Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter One: Where the Day Sleeps

“Honey, don’t run around too much,” a woman in her late thirties called out, shielding her eyes from the sun as she watched her son dart across the garden.

The boy laughed—bright, reckless, the kind of sound that hadn’t yet learned to fear the world. “I’m fine, Mommy! Don’t worry!” he shouted, feet thudding against the earth as he chased a red butterfly.

It flitted just out of reach, dipping between tall stalks of lavender and the wild grass that brushed his ankles. He giggled when it escaped him again, energized by the hunt, by the way it danced on the wind like it knew his name.

Jour sighed, her arms crossed loosely as she stood at the garden's edge. "Just be careful, honey. I don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself, okay?”

Cale turned to nod enthusiastically before taking off again.

The butterfly seemed to match his energy, and they moved together like two parts of the same breeze. It wasn’t until several minutes had passed that he finally gave up, breathless, cheeks flushed.

“Mommy! Mommy!” he cried as he trotted back to her. “How do I catch the butterfly?”

He collapsed onto the grass with a huff, raising a hand dramatically over his forehead like he was in a play.

Jour laughed and sat beside him. "Cale, my darling, you have to be gentle. Butterflies won’t come to you if you chase them so much. You’ll just scare them away."

She lifted her hand, palm open.

As if summoned, a red butterfly descended, wings shimmering in the sunlight, and landed gently on her finger.

“See?” she whispered. “They come to you when they feel safe.”

Cale stared, lips parted, eyes wide. “It’s so beautiful,” he murmured.

His gaze remained locked on the creature even as his eyelids began to droop.

Jour watched the shimmer in his eyes dim, the wonder still present even as exhaustion set in. She thought maybe it was the excitement that tired him out. He curled up in the grass like a cat, one hand still outstretched toward the butterfly.

“Aigoo,” she whispered fondly, brushing the hair from his forehead. “My baby suddenly fell asleep. Are you that tired?”

She leaned down and scooped him into her arms. He didn’t stir.

It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep during the day, but something in the stillness of his body, the way his breathing evened too quickly—Jour’s heart fluttered with a small, silent worry.

She laid him on his bed when they got inside. Closed the curtains just slightly. Kissed his forehead.

He didn’t wake up the next morning.

Nor the day after that.

Jour called the doctor after the third day. Deruth flew home from a business trip by the fifth. On the sixth, Cale’s little bed was surrounded by quiet monitors and whispered consultations.

On the seventh day, he opened his eyes.

The room was quiet at first. Then it erupted in tears and relief.

Jour didn’t stop crying for five minutes.

Cale, confused and blinking, sat up slowly and asked, “Why is Mommy crying?”

She kissed his face. Over and over. “You’re awake,” she said between sobs. “You’re awake, sweetheart.”

He stayed up for three days.

On the fourth, he slept again. This time for two days.

It kept happening.

Sleep. Wake. Sleep. Wake. But the rhythm wasn’t consistent. There was no pattern, no warning.

By the fourth episode, they had a name for it.

Klein-Levin Syndrome.

Rare. Chronic. Characterized by recurring periods of excessive sleep. No known cure. No guaranteed treatment. Just wait and see. Just try and hope.

Jour’s hand trembled as she held the pamphlet the doctor gave her. She folded it neatly and never looked at it again.

Deruth didn’t take it well.

He flew in specialists. Brought Cale to hospitals across the continent. Every time the boy woke up, he was in a new place. A different bed. A different language. A new test.

Jour hated it. But she didn’t argue. Not yet.

Then came the clinical trial.

They didn’t ask Cale. They told him. He was ten by then. Old enough to know that the men in white coats didn’t smile for him. Old enough to be afraid of the needles. The pills. The unknown.

“I don’t want this,” he said one night, voice shaking in the sterile hospital room. “Mommy, I don’t want this anymore.”

Jour held his hand. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

But the trial continued.

And it only made things worse.

Where before he’d sleep for days, now he disappeared for weeks. He lost weight. His face turned pale. His hair thinned at the ends. He looked like a ghost of himself—fragile, fading, too quiet.

