. His throat tightened, a painful lump forming as tears welled up relentlessly, refusing to be blinked away, no matter how hard he tried to fight them back.

An overwhelming wave of despair washed over him, leaving him feeling utterly helpless in the depths of his grief.

"I'm sorry," Roman whispered while losing his grip on Dean's hand.

The fingers linger momentarily before slipping away from the model's delicate grasp, a silent farewell filled with unspoken emotions. The weight of uncertainty hangs heavily in the air as he watches Dean walk away, each step marked by a palpable tension.

There's a longing in his gaze, mixed with confusion and regret, as Dean disappears from view, the silence between them unbroken and charged with meaning.

Roman reclines in his chair, his eyes gently shut as he savors a moment of quiet. He tilts his head slightly to the side, allowing himself to catch a glimpse of Dean on the screen.

The bright colors and dynamic visuals of the advertisement flicker to life, capturing Roman's attention as he studies Dean's animated expression and the confident way he presents the product. The contrast between his relaxed posture and the lively energy of the ad creates a curious blend of tranquility and engagement.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Caler took a deep breath and stepped inside the room, where every wall had racks attached to it. The books related to law are stacked in sequence. In the middle lies a mahogany table where a nameplate: Mrs. Agnes, labeled in golden letters. The lady sitting on her chair while signing official documents.

"Good day, ma'am. I'm here to talk with you about a case that happened on 13th December 2019."

Calder gave the file to the judge who gestured him to sit on the available chair.

The judge read through the past judgment. "This says this was an accident, and the victim's family rejected the compensation, then the judge declared 15 years imprisonment for the driver." She closed the file. "The judgment is correct."

Calder shook his head. "Your honor, the judgment may be correct. However, the incident wasn't an accident."

Calder placed his phone on the table and played the recorder."Please listen to this recording. This voice belongs to Dr. Jenifer of the city hospital."

[So, what do you know, Dr. Jenifer?

Sir, I was the one who suggested a heart transplant to Dean Rayden, as he was my patient and he was losing hope in himself. I was afraid he would do something wrong.

Is that all?

No, actually before going to the surgery theater. I wanted to see Amelia once because transplanting a heart takes a lot of time. When I entered the room where Amelia was kept. I saw her pale face drenched in her blood. Before, I could hold her face. My seniors arrived, and with a panicked mind, I hid behind another stretcher and pulled the curtains. I didn't inform anyone about meeting Amelia. If I had gotten caught by my seniors, especially him, I would have been thrown out of the hospital.

Who are you talking about?

Our Managing Director is cruel. He has a direct connection with politicians, and illegal business is run by him. He would often force new joiners to dance, to entertain him and his friends.

Do you know about his friends?

His friends...I just know one person, Mr. Raynott, the founder of Emricon, and another is the current president of our country.

Alright, when you were hiding, what did you see?

I...I didn't see anything but rather heard their conversation.

What was that?

They were talking about fabricating Amelia's autopsy papers.

As in what exactly?

According to what I have heard, they were talking with someone on the phone, saying that the body had arrived on time. The person doesn't need to worry. They'll take care of everything.

So, the autopsy must have been tampered with. Anything else you found suspicious?

I don't remem-wait, I remember! The doctor found drowsy medicine in her blood. Perhaps the accident was because of drowsiness and driving.

Do you suspect who could have done this?

I don't know.

Was she planning to meet someone?

Yeah, she wanted to meet, I and Freya. I couldn't make it because of an emergency.

Did Amelia meet Freya? Did you talk with Freya about it?]

"Ma'am, I'm here to request a reopening of this case," Calder says while ending the recording.

The judge sighed contemplating within herself and finally nods. "Opening this case will not only put Amelia's culprit behind bars, but many fake faces will come to light, too." She took her pen. "I'm giving my consent to Mr. Calder to reopen the accident case of Mrs. Amelia Carter."

"Thank you very much, madam. Thank you so much."

Mrs. Agnes nods with a smile. "Mr. Calder, please make sure to dig into all the facets of this case."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

"Do you still think Dad will agree?" Eugene asked his love in confusion.

Alfie held his hand and leaned his head on his shoulder. "We can try."

Eugene shook his head while looking ahead at the road. The cab is taking time to reach the company. However, he is least bothered about it. Alfie requested to go to the company and convince his father to accept his deeds.

"I know him well. He would rather shoot himself than face his sins." Eugene added while watching big trees being decorated with lights.

Alfie looks back at him. "If you think negatively before trying. The results are bound to be negative."

Eugene heaves a deep sigh. He looks back at the one who made him soft, unlike his dad. If he hadn't stumbled over Alfie when he visited to meet Nathan.

"I wouldn't have met you."

