22 He's alive

The golden rays of the afternoon sun quietly disappeared behind the horizon, melting into the cool tones of dusk. Inside my room, the warmth lingered—not just from the sunlight, but from the two of us. Joeress and I lay on my bed, tangled in silence, my head resting on his arm, our breaths slowing in sync. Our skin still clung with sweat, our bodies sore and satisfied.

I expected this side of Joeress—confident, teasing, bold—but not this much tenderness. Not this much care.

"I used to think I couldn't let myself feel this way," he said suddenly, breaking the stillness. "Because you reminded me of my brother."

I stiffened slightly, unsure of how to respond.

"But you're not him," he continued, voice quieter now. "I see that. You're you—and I care about you in a way that's different."

His honesty hung in the air, raw and unexpected. I turned my head toward him, meeting his eyes. They held no confusion. Just clarity. Truth.

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't. Instead, I held the moment with him—let the quiet say everything for me.

Time passed without us noticing. The orange hues outside faded into the calm blue of evening. The room darkened gradually, shadows climbing the walls, wrapping us in something soft and wordless. Only the sound of our breathing remained—a quiet melody against the silence.

But through all that calm, the dream still haunted the corners of my thoughts. That strange vision of Lae. The river. His face. Was it just a dream—or something left behind? A memory not my own?

"You know…" Joeress spoke again, his voice low, almost reluctant, "we should probably look for your mom and Miss Gaizell."

"Yeah," I said, slowly sitting up. "They still haven't returned."

I stood, stretching with a yawn. My limbs ached in that good way—the kind of ache that reminded you you were alive.

"Where are you going?" Joeress asked, sitting up behind me, his hair a tousled mess.

"To the bathroom."

"I'll come with."

He followed me without waiting for an answer, his presence like gravity. We didn't make it far. The moment we were inside, his hand slipped playfully to my waist, then lower.

"You know we just finished, right?" I teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Come on," he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine. "Give me another chance."

I grinned, but before I could answer, a sharp knock echoed from downstairs. We froze.

I looked up at Joeress. He looked disappointed, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Looks like you're out of chances," I whispered with a laugh.

He groaned dramatically. "Who could that be?"

"Let's go find out. We can pick this up later," I said, tapping my finger against his cheek.

We quickly got dressed and made our way to the front door. I opened it, half-hoping, half-dreading—and there they were.

Mom and Aunt Gaizell.

"Where have you been?" I asked, trying not to sound as worried as I felt.

"Oh… we were checking on something," Mom replied, stepping inside.

"The whole afternoon?" I asked, raising a brow.

"It was important," she said, brushing past me.

"Okay… if you say so. We haven't cooked dinner yet, though."

"It's fine. I'll cook," Mom said, already heading toward the kitchen.

I nodded slowly. "We'll be in my room."

Joeress and I climbed the stairs again, footsteps soft on the wood. Once we were inside, I quietly closed the door behind us.

As my hand dropped from the doorknob, Joeress was already behind me. I felt his fingers slip beneath my shirt, warm and familiar. I turned my head, and there it was—that look. Mischievous. Tender. Hungry.

"I guess I'll get my chance after all," he murmured, kissing the back of my neck.

The shiver that ran through me was instant. His lips against my skin were like sparks, and I could feel the anticipation rising again.

But then—a knock.

We both jumped slightly.

"Cirus, may I come in?"

It was Aunt Gaizell.

We scrambled, fixing ourselves as quickly and quietly as possible.

"Come in," I said, trying to sound casual, though my voice betrayed me.

She stepped in, a paper in hand, her expression unreadable.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said, settling beside my desk.

"No, you're not," I said, too quickly.

She held out the paper. "It's about Neal."

My breath caught. Something in my chest twisted tight.

"What about him?" I asked.

"He could be alive."

I blinked, heart thudding. "How… how do you know?"

"Your mother and I received a letter," she said, extending the page toward me.

My hand hovered in the air, hesitant.

"How do you know it's really from him?"

"The letter was sealed with a family crest," she said. "One we recognized."

After a long pause, I finally reached for the paper. But the weight of it… I couldn't bring myself to open it. Not yet.

"Dinner's ready," Mom's voice called from downstairs.

I stared at the letter. Joeress placed a hand gently on my shoulder, grounding me.

Without another word, I slid the letter into my drawer.

"You're not going to read it?" Aunt Gaizell asked.

"Maybe after dinner," I said quietly.

The three of us headed downstairs, the scent of something warm drifting from the kitchen. But in my chest, something pulsed—sharp, hopeful, and unsure.

Neal might be alive.