Then, one day, Cale woke up.

And collapsed.

In the hallway of the clinic, eyes glassy, body limp. His head hit the floor with a sound Jour still hears in her dreams.

They ran tests again.

And this time, they didn’t hide the truth.

The damage was irreversible. His body was shutting down.

He wouldn’t grow old.

Jour didn’t cry in front of Cale that day. She waited until the hallway. Then the car. Then the shower.

Then she never really stopped.

They took him home after that. No more trials. No more flights. Just the quiet of his room, the softness of familiar sheets, and the toys he used to love.

For a full week, he was awake.

He laughed with Jour again. They painted together. Played the piano together. She baked his favorite apple pie even when he only had the strength to eat half of one.

It felt like a miracle.

And then—

Then the sleep returned.

Two weeks passed.

When he woke, the room felt colder.

He called for his mother. The nurse came instead.

Jour had died.

A car crash. Suddenly. No pain. Gone.

Cale screamed until they had to sedate him.

And then he slept.

The world would wait again.

Chapter Two: The Quiet Between Heartbeats

When Cale woke again, the house was unfamiliar.

It wasn't the same one where his mother used to water the garden in her house slippers, humming to herself. It wasn't the one where he'd first chased butterflies. Everything here smelled sterile. The furniture was new. The windows were shut tight.

Cale blinked up at the ceiling, his limbs heavy. The soft whir of machines hummed beside him, but there were no flowers on the table. No framed photos. No piano sounds drifting from another room.

He didn’t ask for his mother. He remembered now. The grief had settled into the marrow of his bones, heavy and dull. He stared at the blankness above him and tried not to breathe too hard.

Ron was the one who sat beside him that day.

The butler’s hair had more gray in it now. He looked like someone who had spent years keeping himself together for someone else’s sake.

"You're awake, Young Master," Ron said quietly. "Do you want some water?"

Cale didn’t respond right away. When he finally did, his voice cracked from disuse. "Where’s Father?"

Ron hesitated. "He’s... occupied."

Cale turned his head away. The silence between them stretched like old wounds.

He stayed awake for three weeks.

Deruth didn’t visit until the last day.

When Cale walked—shuffled, really—into the sitting room with Ron’s help, Deruth was staring out the window. The man turned, startled, and for the first time in years, his mask slipped.

“Cale,” he breathed.

There were no explanations. No grand apologies. Just the sound of a father breaking.

Cale smiled gently. "It’s alright, Dad. I’m okay."

Deruth fell to his knees.

They didn’t talk long. Cale didn’t have the energy. He slept again soon after.

Two months passed.

When he woke, everything had changed.

He overheard the maids whispering. Laughing about how the Duke was finally smiling again. About a woman who visited the estate often. Cale didn’t ask—didn’t want to ask. Unless it came from Deruth’s own mouth, it didn’t feel real.

He saw less of his father. His days were quiet. Ron brought him food. The staff tiptoed around him like he was a sleeping bomb.

Then came the longest sleep yet.

Three months.

He woke up and Deruth was gone.

Cale shuffled through the halls of his house, half-forgotten, half-empty. He asked one of the staff where his father was.

"He's... away for the day, Young Master. But congratulations are in order."

Cale blinked.

"He was married this morning."

The words didn’t register at first.

When they did, he laughed.

It was a small sound. Broken. Bitter.

He laughed until he couldn’t breathe, until his chest ached and Ron had to pull him back to bed.

He slept for five months.

The house moved on without him.

Outside, the seasons changed.

Inside, time stood still.

And Cale, forever caught in the quiet between heartbeats, dreamed of red butterflies that never came back.

Chapter Three: The Unraveling of Time

Time had a strange way of changing things, sometimes for the better, but most often for the worse.

As the months went by, Cale began to notice it more and more—the growing distance between him and his father. It wasn’t something sudden, but it was painfully apparent now that he was awake.

