The first light of dawn spilt gently over Ha Long Bay, painting the cliffs in muted shades of amber and rose. The turquoise water shimmered like glass while a soft mist threaded through the peaks, blurring the line between earth and sky. The air carried a sharp tang of salt, mingled with stillness, the kind that lingers after a storm when the sea has yet to remember how to breathe. It was heartbreakingly beautiful, a landscape both serene and untouchable – like the feeling of standing on the edge of something just out of reach.

High above the ground, with the cliff face pressing cold against his palms, Jay's movements were mechanical, climbing on instinct alone. The wind tugged at him, sharp and biting as if testing his resolve. He didn't falter, but there was no satisfaction or sense of accomplishment in the height he had gained as he traversed his multi-pitch setup.

The jagged rock bit into his fingertips, but the pain was distant, a faint echo against the chaos in his mind. His belay device hung at his harness, feeding out rope in measured increments as he moved upward, a solitary system that demanded precision he barely registered. He pushed harder, faster, his muscles screaming for respite, but he didn't care. His regret meant nothing; it couldn't undo the words he had said or the silence that followed. It couldn't mend the look in Sean's eyes or fill the hollow ache he carried now.

Above him, the cliff stretched endlessly, as unreachable as the peace he once found in the climb. Below, the ground seemed impossibly far, yet for a moment, he let his grip loosen, daring the weight of his body to pull him down. But even that wouldn't quiet the storm inside. So, he climbed higher, chasing a freedom that no longer existed.

The numbness had been his shield for years, a constant barrier between himself and the world, dulling everything he didn't want to feel. It had kept him safe, detached, in control. But now it was gone, stripped away the moment he walked out of Sean's life. And in its place was a raw, boundless pain.

Jay wasn't disillusioned. He knew that he had no right to love Sean. No right to need or miss him, not when he knew exactly what he was losing and still chose to let go. But he did love him – achingly so. Jay missed him with every passing second and needed him more than he cared to admit. Without Sean, everything seemed meaningless, as if the very foundation of his world had crumbled. Yet, he had no one to blame but himself.

But for all the agony tearing him apart, Jay couldn't ignore the one thing it brought with it: clarity. The ache wasn't dulled or numbed nor faded when he climbed higher. It was sharp, real, and relentless, reminding him what he had pushed away.

He paused for a moment, fingers gripping the jagged rock. The cliff felt unforgiving beneath his hands as if mocking his attempts to escape himself. But it didn't matter. There was no escaping this. Not anymore.

Suddenly, as if drawn by an invisible force, his gaze dropped to the base of the cliff. At this height – around 800 feet, high enough to dwarf most buildings – the figure standing by the first anchor point was little more than a blur. Maybe it was just wistful thinking, a trick of his desperate mind, but there was no mistaking him.

His heart skipped a beat in rhythm with Victor's words, trying to convince him that he still had something left. The only person Jay never expected to see again, yet the one who gave meaning to everything. Over the past week, he realised that leaving was easy, but letting go was impossible. And if Sean was here, maybe – just maybe – he hadn't given up on him yet.

Instinctively, Jay shifted his weight, gripping the rope with practised ease. The cliff face blurred as he pushed off with his feet, descending in sharp, fluid motions between his anchor points. The rope hissed against his fingerless gloves, the wind tugging at his shirt and hair as the distance between him and the figure below grew smaller.

His feet lightly touched the ground, and with a quick motion, the rope was unclipped and then the harness slipped from his hips. He hesitated for a moment as if unsure how to face Sean, as a result, the silence stretched longer than it should have before he finally turned around.

For once, his expression betrayed him. The usual composure was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Uncertainty lingered in his eyes, regret softening his features. His gaze faltered as if he was unsure what to say or where to begin before settling on Sean with a quiet, unspoken apology.

But Sean only smiled gently, looking at him like he always did, as if his whole world stood right in front of him. Before Jay could react, he was enveloped in Sean's arms, drawn into the familiar warmth that seemed reserved for him alone.

"I'm here."

"Why are you here?" Jay asked quietly, his face still buried in the crook of Sean's neck. His fingers tightened instinctively around the fabric on the back of Sean's hoodie as if afraid to let go again.

Sean never saw him so fragile, not even in moments when he caught a glimpse of the person behind all these walls. His gaze softened even further, and he pressed a tender kiss against messy dark brown hair.

"Someone I love more than anything got lost for a while, so I came to get him back."

Sean's voice brushed past his ear, and suddenly, everything fell into place. Letting go didn't seem as daunting anymore, not when Sean would always be there to catch him. Just like he did now, letting him sink into his arms as he always did. And for the first time, Jay thought that maybe it wasn't that he was unlovable, but the concept of being loved was so alien that he never fully understood what it meant, even when he technically knew that Sean loved him.

