The hotel room was warm.
Muted sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains. Ayden lay tangled in sheets that still smelled faintly of sweat, lavender, and Luca.
He woke slowly. No adrenaline. No deadlines.
Just stillness.
It felt foreign.
Luca's arm was thrown across his waist, face buried in the crook of Ayden's neck.
He was snoring softly.
Ayden almost smiled.
Almost.
Later, with coffee between them and hair still messy from sleep, Luca scrolled through his phone.
"Oh my god," he said suddenly. "You need to read this."
Ayden looked up. "If it's bad, I don't want to hear it."
"No," Luca said, passing him the screen. "It's... everything."
Ayden took the phone. Read slowly.
"In the standout collection of the showcase, 'Ruinlace' by Ayden Vale and Luca Moretti stitched grief into gold. It dared to be imperfect. It bled, and in bleeding, it bloomed."
Ayden stared.
Read it again.
He put the phone down.
Then he stood.
Luca watched as Ayden paced once, then twice, then turned with fire in his eyes.
"Did we just win Paris?"
Luca laughed, standing too. "Not officially. But emotionally? Spiritually? Universally?"
He pulled Ayden into a hug. "We devoured Paris."
After lunch, they returned to the rooftop.
Camille and Theo were already there, curled up in a corner seat, sharing a cigarette and reading reviews.
Camille looked up. "So. You finally believe in yourself, or do I still need to slap it into you?"
Ayden chuckled. "I'm working on it."
Theo raised his glass. "To Ruinlace."
They all raised theirs.
But Ayden, somewhere in the silence, turned to Luca.
Soft. Intent. A little afraid.
"What does forever look like to you?"
Luca's lips parted.
He didn't rush.
He stepped closer, brushed Ayden's hair back.
"It looks like waking up beside you, even when we're tired.
Sewing at 2 a.m. and arguing over buttons.
It looks like surviving every breakdown.
Laughing over burnt pasta.
Getting old in a room full of half-finished sketches."
He cupped Ayden's jaw.
"Forever looks like us."
Ayden closed his eyes.
And let that truth in.