Deruth’s attention was no longer on him. Cale had once been the center of his world, the son he’d proudly raised and carried with him everywhere. But now, Cale’s father seemed to be absorbed by his new family—Violan, with her quiet grace, and Lily, the new baby girl who had entered their lives as a symbol of hope.

Basen, too, was becoming more of the son Deruth seemed to want. He spent more time with him, guiding him through the family business, speaking to him with a kind of softness that Cale had once thought reserved for himself. When Cale tried to get his father’s attention, it was like he was invisible. He would speak to Deruth, but the man’s gaze would often drift elsewhere, or his responses would be curt, lacking the warmth he once offered so freely.

At first, Cale thought it was just the natural course of things. It had been years since he had been fully awake, and maybe his father just needed time to settle into his new life. But as the days passed, and Cale saw his father laugh with Basen or sit by Lily’s cradle with a softness in his eyes, something inside Cale shifted.

A quiet anger began to fester. He wasn’t angry at Violan or Lily. He wasn’t even angry at Basen, though a part of him resented how easy it was for him to find his place in the new family. Cale was angry at the man who had once been his world, the man who had promised to love him no matter what.

The neglect was subtle at first—Deruth simply wasn’t there when Cale needed him. The moments when Cale would wake up from his long bouts of sleep, hoping for a conversation, for his father to ask how he was, were becoming rarer. Cale would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter from the other side of the house.

It wasn’t just emotional neglect. Cale’s physical health had started to deteriorate, too. The long stretches of sleep, mixed with the emotional turmoil he was experiencing, caused his Klein-Levin syndrome to worsen. The episodes where he would drift into a deep slumber, not waking for days, were becoming more frequent. His body felt weaker, and he started to miss meals, neglecting his own health because it seemed pointless.

The servants noticed, of course. But it wasn’t as though they could do anything. They were too wrapped up in their own disdain for Violan and Basen, and no one seemed to care about Cale’s suffering.

Violan tried to help, of course. She would often sit beside him, speaking to him softly, offering comfort when she could. But even her presence couldn’t make the distance between them go away. She wasn’t his mother, and though she was kind, Cale could feel that she was as much a stranger to him as Basen was. They all were.

One evening, after another long period of sleep that had left him feeling more drained than before, Cale tried to talk to Deruth. He had been awake for two days, his body heavy from exhaustion, but he wanted to speak to his father. He found him in the study, reviewing documents with Basen at his side. Deruth looked up briefly when Cale entered, but his attention quickly returned to his papers.

"Dad," Cale started, his voice weak, "Can we talk?"

Deruth nodded without looking up. "Later, Cale. I have to finish this first."

And just like that, the man who had once dropped everything for him had brushed him aside, without a second thought.

The door to the study closed softly behind Cale, and he stood there for a long time, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him. He was alone. Completely alone.

A week passed in this silent agony. Cale felt the illness creeping through him faster now, the days blurred together, and he found himself trapped in a cycle of waking up, trying to reach out, only to be ignored, and then falling asleep again in frustration.

It wasn’t just the neglect anymore. It was the way Cale felt like a ghost in his own home. His father had moved on, and so had everyone else. The house, with its new family, its new life, felt more foreign than ever.

It was on one of these days, after he had spent the majority of the morning staring out the window, that Cale made a decision. His thoughts had become a blur, his emotions an overwhelming tide that he could no longer control.

He couldn’t stay here.

He couldn’t live like this, surrounded by people who didn’t understand his pain. His father didn’t seem to care. Violan was kind but distant, and Basen, for all his composure, wasn’t someone Cale could connect with. The servants whispered about how unwelcome Violan and Basen were in the house, and Cale couldn’t shake the feeling that, in their eyes, he was just another burden.

So, he decided to leave.

It wasn’t an easy decision. It wasn’t a decision made lightly, but it was the only choice that made sense. The thought of continuing to live in that house—under the same roof as his father, who had begun to neglect him in favor of his new family—felt suffocating.

Cale requested a meeting with his father.

When Deruth walked into his room, his expression was unreadable, but Cale could see the faintest hint of concern in his eyes.