Alfie blinked, as this wasn't the answer he was expecting. "Huh?"

Eugene's lips tilt upward with adoration in his eyes. "Come here." He slings his left arm over Alfie's shoulder, hugging him. "I'm going there for your satisfaction. I will request just once, and if he disagrees, I don't have anything to do with the Raynott's family."

Alfie looked down and nodded his head.

The sight of Emricon hits Nathan's mind with nostalgia. It feels like yesterday he walked inside the company with authority. Now, he has no right to walk inside without writing his name in the visitor's book.

He notices the sympathetic gaze of the security guard who instinctively greets him as Sir Eugene. The staff gasped, looking at him after a week, perhaps. They smiled widely, gesturing Eugene to use the lift made for higher authorities. Eugene smiled and politely declined.

Alfie observes everything and notices his love's sad eyes. He knows how much he loves Emricon. He has grown up learning and visiting more often than his younger brother.

Unconsciously, Alfie blamed himself. If it hadn't been for him being in love with Eugene, perhaps the man could have continued being the company director.

"None is your fault," Eugene says while gently squeezing his hand with eyes looking at him. "I would always choose you over myself."

"Why do you always read my mind!" Alfie mumbles, looking away. However, he couldn't stop the gentle red tone on his cheek. He bit his lips to stop himself from smiling wide.

Eugene steps out of the general lift and glances at the table where a secretary is sitting while typing on the desktop. Eyes focused while the gentle tapping of the keyboard lingered in the air.

"Good day, I wish to meet Mr. Raynott. I have made an appointment too." Eugene says while standing in front of the secretary, focused on the screen.

"Sir? Why do you need- The secretary keeps quiet, realizing the current status. "I apologize, sir. Mr. Raynott is not available today. He is in an emergency meeting with the team."

Eugene nodded his head with a gentle tap on the desk. "Never mind. Have a good day."

The secretary blinks their eyes with a nod. "You too."

Eugene looked behind to meet Alfie's gaze. However, the man was nowhere to be found. His eyes looked around the silent hallway. He quickly stepped back to the lift area, hoping to see him.

Alfie was standing in front of Nathan's cabin. He looks around and knows that the CCTV is recording everything. He carefully opened the closed door with his spare keys. When he worked as Nathan's secretary, he was given one and didn't return it, as technically, he is still Nathan's secretary.

Alfie quietly shuts the door, ensuring it doesn't make a sound, and slowly makes his way across the room towards the elegant flower vase resting on the table.

The vase is made from ceramic with withering flowers, which is kept for a long time. He stood in front of the wooden table where the vase stands. His fingers brushed through the surface of the table and felt a small, cool metal device.

He reaches down, feeling the smooth, cool surface of the device in his hand, and swiftly tucks it into the depths of his pocket, ensuring it's secure. With a determined stride, he makes his way to Nathan's table, where his gaze fixes the unassuming mini camera nestled on the pen stand. Cautiously, he lifts the camera, ensuring no one is watching, and then slips it into the warm confines of his inner pocket for safekeeping. Just as he's about to take a breath of relief, the shrill ring of his phone jolts him from his thoughts, breaking the tense atmosphere surrounding him.

He looks at the caller ID while stepping towards the door. Eugene is calling. A bright smile shines on his face as he declines the call and takes the keys to lock the door behind him.

There is no harm in trying what Mr. Raynott has used to keep an eye on Nathan.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The towering dark clouds loomed ominously over the horizon, their heavy, brooding forms stretching across the sky like a vast, gray blanket. As the minutes ticked by, the once bright light filtering through the cracks began to fade, casting an increasingly somber shadow over the landscape.

The brilliant rays of the sun, now muted to a delicate glow, struggled to pierce the thickening gloom, as if the heavens were slowly extinguishing the warmth and brightness of the day. Each passing moment intensified the sense of impending change, as a heavy stillness settled around, anticipating the storm that seemed inevitable.

Dean's boots step on the pedestrian walkway. His fingers fisted inside his warm overcoat.

The chilly wind turned his face colder. Eyes focusing on nothing yet he's able to dodge people on his way.

He remembers the conversation with Calder, who excitedly spoke about the case reopening.

Calder had made up his mind to inform Roman about the situation. The weight of his decision lingered in the air, adding an unspoken tension to his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Dean chose to stroll toward the hospital, his pace slow and deliberate, as if he were giving himself time to process the unfolding events and their potential impact.

He can delay instead of denying, right?

The sky did thunder once in a while. Maybe it's raining somewhere else.

The downpour could have helped Dean to shed the tears. Instead of fighting against the tide of sorrow welling up inside him, he could have allowed himself to release the tears that had been held back for so long.