The words formed before he could second-guess them, slipping past his lips in a quiet breath. Uncertain but deliberate all the same.

"I love you, too."

Sean almost didn't catch it, and it was so soft, barely there, as if Jay was testing the shape of the words. He had never doubted his feelings, not really. He saw it in the way Jay looked at him when he thought no one was watching, in all these things he did for him. But this – choosing to say it, now of all times – meant everything.

"Does it mean I still have a boyfriend?" Sean asked, trying to keep his tone light, but hesitation still crept in.

Jay lifted his head to meet Sean's worried gaze. It hurt to see him like this, almost as much as knowing that he did this. Instinctively, his hand slid from Sean's back, fingers seeking his without a second thought. He tightened their grip together in silent reassurance, even as a nearly imperceptible wince flickered across his face when the pressure irritated the cuts and abrasions on his skin.

Sean caught it immediately, his brows drawing together before he lifted their joined hands, his thumb brushing carefully over the raw patches. "Your fingers are a mess again."

"It's not only my fingers..." he responded, his voice unusually wavering and quieter. "But... will you still stay?"

Sean couldn't possibly know how much it took for Jay to say it... how much he was putting on the line with that one question. Or how much it meant when Sean smiled and, without hesitation, said, "Always."

The comfortable silence lingered for a bit longer before they moved at the same time. And in one shared breath, their lips met in a slow, unhurried kiss. There was no urgency, just their feelings slipping into the kiss without hesitation. It was seamless as if nothing had ever broken between them, even if something had changed.

The relief of finally being together seemed to snap the remnants of their energy, leaving them both drained. Sean was exhausted after the long flight and drive, and Jay was running on the last threads of a week-long insomnia spiral. After a quick shower, they changed into comfortable joggers, and Sean gently patched up Jay's fingers. Then, they collapsed onto the bed together, almost instantly drifting off to sleep.

Golden afternoon light spilt through the wide windows, casting soft, shifting patterns across the crisp white sheets. The distant murmur of waves drifted in from the beach, blending with the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze swept in from the bay. The air was cool but pleasant, carrying the faint scent of salt and greenery. The room felt expansive yet quietly intimate, the sun's warmth lingering in the wood and stone. Everything about it was unhurried, steeped in a slow, easy tranquillity that settled into the space like it had always belonged.

Jay slowly stirred to the soothing rhythm of Sean's fingers running through his hair, a sensation he missed a lot. But it wasn't just that. It was Sean's scent – comforting spice and smoke with fresh undertones – and the unmistakable feeling of being home.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?"

Still half asleep, Jay shook his head and shifted closer to hide from unwanted light. Sean always found him extremely adorable like this, but he could also imagine how little Jay must have slept to still be asleep over six hours later without blackout curtains.

Sean watched him with a small, relieved smile. A comforting presence that felt right again, Jay's soft breath against his skin, the weight of Jay's head resting on his shoulder real and tangible again. Sean had feared that his stubbornness in probing into Jay's past might cost him this – cost them both – but now, with Jay here, he couldn't help but feel that they would bounce back from it closer than ever.

The sun dipped even lower when Jay finally sat on the bed, stretching his arm over his head. It reminded Sean of the first time Jay used him as a pillow, and he couldn't help but smile again.

"I really can't sleep without you," Jay murmured, realising he didn't mind depending on Sean.

"I like being your pillow."

Jay looked back at him with a completely unguarded look. "Perfect. What do you want for dinner?"

Sean thought for a moment, trying not to show how much he missed Jay's cooking. "Given your preferences, my choice is Vietnamese or Vietnamese, right?"

"Pretty much yes," he responded, getting out of bed and pulling a loose tank top over his head. "We can go shopping tomorrow and get things you like."

"What were you planning to have for dinner?"

"Mantis shrimp noodle soup, but I don't mind making something else."

Sean shook his head, following him to the kitchen. "I'm in for a soup, and yes, I will sit over there and don't mess with anything," he added, gesturing at a cosy rattan chair.

Despite Sean's interruptions, it didn't take long for them to settle on the patio with two steaming bowls. The golden broth shimmered in the evening light, carrying the briny sweetness of fresh seafood and the warmth of aromatic herbs. Split mantis shrimp rested atop silky rice noodles, their tender flesh infused with the rich, savoury depth of fried garlic and the subtle tang of softened tomato.

After dinner, they settled at the edge of the patio with their legs hanging down, watching the enchanting sunset. The atmosphere was relaxed yet carrying something unspoken beneath it. The comfort of familiarity was there, but so was the weight of everything left unsaid.

"Are you really not going to ask?" Jay finally broke the silence.

"You don't need to explain anything if you don't want to, but please don't push me away," Sean said hesitantly, intertwining their fingers as if afraid he would disappear again. "I will do my best to read the room better and give you the space you need."

