-"Raphael… I'm sorry. It's your birthday today, but I can't come home. Work's a bit hectic."
Lyra's voice came through the phone, rushed and tinged with guilt.
-"It's alright. Don't worry. Your work is more important—just focus on that."
Raphael replied in his usual gentle tone.
No blame. No expression. Not even a second of hesitation.
He hung up right after.
In his study, buried in documents, Raphael continued working as if it were any ordinary day.
Outside, light rain tapped against the windowpane.
But it stirred nothing in him.
His eyes—deep, yet empty—remained unmoved.
Today was Raphael's birthday.
But it meant nothing to him.
He didn't expect anyone to celebrate.
He didn't wait for anyone to remember.
It had been a long time since he knew what joy or happiness felt like.
His emotions had long since fallen into slumber.
The only thing that had ever made him smile—was a name.
A name no one was allowed to say aloud.
Julian.
That name, that person, those days…
all buried by time five years ago.
Since Julian's disappearance, birthdays, holidays, even sleep—had lost all meaning for Raphael.
He lived like a walking corpse.
Still working, still breathing, but only out of habit—without a single flicker of feeling.
To those who saw him, Raphael appeared calm, cold, and composed.
No one knew that beneath that quiet surface lay an emptiness nothing could fill.
And no one knew…
that from the shadows, a pair of eyes had never stopped watching him.
——————————————————
Lucian's mansion remained silent, even though it was already past noon.
Upstairs, in a spacious bedroom, the curtains were only half-drawn, allowing lazy streaks of sunlight to filter through and fall across the curled-up figure still asleep on the bed.
Aaron was fast asleep.
Suddenly—
-"Oh no!"
Aaron shot up like a spring, his hair a tousled mess, sleepy eyes darting to the clock in panic.
-"You're awake."
Lucian's deep, steady voice echoed from the sofa across the room.
He sat there with one leg crossed over the other, a laptop resting on his thighs. His eyes flicked briefly toward Aaron before returning to the screen.
-"Why didn't you wake me? It's so late already! I have training with Jimson today…"
Aaron scrambled off the bed in a flurry, searching for clothes and muttering in distress, looking every bit like a flustered little rabbit.
Lucian didn't respond right away. He simply watched, fingers still tapping across the keyboard, cold gaze filled with a quiet amusement.
-"No need. He's busy today."
His voice was calm, like a passing breeze, but it made Aaron freeze mid-motion.
-"Busy? Did he tell you that?"
Aaron blinked, clearly puzzled.
-"No. But I know."
Lucian paused his typing, leaning back against the sofa, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if recalling something distant.
"Every year, on this day… he disappears."
-"Disappears? Where to?"
Aaron's voice lowered, doubt creeping in.
Lucian looked at him for a moment and replied flatly:
-"No one knows. No one asks."
His tone was cold. Final.
-"Hmm… I think Jimson's kind of like you. Cold, arrogant, strong…"
Aaron wandered closer, mumbling as if analyzing seriously.
Lucian let out a faint chuckle—cold, like ice melting on the tongue.
-"Yes, but there's one difference."
He waved his hand slightly, and Aaron obediently came closer, only to be pulled into his lap.
-"What difference?"
Aaron tilted his head.
Lucian pressed his lips against Aaron's cheek, a soft kiss like a brand.
-"He doesn't possess. But I—don't share."
His voice was deep, slow, and cold, yet the warmth from his embrace made Aaron giggle uncontrollably.
-"So scary… I'm totally tied up now…"
Aaron pretended to whine, but his blushing cheeks betrayed his delight.
Lucian didn't respond. He resumed typing, fingers steady.
Aaron let out a big yawn, then crawled back into bed like nothing had happened.
-"If there's no training today… I'm going back to sleep."
He mumbled, curling into a fluffy ball beneath the covers.
Lucian remained seated.
The room fell quiet again, filled only by the rhythmic sound of typing and Lucian's occasional glance toward the bed—
where his "treasure" lay sleeping peacefully, so serene it seemed to hush even the underworld itself for just a moment.
——————————————————
At night, after a long day of work, Raphael returned to the familiar house. The space was pitch dark, not a single light on. He reached out to flick the switch—but before he could touch it, the lights suddenly came on.