Yet, despite the turmoil within, he resisted, blinking rapidly against the weight of his despair, allowing only heavy breaths to escape his lips as he struggled to maintain his composure.

Who should he ask what to do now? Where should he find his solace now? The current life feels so far now.

His breath feels labored, almost as if it carries the weight of his emotions, softly pleading with him to let go of everything that binds him and takes a courageous step into the unknown chance to start anew. Each inhale seems to echo the call for freedom, while each exhale releases remnants of doubt and regret.

In stark contrast, his mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, relentlessly urging him to confront the shadows he has been avoiding.

Yet, his heart is a complex puzzle, aching with a pain that seems to defy logic. It throbs with an inexplicable sorrow, as if it's mourning losses he cannot fully comprehend, leaving him in a state of bewilderment as he navigates this turbulent sea of feelings.

The tension between his breath, his mind, and his heart creates a symphony of inner conflict, each part yearning for clarity and peace.

Perhaps he knows, just not ready to accept it.

He is watching helplessly as the most important person in his life slips away from him, and no matter how desperately he tries, he cannot find a way to hold onto Roman.

This realization weighs heavily on his heart, filled with the agony of loss and the profound understanding that he lacks the authority to intervene.

After all, what right does he have to impose his will on someone else's journey? It's a painful acknowledgment that sometimes love means letting go, even when every instinct urges him to fight against the inevitable.

His feet stopped walking, and he looked to his left. He realized that he was already standing in front of the hospital. He looks to his right to the top of the building where the advertisement still stays.

Will he stay too?

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Roman sat at the table, his fork hovering uncertainly over the plate in front of him. He reluctantly took a bite of his food, the flavors mingling in his mouth, but his enthusiasm for the meal was lacking. Despite the less-than-pleasant experience, he forced himself to maintain a gentle smile, hoping to mask his discomfort.

"I know you don't like hospital food. But it's needed, dear." Roma whispered, glancing at Calder and back at Roman with a nod.

Calder observes him from the available chair. Roma gestured for Calder to talk with him.

Calder nodded his head and looked back at his friend. "Roman, I want to tell you something very important. You'll be so shocked that you'll eat everything in happiness."

Roman sat at the table, a light hum escaping his lips as he took a refreshing sip of water. The cool liquid slid down his throat, refreshing his senses. He glanced back at Calder, his eyes meeting his friend's in a silent acknowledgment that he was engaged and attentive to the conversation. Meanwhile, Roma deftly moved around the table, swiftly collecting the empty plates and stacking them carefully in her arms.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Roma said, pointing at the door. She smiles at the duo.

As the door closed behind Roma, none of the souls spoke a word. There was silence in the room. Roman's phone's cracked screen showed a notification as the device was silent.

Roman pressed his palms on the bedside and leaned comfortably on the bed.

"Roman, I was planning to reopen Amelia's case," Calder said, watching Roman's face turn sour. "It was accepted today," Calder explained further, hoping the man would look calm again.

"Why did you do it? I have-"

Calder cuts Roman's words. "This time, I have power and sufficient evidence."

Roman shook his head. "You are not understanding. I don't want any danger to lurk around Ayan."

Calder stepped closer. "You don't have any idea of how everything is interconnected here. The person who planned---"

"I don't want to talk about it. Please stop this. Take the case back. No need to reopen it."

Calder parts his lips to disagree. However, Roman swiftly adds, "Do you wish to see me dead too?"

"Roman!"

A booming voice echoed through the room, emanating from the doorway. Intrigued, they both shifted their attention, their eyes drawn to the figure silhouetted in the entrance. There stood Dean, his strong frame braced against the door frame.

"Don't you want Ms. Amelia to get justice?" Dean takes a step inside the room. "How long are you planning to keep the pain inside you? Do you think I can't see it?"

Dean ignored the looks of other patients. "I can't see how you are letting the guilt eat you. That day, when you cried on the balcony during the trip, it wasn't just for missing Ms. Amelia, right?"

Dean stood in front of the wide-eyed Roman. "It was also because of you stepping back. You are still unable to forgive yourself."

Roman leaned forward, his gaze fixed intently on the floor as he nervously twisted the edge of the bedsheet between his fingers. The fabric, slightly crinkled, twisted and turned in his hands, reflecting his restless thoughts.

His brow furrowed in concentration, he seemed lost in a whirlpool of contemplation, the room around him fading into the background.

"It's never too late to fight back," Dean whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed, near Roman's leg.

Roman quickly shifts his gaze back to Dean, whose reassuring smile radiates warmth and confidence. Dean's gentle nod reinforces his support, a silent promise that everything will be alright.

Feeling the weight of Calder's expectant stare, Roman turns to face him fully, aware that the decision he is about to make hangs in the balance.