“Cale,” Deruth said, standing at the door. “What is it?”

“I want to leave,” Cale said, his voice steady despite the raw pain that clenched his heart. “I can’t stay here anymore. I want to live in a hospital.”

Deruth’s face faltered, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to protest. But then, perhaps realizing that he had no real right to object, he simply sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

“If that’s what you want, Cale,” he said quietly, “I’ll arrange it.”

Cale nodded, his heart heavy. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or broken. He wasn’t sure what it meant for his future, but at that moment, it was the only decision he could make. The only way out of the suffocating silence.

As Deruth turned to leave, Cale whispered, more to himself than to his father, "I just wanted you to see me again."

And with that, the decision was made. Cale would leave the house that had once been a home and move to a place where he could find some semblance of peace, away from the suffocating presence of a family that had moved on without him.

The house, with its new family, its new life, would continue without him.

But for the first time in years, Cale felt like he could breathe again.

Chapter Four: The Weight of Silence

Cale's room had always been quiet, but it had never felt as lonely as it did now. The cold, sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in on him, and despite the machines and the faint beeping of monitors, Cale felt the weight of isolation more than ever before. He had spent countless days drifting between sleep and wakefulness, with nothing but his thoughts and the endless hum of the machines for company. He had forgotten what it felt like to be truly alive—truly present—in the world around him. But then, there was Alver.

Alver Crossman had come into Cale’s life like a soft breeze on a hot day, unexpected, refreshing, and calming all at once. Despite being blind, Alver was a constant source of light in Cale's darkened world. The sound of his voice, the simple touch of his hand, and the way he could make Cale laugh with his antics filled a space inside Cale’s heart he hadn’t known was empty.

It had started so simply. Alver would visit every day. At first, it was nothing more than casual conversation—simple words shared between two people who had nothing else. And then, it became more. They ate together, spent time together, laughed at the silly pranks Alver would play on him. Cale had never known how fun it could be to be in the presence of someone who truly cared, someone who didn’t just pass by because it was their duty, but because they actually wanted to be there. It was the kind of warmth Cale had never experienced before.

As their days together piled up, Cale began to cherish these moments. He would wake up each day hoping Alver would be there, smiling at him, sharing his latest adventure or simply telling him about his day. It was these simple exchanges that brought Cale a sense of peace, one that he hadn’t felt in so long.

But then, something shifted. One day, Alver spoke words that made Cale’s heart skip a beat: “It’s all my effort, Cale.” Those words struck Cale deeply—they were so simple, yet so profound. No one had ever said something like that to him, not even his family. No one had ever cared for him like this. That was when Cale realized it—he had fallen in love with Alver.

At first, the realization was overwhelming. How could he, someone who had spent so much of his life in the shadows of his family’s neglect, fall in love with someone so kind, so selfless? How could he fall for someone who had no sight, yet saw him better than anyone ever had?

But as the days passed, Cale’s feelings for Alver deepened. He tried to fight it—he didn’t want to be this vulnerable, not after all that he had been through. But there was no fighting it. Alver was everything Cale had been missing. He was the person who had brought color to Cale's life, the person who made him feel alive again. Cale couldn’t ignore it any longer.

And then, Cale fell into a deep sleep. For weeks, Alver stayed by his side, waiting, hoping, praying that Cale would wake up. Days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months. Cale had been asleep for six months.

When Cale finally woke up, he saw Alver’s tear-streaked face beside him. Alver was crying. The man who always made him laugh, who had been his rock, was crying. Cale could barely move, his body weak and stiff, but the sound of Alver’s cries echoed in his ears, and he felt his heart break at the sight. Alver was shouting for the nurses, his voice full of panic and fear.

Cale blinked several times, trying to focus on the sight before him. His body felt heavy, like it didn’t belong to him anymore. Alver’s cries mixed with the beeping of the heart monitor, and it made him ache. He didn’t want Alver to cry. He never wanted to be the cause of that. But even now, in this fragile state, he couldn’t find the strength to speak.

