The seasons had rolled past in their predictable, rhythmic way, yet Wynter's life felt anything but steady. Standing behind the bar of his club, he poured another round of cocktails with practiced ease, his silver eyes flickering to the crowd beyond. Halloween had returned, and with it came the revelers—costumes more elaborate, laughter more intoxicating. And still, the absence lingered.

Rogue.

The demon's name echoed in Wynter's mind as it had for months, unbidden but relentless. He shook his head, willing the memories to scatter. It had been a year since that night, and Rogue had vanished without so much as a word. Wynter had tried to convince himself it didn't matter. Shadow demons were fleeting creatures, after all—masters of chaos, deception, and disappearance. But despite his best efforts, Wynter had thought about him far too often.

The club was thriving. Wynter had poured his energy into making it the hottest spot in the city, and the effort showed. Tonight, the music was pounding, the lights dazzling, and the crowd electric. But for Wynter, the thrill was hollow. His sharp eyes scanned the room not for threats, as they usually did, but for a presence—a pair of ruby-red eyes, a smirk that could both ignite and infuriate.

Of course, Rogue wasn't there. He never was.

"Hey, Wynter," Lin, his bartender, called out over the thrum of the music. "You okay? You've been staring off into space."

Wynter forced a smile, shaking himself from his thoughts. "I'm fine. Just another Halloween."

Lin raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, he turned back to the rowdy patrons clamoring for drinks, leaving Wynter alone with his discontent.

Midnight struck, and Wynter stepped out from behind the bar, letting his staff handle the rush. He moved through the crowd, his tailored shirt catching the flashing lights, his presence cutting through the revelry. As the owner, he commanded a certain respect—or at least a wide berth.

He made his way to a quieter corner, leaning against the railing that overlooked the dance floor. From here, he could watch the chaos below without being part of it. Couples swayed together, friends shouted over the music, and solo dancers lost themselves in the beat. Wynter usually found some satisfaction in the vibrant energy of his club. Tonight, it left him restless.

Then he felt it.

A ripple in the atmosphere. A dark, familiar presence brushing against the edges of his senses. Wynter straightened, his silver eyes narrowing as he scanned the crowd. At first, he saw nothing out of the ordinary—just costumed partygoers and swirling lights. But then, near the entrance, he saw him.

Rogue.

The demon leaned casually against the wall, his dark hair framing a face that hadn't changed at all. He wasn't hiding behind a costume this time—just a leather jacket, fitted jeans, and that infuriatingly smug grin. His ruby-red eyes caught Wynter's, and the grin widened, as if daring him to react.

Wynter's heart clenched, anger and relief warring within him. Before he could decide what to do, Rogue began moving through the crowd, his gait fluid and confident.

Wynter waited, his jaw tightening as the demon approached. When Rogue finally stopped in front of him, the tension between them was palpable.

"Wynter," Rogue said, his voice smooth and casual, as if no time had passed.

"Rogue," Wynter replied coldly. "You have some nerve showing up here."

Rogue chuckled, the sound low and rich. "I missed you too."

Wynter's fists clenched at his sides. "A year. You disappeared for an entire year. No word, no sign, nothing. And now you just waltz back in here like nothing happened?"

The smirk on Rogue's face faltered, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his expression. "I had... things to take care of."

"Things," Wynter repeated, his tone sharp. "Right. And I'm supposed to believe that?"

Rogue stepped closer, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more serious. "It's the truth. I didn't know how to come back, Wynter. Demons like me... we're not exactly good at sticking around."

Wynter's chest tightened, his anger wavering under the weight of Rogue's words. He wanted to stay mad, to demand answers, to tell Rogue to leave and never come back. But instead, he found himself asking, "Why now?"

Rogue hesitated, his ruby eyes locking onto Wynter's. "Because I couldn't stay away any longer."

The honesty in his voice sent a ripple through Wynter's defenses. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the noise of the club fading into the background. Finally, Wynter sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Let's talk," he said, gesturing toward the stairs that led to his office.

Rogue followed him upstairs, the tension between them thick enough to cut. Wynter closed the door behind them, leaning against it as Rogue took in the room. It was a sleek, modern space—dark wood, leather chairs, and a wall of glass overlooking the club below.

"So," Wynter said, crossing his arms. "Start talking."

Rogue leaned against the desk, his posture deceptively relaxed. "I left because I was afraid," he admitted. "Afraid of what I felt. Afraid of you."

Wynter arched a brow. "Afraid of me? That's rich, coming from a demon."

Rogue chuckled softly. "You don't understand. Demons like me... we're not supposed to feel anything for anyone. It's dangerous. And with you, I felt too much."

The vulnerability in Rogue's voice caught Wynter off guard. He studied the demon for a moment, trying to reconcile the cocky, infuriating creature he remembered with the man standing before him now.

"And now?" Wynter asked quietly.

"Now, I'm done running," Rogue said, his gaze steady. "If you'll have me."

The sincerity in his words made Wynter's heart ache. He crossed the room, stopping just inches away from Rogue. "You've got a lot to make up for," he said, his voice soft but firm.