-"Happy birthday!"
A bright, cheerful voice rang out from behind.
Lyra appeared, holding a birthday cake with lit candles, her smile radiant.
-"Surprised? Happy birthday, Raphael."
He froze for a moment, then smiled faintly and walked over to blow out the candle.
-"Didn't you say you were busy today? Why are you here?"
His voice was soft and low as always.
-"I lied. I wanted to surprise you."
Lyra grinned, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
-"It was a surprise."
Raphael gave a slight nod, his gaze drifting from her to the candle that had just gone out.
"Thank you."
That night, they sat by the pool. The only light was the warm yellow glow reflecting off the water, rippling gently with the breeze. They drank wine and talked. The atmosphere was warm, intimate.
But Raphael… wasn't really there.
His hand held the glass, his eyes gazed out across the pool, but deep within his gaze was an emptiness that couldn't be filled.
He had once had a birthday just like this—under the night sky, by a body of water, and… with someone else.
Someone named Julian.
Lyra watched him, and perhaps she sensed something in the silence. She spoke, voice soft but heavy:
-"Raphael… I know about Julian."
Raphael's hand paused.
He didn't look at her, only stared at the glass in his hand.
"He was the one you loved."
Her voice didn't tremble. There was no resentment—just a quiet, sincere understanding.
-"…So you know."
His voice was low, as if speaking to himself.
-"I'm sorry."
Lyra lowered her head slightly, hands clasped tensely on her lap.
"If that night hadn't happened, if I hadn't shown up… maybe the two of you wouldn't have ended up like this."
She wasn't heartbroken because her love was unrequited—because love had never been the reason she was here.
What weighed on her was the feeling that she had intruded on something… sacred.
-"You don't need to apologize."
Raphael replied softly.
-"Julian… he's already gone."
He looked up at the sky. The stars shimmered, like reminders of a place where he once held someone's hand.
-"Do you… still love him?"
Lyra asked—not out of jealousy, not to hold onto him—but as if hoping to help him unburden himself.
Raphael was silent for a long time. Then, he let out a faint laugh—one that held no joy:
-"And if I do… what good would it do? He's not here anymore."
As the words left his lips, a breeze swept through, causing the flames in the lanterns to flicker.
In that moment, Raphael seemed small, like a man lost in a world too vast.
"Some things… we're better off forgetting."
His voice was steady, as if trying to keep control.
"Maybe I should forget him. Forget the name Julian. Stop loving him."
He turned to Lyra and smiled gently—but his eyes were blurred with unshed tears.
"Because now… you're the one beside me."
Lyra didn't reply.
-"…What if he's still alive?"
The question came so softly. But to Raphael, it landed like a bloodless wound.
He said nothing. Just looked up at the stars once more—and Lyra knew, she didn't need an answer.
-"I'm a little tired. I'll head to bed."
She stood and walked away slowly. Not because she was hurt, but because her mind was swirling with the weight of something deeper than she expected to carry.
Raphael remained seated, silent.
The night breeze brushed through his hair.
The wine in his glass had lost its sharpness—but his heart still carried the bitter taste of memory.
-"I chose her… because she's so much like you. She's alone… just like you were. Maybe I stayed with her… out of pity. But… I've made my choice. Julian… I'm sorry."
The thought spun endlessly in his mind.
Raphael lowered his head, whispering to no one but himself:
-"She's… so much like you, Julian…"
And at last… the tears he'd held back finally fell.
———————————————————
Somewhere else.
No lights.
No voices.
Only darkness—so thick, it felt as if it could swallow a soul whole.
Wind slipped through the cracks of a window, cutting into the silence like a blade.
Each gust was bitterly cold—but not colder than the emotions in the heart of the one sitting there.
He said nothing.
Didn't sob aloud.
Just sat motionless in the dark.
A quiet face, half-shrouded in shadow.
Only two streams of tears ran down—silently, relentlessly, without end.
No one knew what he was thinking.
Only his eyes—filled with torment, with guilt, with despair—poured out tears that could no longer be held back.
They weren't the tears of someone weak.
They were the tears of someone who had long since died inside.
EndofChapter18.