When the worst of it was over, and Cale regained enough strength to speak, he tried to push Alver away. He wasn’t ready for this—he never expected this. He never thought he’d fall in love, let alone fall in love with someone so perfect. And now, seeing how deeply Alver cared for him, he didn’t want to hurt him. He couldn’t bear to be the cause of his pain.

But Alver refused to let him push him away.

“I love you, Cale,” Alver said, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as they held Cale’s, as if he was afraid to let go. “I love you, and I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. I’ll always be here.”

And that was the moment it all became real for Cale. Alver loved him. And in that instant, Cale felt his doubts fade away. There was no more hesitation, no more fear. Alver’s love was everything he had been searching for.

Over the next few months, their connection deepened. Cale felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years. But with each passing day, his body became weaker. His sleep was becoming longer, deeper, and he knew that his time was running out. He could feel it, deep inside. His condition was deteriorating, and there was nothing anyone could do.

But Alver was always there, holding his hand, wiping away the tears Cale couldn’t stop, and whispering words of love. Cale couldn’t bear to see the fear in Alver’s eyes, the way he would sit by his side, always waiting for him to wake up, always holding on.

Cale knew he couldn’t keep putting Alver through this. He couldn’t bear to be the reason for Alver’s pain anymore.

So, one night, when they were alone, Cale made a decision.

“Stay with me, Cale,” Alver said, his voice shaky as he reached for Cale’s hand and placed it on the side of his face. He could feel something was wrong. For the first time, he hated the fact that he had blinded himself on purpose. He just wanted to see Cale, to look into his eyes, to know what he was feeling. He felt it now—the inevitable. He knew that something was slipping away.

Cale’s voice was weak, but he whispered with all the love he had left, “Yes, Alver. I’ll stay with you.”

The tears that filled Alver’s eyes were not just from sadness; they were a reflection of the love that Cale had given him. Cale could feel them, even though he couldn’t see them. He held Alver’s gaze, even though the sparkle had dulled, and he knew that Alver’s love was all he needed.

Alver’s hands gently caressed Cale’s cheek as he whispered, “I love you, Cale. I’ll always be here.”

And in that moment, Cale knew he was at peace.

But the truth hung heavy in the air—he was running out of time.

Cale made a final request—a letter to his family, to his friends, and most importantly, to Alver. He asked them to promise that if he didn’t wake up, they would give his eyes to Alver. It was the only thing he could offer. His final wish was that Alver would never be alone in a world of darkness, that he would have the chance to see the beauty of life with his own eyes.

In his final days, Cale spoiled Alver with everything he had. He kissed him, held him, whispered how much he loved him, and gave him all the words he had kept hidden. He spent every moment cherishing their time together, knowing that it was fleeting.

On what would be their last night together, Cale held Alver close, whispering softly, “I love you, Alver. See you again.”

Alver, holding him tightly, whispered back, “I love you too, Cale. See you again.”

But neither of them knew that it would be their last goodbye.

Time passed, and Cale’s condition deteriorated further. His sleep grew deeper, longer, until it stretched into months.

Alver stayed by his side, refusing to leave, but when the monitors flatlined, when Cale’s heart stopped, Alver’s world crumbled.

When the doctors confirmed Cale’s death, they began the procedure to harvest his eyes. Alver was unaware, consumed by grief. He begged them to let him stay with Cale, but they wouldn’t let him.

He didn’t know that Cale’s final wish was being carried out. He was called out by his doctor, a match had been found for a pair of corneas—for him.

It wasn’t until after the operation, when the bandages were removed, that Alver began to see again.

And it wasn’t until a week later, when the nurses thought he was asleep, that he heard them whispering just outside his door.

“Did you hear?” one said. “They were Cale Henituse’s eyes. He gave them to that boy—Alver. It was his final request.”

The world stopped for Alver. His knees gave out, and he collapsed into the nearest chair. The eyes he now saw with—the eyes that saw the sun and stars, the ones that reflected light and life—they were Cale’s.