Rogue smiled, a hint of his old mischief returning. "I'm up for the challenge."

Wynter didn't respond with words. Instead, he pulled Rogue into a kiss, their lips meeting in a rush of heat and longing. This time, there were no barriers, no pretense—just the raw, unfiltered truth of what they felt for each other.

The night stretched on, the club forgotten as they caught up in the most intimate of ways, the tension between them melting into something deeper, something real. For the first time in a year, Wynter felt whole. And as Rogue held him close, Wynter allowed himself to hope that this time, the demon might stay.

The sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Wynter's office, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. The rhythmic thrum of the club was gone, replaced by the quiet stillness of early morning. Wynter stirred on the sleek leather couch where he'd collapsed with Rogue hours earlier, their tangled bodies evidence of a night that had been anything but restful.

Wynter blinked awake, his silver eyes adjusting to the warm light. For a moment, he forgot where he was, lost in the haze of last night's intensity. But then the faint scent of musk and shadow—the unique, tantalizing essence of Rogue—brought it all back.

He turned his head, expecting to find the demon sprawled beside him, still draped in the lazy, self-satisfied grin that had infuriated and captivated Wynter in equal measure. Instead, he found only rumpled cushions and the lingering heat of a body recently departed.

Wynter sat up, running a hand through his white hair, now wild from sleep. "Rogue?" he called, his voice hoarse.

No answer.

A flicker of irritation sparked in Wynter's chest, chased quickly by something he didn't want to name—something too close to worry. Rising from the couch, he scanned the room, his sharp gaze catching the faint movement of shadows near the door. For a split second, he thought Rogue had slipped out entirely, but then his eyes landed on the note taped to the inside of the door.

The paper was hastily torn from a notepad, the writing jagged and rushed:

Went for coffee. Don't freak out. Be back soon. —R

Wynter exhaled, his irritation softening into reluctant amusement. "Of course," he muttered, shaking his head. He folded the note and set it on his desk before heading to the small bathroom adjoining the office.

The cold water against his face helped clear the lingering haze of sleep, though it did little to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. Last night had been... unexpected. He hadn't planned for Rogue to walk back into his life, and he certainly hadn't planned for the night to end the way it did.

But now, in the quiet morning light, Wynter couldn't ignore the questions clawing at him. What did Rogue want from him? And more importantly, could he trust him not to vanish again?

By the time Wynter returned to the office, he'd managed to bury most of his doubts. Rogue was a demon—unpredictable and impulsive by nature. Wynter had known that from the start. But last night, Rogue had seemed... different. Honest, even.

And yet, Wynter couldn't shake the unease that came with Rogue's absence.

Minutes turned into an hour. The office, so alive with tension and connection the night before, now felt oppressively empty. Wynter paced the room, his silver eyes darting toward the door every few minutes.

When the door finally opened, it was without ceremony. Rogue stepped in, holding two steaming cups of coffee and wearing the same infuriating smirk that made Wynter want to punch him and kiss him all at once.

"Took you long enough," Wynter said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the desk.

Rogue grinned, unbothered by the edge in Wynter's tone. "You're welcome," he said, setting one of the cups on the desk before taking a sip from the other.

Wynter arched an eyebrow. "You disappeared without a word for a year, and now you think disappearing for coffee is a cute habit to pick up?"

The playful glint in Rogue's ruby eyes dimmed slightly, and he set his cup down. "I didn't mean to worry you," he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "I just... I needed a moment."

"A moment for what?" Wynter pressed, his voice softening despite himself.

"To process," Rogue admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. "Last night was... a lot. Good. But a lot. I wasn't expecting to feel..." He trailed off, his gaze dropping.

Wynter's irritation melted away at the vulnerability in Rogue's expression. He stepped closer, placing a hand on the demon's shoulder. "You don't have to figure everything out right now," he said quietly. "But I need to know you're not just going to vanish again."

Rogue met Wynter's eyes, his own red orbs shimmering with something Wynter couldn't quite place—guilt, maybe, or hope. "I'm not going anywhere," Rogue said. "Not this time."

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise and uncertainty. Wynter wanted to believe them, but trust didn't come easily—not after a year of silence.

"Well," Wynter said, breaking the tension with a small smile, "if you're staying, you're buying the next round of coffee. This isn't bad, but it's not my usual."

Rogue chuckled, the tension easing as he relaxed under Wynter's touch. "Deal."

They sat together on the couch, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as they sipped their coffee. Rogue regaled Wynter with stories of his escapades over the past year, though he left out any details that might have revealed too much about his true nature. Wynter, in turn, shared tales of the club's successes and challenges, his passion for his work evident in every word.

The hours slipped by, the morning sun climbing higher in the sky. For the first time in a year, Wynter felt a sense of balance returning—a tentative but hopeful beginning.

As Rogue leaned back, his head resting against the couch, he glanced at Wynter, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I might think you're falling for me."

Wynter rolled his eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile played on his lips. "Don't push your luck, demon."

But as they sat together, the world outside the club forgotten, Wynter couldn't help but wonder if, just maybe, Rogue was worth the risk