Jay sighed, realising how much Sean was willing to sacrifice, afraid he would leave again. It drove home just how much damage his decision had caused. This wasn't something that would simply fade with time; it was one of those things that, if left unaddressed, would come back to haunt them later.

"I usually go through the December pretending it's not there," he said, his gaze on the horizon as if seeing something that wasn't there. "I guess it was easy to hide it last year since you weren't here, and she wasn't bothering me trying to make up for things that don't matter anymore."

Sean's grip on his hand tightened slightly. "By she... you mean your mother?"

Jay nodded. "Do you remember when you asked why I was a boarding student, despite her living in the same city, ironically about twenty minutes from my school?"

Sean had no idea Margeret lived so close to Westminster School, which made her decision for Jay to stay in dorms even more bizarre to him. He assumed that given the size of the city, she may have lived quite far away, and the daily commute was too time-consuming, but this genuinely shocked him, and he only nodded speechlessly.

"I was literally living in the dorms, except when I was away for camps," Jay said slowly, caught between the willingness to let Sean in and the reluctance to revisit the little boy who had once wondered what was so wrong with him that no one wanted him. "Sometimes, like during Christmas, it was just me and the supervisor. To be honest, I was in her house twice, first when we moved to London, a few weeks before the summer term started, and the second before law school, to remind me about my responsibilities, legacy, and whatever else she thought mattered."

Sean had suspected that Jay's childhood was far from his. But hearing it like this – so plainly, without bitterness or embellishment – still made something tighten in his chest. It wasn't just the loneliness of it, but how normal Jay made it sound as if being left behind was simply the way things were. Sean exhaled slowly, forcing down the sharp edge of anger curling at the back of his throat. Now wasn't the time for it. Instead, he pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head.

"Did she at least come to visit you?"

"Yeah, we had annual meetings about my progress at school," Jay responded casually as if commenting on yesterday's weather. "She was too busy with work to waste time on anything else... I got that clear in year five when I naively asked if I could spend Christmas at home like everyone else. You know, instead of being stuck alone in my room until ski camp or whatever started."

It wasn't hard to see that this was why Jay had changed irreversibly, but what broke Sean's heart was realising how young Jay was when he decided he didn't need anyone to love him. That alone was better. But it also made sense why he was so close to Victor. After all, he was there for him when no one else would.

"So, to answer your question," Jay said, turning to face him. "No, we are not close because we never had a chance, and now it's unnecessary. You could say we have a professional relationship until I have enough experience to move to prosecution. Or rather a transactional one... I'm here to take care of her legacy, she is a stepping stone to where I want to be."

"I understand now why you didn't want to talk about it," Sean sighed, pulling him even closer. "You don't care about it anymore, but you didn't want to complicate things for me... and you know my temper pretty well to foresee consequences, am I right?"

"What are you going to do?"

Sean stayed silent for a while, gazing at their joined hands, keeping his anger underneath the surface. "What do you want me to do?"

"You should choose what works the best for your career, and this is, without a doubt, the best place to learn and, later on, full of challenging cases you will love. Don't let your personal feelings cloud your judgment," Jay stated in the same calm tone. "Past is long gone and doesn't matter. There is no need to sacrifice anything for it."

"So, in a nutshell, you are telling me to let go?"

"Yes," Jay responded without hesitation. "Instead of focusing on something neither of us can change, isn't it better to look forward and, if you are up for it, to sort out this mess," he added, gesturing at himself.

For a moment, Sean just looked at him, processing the weight of those words. Jay wasn't brushing things aside or shutting him out as he often did – he was asking for his help. It was something Sean hadn't expected, not like this, without hesitation or defences. It meant more than he could put into words.

"I'm here, whatever you need," Sean muttered against his lips before kissing him softly. "But you know... I think we are doing a decent job at it already."

His eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion.

"There are many little things, but what stands out the most is that you are no longer withdrawing at the slightest affection as if not knowing what to do with it. Instead, you lean into it... I assume this wasn't something that happened much in the past."

Jay shook his head. Sean was the first to caress his hair or hold his hand just to be close. Before, touch had always been absent or practical, but with Sean, it was different. It was the source of comfort Jay didn't even know he needed until it became an inseparable part of his life.

"How... did you deal with all of it?"

"At first, I tried to figure out why. Then, it didn't matter. But there was still this massive void I couldn't escape. Whisky and casual sex covered it up... more or less successfully."

It was heartbreaking, but Sean fully understood Jay's approach to their relationship at the beginning. Casual sex was normal to him; it carried no weight. But anything deeper – anything real – was too risky.

"Is it still there?" Sean asked carefully.

Jay looked at him surprised as if realising something he hadn't before. "No. It's not."