The grief surged anew, drowning him. And yet, through the tears and the pain, Alver began to understand: Cale had given him one final gift—the world.

Chapter Five: The Eyes that Remains

Alver stood frozen in front of the mirror, his hand hovering over his eyes. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t just his own—it was Cale’s too. The eyes that once held so much love, so much warmth, now stared back at him, lifeless and cold. They were Cale’s eyes. The thought should have comforted him. But instead, it twisted his heart into knots.

The room around him was silent save for the ticking clock. Dust floated in the slanted sunlight filtering through the drawn curtains. Alver's breath hitched as he leaned closer to the glass. It was cruel, he thought. Cruel to carry Cale's eyes and yet be unable to see him ever again. Cruel to hold this piece of him while the rest of him was gone.

Every time Alver looked into a mirror or a reflective surface, all he could see was Cale’s face—Cale’s face that would never smile at him again. The smile he once saw every morning, the same smile that made him feel alive. But now, the eyes that once sparkled with laughter, love, and a future they would build together, now belonged to a world where Cale was gone. And no matter how many times he tried to blink the image away, the weight of the truth crushed him.

He turned away from the mirror, stumbling back as if it burned him. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling. His chest ached, a deep, hollow emptiness that no amount of sleep, food, or time had been able to fill. He had thought, perhaps naively, that grief would dull. That the sharp edges would wear down over the weeks, the months. But they hadn't. If anything, they had only cut deeper.

He couldn’t bear it.

Every moment felt like suffocation. Alver could no longer look at himself in the mirror without breaking down, without feeling the panic rise in his chest. He saw Cale, and it tore him apart. He would have to look away, his heart racing, his breath shallow and frantic as he retreated from his own reflection.

But it wasn’t just the reflection—when he walked outside, when he saw people, he imagined Cale’s eyes looking back at him, watching him in agony. It wasn’t just grief anymore—it was a haunting, the knowledge that Cale’s eyes were now a permanent part of him, and every time he looked at them, he was reminded that the love he had was now a memory. His breathing would become labored, his chest tight, and panic would seize him until he couldn’t breathe properly, until everything around him became a blur.

It was unbearable.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped low and cast golden shadows across the room, Alver paced, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He hadn’t eaten that day. Couldn’t. His throat was too tight. The silence in the house was suffocating, but he didn’t have the strength to turn on music. He feared that even a single note would unravel him.

There was a knock at the door.

Alver froze.

He didn’t want to see anyone—he didn’t want to face the world, especially not now. He contemplated staying still, hoping whoever it was would leave. But the knock came again, firmer this time.

And then, the door opened.

Standing in the doorway was Deruth, Cale’s father.

Alver’s breath caught in his throat. He stepped back instinctively, his eyes locking with Deruth’s. There was no mistaking him—he had the same gentle presence as Cale, the same quiet strength.

“You’re Alver, right?” Deruth asked gently, his voice soft, but there was a quiet power to it.

Alver nodded, unable to speak, his throat tight from the pain he felt inside.

Deruth stepped in without waiting for a response, his footsteps slow but deliberate. “I came to thank you,” he continued, his voice calm but filled with unspoken weight. “I came to thank you for letting Cale experience love, for being there with him when no one else could. I’ve seen how much you cared for him. And I see it now.” His eyes rested on Alver’s face, locking on to his eyes—the same eyes that had once belonged to Cale.

Alver couldn’t speak. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but he tried to hold them back. Seeing Deruth here was like seeing Cale once more—and it made the pain feel sharper, deeper.

Deruth smiled at him faintly, a melancholic warmth in his eyes. “I’m happy to see you with Cale’s eyes now. At least, a part of him still lives on in you.” He paused for a moment, his expression turning serious. “But you need to hear this, Alver. Don’t let Cale’s eyes see you like this. Don’t let them see you in pain, lost in grief. They don’t deserve that. He wouldn’t want you to suffer this way.”