"If you are confident, Cal." Roman lets out fixing the duvet over himself.

Dean grasped Roman's hand firmly, urging him to lie back against the soft cushions of the bed. With tender care, he draped the duvet over Roman, smoothing it out and tucking in the edges snugly to ensure he was warm and comfortable.

As he worked, he cast a quick, piercing glance at another patient in the room, who was observing the scene with narrowed eyes and a hint of disapproval.

The man swiftly averted his gaze, pretending to reach for a glass of water from the table, his movements calculated and natural. Meanwhile, Calder, keenly observing the scene unfold, couldn't help but smile to himself, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he took in the subtle tension between them.

Dean slumps in the chair available and raises his hand to gently caress Roman's head. "Did you take your medicines?"

Roman closes his eyes with a nod. However, he opens it again to ask, "Did you eat anything?"

I won't be able to eat anything, knowing I will never be with you.

Dean nodded, "Yes, I-"

"Don't lie to me." Roman spoke, "You are aware of how many times I caught you lying. Why do you still try?"

Dean smiled, nodding. "I don't have an appetite now. I'll eat later."

Roman rolled his eyes. "Done? Still lying, huh?" He watched Dean with a tender gaze. "Is the matter not resolved yet?"

Noticing the confused gaze of Dean, Roman further added, "Whatever has been bothering you since yesterday."

As Calder listened intently to their conversation, he began to connect the dots in his mind. Suddenly, a realization washed over him: the reason behind the chill that ran down his spine when he caught Roman's penetrating gaze the day before. It all made sense now, the unspoken tension and hidden meanings behind the look that had left him unsettled.

Dean found himself trapped in a moment of silence, his gaze locked onto Roman. Words swirled in his mind, but they seemed to elude his grasp, leaving him unable to articulate anything that might ease the tension hanging between them. The silence stretched, heavy and palpable, as Dean wrestled with his thoughts, desperately wanting to dissolve the unspoken heaviness of the conversation.

Why are you so good? Without you, it will become difficult for me to live again.

Dean paused for a moment, drawing in a deep, steadying breath as he glanced over at Calder. The faint flicker of uncertainty passed through him, but Calder, with his reassuring nod and a subtle wave of his hand, encouraged him to go ahead.

"I-I have something to tell you," Dean says and closes his eyes tightly as tears brim his eyes. He pressed his lips together and breathed through his nose.

A tear rolled down Dean's cheek, glistening in the light before it fell away. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment.

With a swift motion, Roman brought his hand up and gently cupped Dean's face, his palm warm against Dean's skin. Roman's thumb brushed softly over Dean's cheekbone, a silent gesture of comfort and connection as he searched for the right words to say.

"If you are unable to tell. Please don't tell me if it's hurting you so much." Roman says, wiping his cheek.

Calder steps back and pulls the curtain to give privacy. He gestured for Roma to walk with him. Roma furrowed her eyebrows. "I'll explain to you; please come with me first," Calder whispered.

Dean looks down and fists the bedsheet while letting out a sigh. "I didn't just get heart surgery. It was a heart transplant."

Roman's brow furrows in concentration as he gently halts the movement of his finger, which had been tenderly wiping away the tear that had slipped down Dean's cheek.

The air between them is thick with unspoken emotions, and Dean remains perfectly still, his breath caught in his lungs, creating a sense of tension in his chest.

He instinctively pushes his heart deep inside him, as if trying to bury the tumult of feelings swirling within. The moment hangs heavy, marked by the intimacy of their shared silence.

Dean stares at his fingers turning white. "I-I got a disease called endocarditis; this affected my heart, and the only solution was to replace it."

Noticing the silence, Dean closed his eyes. "This heart is beating in my chest. The one who gave me a new life. This heart belonged to a beautiful soul." Dean felt the warm finger no longer present on his cheek.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the skin around them crinkling under the pressure, betraying the storm of emotion brewing within. Tears began to well up, forming a delicate trail that traced down the contours of his eyelashes, glistening like tiny jewels against the backdrop of his flushed cheeks. Each drop seemed to carry the weight of unspoken words, cascading gently onto the tips of his lashes, as if trying to escape the turmoil held deep inside.

"It belongs to Amelia." He breathes out.

Dean found himself locked in an intense gaze with Roman, his mind racing yet devoid of the words he desperately needed to bridge the growing silence between them. The weight of unspoken thoughts hung heavily in the air, leaving him feeling both vulnerable and frustrated. He searched Roman's expression for a cue, hoping for a sign that would unravel the tension and steer the conversation in a different direction, but no clarity came.

All he could do was observe the steady rhythm of Roman's breath, each inhale and exhale deepening the quiet that enveloped them.

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