The words hit Alver like a punch to the chest. He stared at Deruth, trying to process what had just been said. He hadn’t thought about it that way. Cale’s eyes—Cale’s soul—didn’t deserve to be imprisoned in this cycle of grief and despair. They deserved to be free, to be cherished, not trapped in the torment that Alver had created for himself.

“I’m... sorry,” Alver whispered, his voice shaky with emotion. “I’ve been holding onto this pain. I didn’t know how to let go.”

Deruth nodded slowly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “It’s all right. Grief doesn’t have a set timeline. But you have to heal, Alver. You can’t keep suffering for both of you.”

Alver bowed his head, ashamed, as tears finally spilled from his eyes. He had been too wrapped up in his sorrow, unable to see beyond the pain. But Deruth was right. Cale’s eyes, the eyes that had given Alver so much love and joy, deserved to be seen in a world where Alver could smile again. They deserved to see the life Cale had dreamed of, not a life full of sorrow.

Deruth reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. Alver looked at it curiously, taking it from Deruth’s hands.

“This is from Cale,” Deruth said softly. “He wrote this for you before... before he passed.”

The letter felt heavy in Alver’s hands. Deruth didn’t stay long. His purpose was clear, his visit short. After a final glance—one filled with compassion and the ghost of shared grief—he left, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Alver, still holding Cale's letter in his trembling hands, finally opened it.

Alver,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I hope you do. I hope that when you do, you’ll be able to smile. I know I don’t have much time left, but I want you to know that you are the most precious thing to me. I can feel it in every breath, every heartbeat. The love you’ve given me is the greatest gift I could ever ask for, and I will carry it with me until the very end.

Please don’t cry when you read this. I know it will be hard, and I know you will miss me, but I want you to be happy. I want you to live, Alver. You’ve given me so much happiness, and I want to return that to you. I want you to see the world with my eyes, but I want you to see it for the both of us. Please don’t let my eyes witness your pain forever. Let them see you heal, let them see you smile, let them see the beautiful life you deserve.

I’ll always love you, Alver. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you longer, but know that I’ll never truly leave you. I’ll always be with you. And when you look into my eyes, I want you to remember me as the one who loved you, the one who saw your worth, your beauty, your soul. I’ll always be a part of you, even if I’m not here anymore.

With all the love in my heart,

Cale.

As Alver read, the weight in his chest shifted. It didn’t disappear, but it changed—morphed into something softer, something almost tender. He hadn’t been able to see that Cale had always known, that he had always loved him and cared for him—Cale had known how much Alver had suffered, how much he had been willing to give up for their love.

Alver’s eyes scanned the words, the familiar handwriting that he had come to love so much. With every sentence, his heart ached, and every breath seemed heavier than the last. The pain of losing Cale was nothing compared to what he felt reading the letter. But in that same moment, there was a warmth—a quiet warmth—that filled him, as though Cale was still there, speaking to him.

And then, as Alver turned the page, a polaroid picture slipped from between the sheets of paper. It was of Cale, smiling brightly, his eyes so full of life. His smile was contagious, and Alver could almost hear his voice, that warmth that always made him feel so at ease.

On the back of the picture, there was a message:

"I may be gone, but the eyes I gave you will always connect us, even in worlds apart. I love you, Alver."

—Cale Henituse

(Credits to: @ Ageeh_Leemen on X for making this! Thanks for also letting me use this, bb! ilsym )

(Here's the link: https://x.com/Ageeh_Leemen/status/1500672529308209154)

The agony that had been twisting in Alver’s chest suddenly felt unbearable. He couldn’t look in the mirror without seeing Cale’s eyes, without imagining Cale staring at him, seeing his pain. It was suffocating, and it made Alver feel like he was drowning. He knew this wasn’t what Cale wanted for him. He couldn’t let Cale’s eyes bear witness to his misery forever.

And that was when the realization struck him.

He couldn’t keep spiraling. He couldn’t let Cale’s love be buried in his sorrow. Cale had wanted him to live, to find happiness, to see the world, and to smile—just as he had always smiled in life. Alver had to do it for Cale. He had to honor his memory in the way that Cale would have wanted.

Alver finally wiped away his tears, the pain still there but now softened by the clarity that had emerged within him. As he stared at the photo of Cale, a promise bloomed in his heart.

“I will take care of your eyes, Cale. I will live, and I will be happy… for you.”

Epilogue

Months Later

The air had begun to soften again.

It wasn’t warm—not quite—but it wasn’t biting anymore. The kind of day where the wind didn't sting your skin, just brushed against it like a reminder. Alver stood at the edge of the hill, overlooking the stretch of land that Cale had once called his favorite place. Trees scattered across the field below were touched with the tender green of new leaves. Spring had come late this year. Fitting, he thought. Grief was always slow to thaw.

He had taken to walking here once a week. Never the same day, never with a routine. Just whenever the ache in his chest turned into something quiet. Not gone—never gone—but less like a storm and more like mist.

The wind picked up gently, tousling his hair, and he pulled his coat tighter around him. He carried something in his hand—a photograph. The same polaroid Cale had left in his letter. It was slightly worn now, its corners curling from how often Alver held it. But the image remained vivid: Cale’s smile wide, his eyes bright, like he had just told a joke and was waiting for Alver to laugh.

Alver did, sometimes. He laughed again. Not always. But more than he used to.

He hadn’t stopped mourning. He never would. But grief had made room for something else, something quieter. And in that silence, he found himself again.

Down in the field below, a child’s laughter echoed—someone’s family having a picnic under the trees. Alver watched them for a while, his gaze soft, no longer heavy with envy or pain. He remembered when joy used to feel impossible, when the mirror had been his enemy. But that had changed.

Little by little.

He no longer looked away from his reflection. He had even cut his hair differently—something that suited him, but kept the gentle part in the middle, the way Cale used to brush his fingers through. It was still Cale’s eyes he saw when he looked in the mirror. But now, they didn’t haunt him. They reminded him. That he was loved. That he had lived. That he still was living.

Alver knelt at the edge of the hill, laying the photo down beside a small stone he had placed there months ago. Not a gravestone—Cale was buried elsewhere—but a marker, something only Alver visited. A private place. A sacred one.

He reached into his coat pocket and took out something else—a folded letter. New paper. New ink. His own handwriting.

“I kept my promise,” he said softly, as though Cale might answer from the breeze. “I’m still here.”

He placed the letter beside the photo, weighed it down with another smooth stone. Then he sat, legs folded, and looked out over the hills.

It was peaceful.

Behind him, footsteps approached slowly.

“I thought I’d find you here,” came a familiar voice.

Alver turned to see Deruth. The older man stood with his hands in his coat pockets, a solemn but knowing expression on his face. He had aged more in the past year than Alver remembered, but there was a strength to him that hadn’t wavered.

“I come here when I need to think,” Alver said, rising to his feet.

“I know,” Deruth replied, walking to stand beside him. “I do the same. We both loved him.”

They stood in silence for a while, looking out at the same view Cale had once described in such loving detail. It wasn’t just beautiful. It was alive. Full of movement, of memory, of breath.

“I wanted to tell you,” Deruth said after a moment, “we’ve started a foundation in his name. For young people with KLS. Research, support, awareness. We’re calling it Cale’s Light .”

Alver felt his chest swell.

“That’s perfect,” he murmured.

“I’d like you to be involved,” Deruth said gently. “If you want.”

Alver nodded. He couldn’t speak for a moment, too choked up to reply. But the answer was yes. Of course it was yes.

When Deruth left, Alver remained a while longer, watching the clouds shift over the field, watching the sun stretch shadows across the grass.

Eventually, he stood. Brushed off his coat. Took one last look at the photo and the letter. Then he turned back toward the path that led home.

Somewhere, in the quiet that follows goodbye, a new chapter begins. One not written in sorrow, but in the promise that love, real love, does not die—it changes shape. It walks beside us. In eyes that still see. In letters that still speak. In our lives we choose to live, because someone we loved once asked us to.

And Alver, for the first time in a long while, was ready to live again.