The city skyline across the wide river we were walking beside glistened peacefully. Skyscrapers upon skyscrapers rose towards the starless dome above, alit with their own gold and white stars.

I turned to the boy walking beside me. His eyes gazed straight ahead, unseeing. The eerie blankness in his gaze prompted me to gently reach over and brush a few strands of his silver hair from his face. "Are you feeling a little better?" I asked softly.

Jimin had woken up tonight and just barely managed to make it to the toilet before vomiting because of one of the many gruesome nightmares afflicted upon him. After his father's death, all the memories he'd suppressed the past eighteen years had finally swam to the surface. The memories of pain, of anger, of hate, all of it, was what brought these nightmares upon him.

While I had nightmares of running through the bloody halls of the base, Jimin had nightmares of his father whipping him, cracking him into a soldier, and then blowing up in front of his face all over again.

He often didn't go back to sleep afterwards and instead took midnight walks in the small neighborhood where we were currently renting a house together. Sometimes he'd ask me to join him, other times not so. I understood those times he didn't want me by his side. Some walks you had to take alone.

Tonight, however, was one of those nights he'd wanted me beside him. It was perhaps 2 AM, and the world around was cast in shadows and calm. The night air was crisp and refreshing, carrying the smell of the river over us.

Jimin stirred from his stupor at my words. "Well, I don't feel like throwing up anymore," he muttered.

I wrapped my hands around his arm. "If you ever want to talk about it let me know," I murmured the familiar words.

I could feel the raised rough ridges across his bare skin underneath my fingers. Places where the Moonsbane had eaten and scarred his skin forever. Though none of his Marks had gone completely out like some of the Outworlders who'd been ruthlessly tortured, several of his Marks no longer glowed as brightly as the others.

I bore many scars myself, including the one in my leg where the bullet had torn through. But the worst of the scars weren't on the surface. The worst scars were unseen, mere shadows that lurked deep within and slowly poisoned your mind until you didn't know who to trust or who you even were anymore at times.

We finally paused and he leaned against the fence that separated the sidewalk from the banks of the river. He pulled me against him and we stood like that for a few minutes in silence— my arms wrapped around him as he held me by the hips and buried his face into my neck, soaking up each other's presence.

Two months. It had been less than two months since the official signing of surrender ceremony successfully took place. There were still rumblings every now and then between the Outworlders and humans, lingering resentment.

But it was the Infinity Council that people were now beginning to redirect their anger towards. Word had finally gotten out about the lies the Council had fed; lies about how everything was under control, lies that they knew what they were doing, lies about how they were protecting the people under the New Order.

Because they hadn't protected us. Instead, they had used us, hid behind us. When things had gotten out of hand, they had immediately shoved the public in front of them as a shield, letting us suffer and even die for the consequences of their choices.

A turning cycle. A wheel of never-ending corruption and lies and anger. It wasn't the first time a government, a nation's leader, had lied to their people. It wouldn't be the last.

I was wrong when I thought that the New Order had brought peace. That the Infinity Council were any different than past leaderships.

However, there was change beginning to sweep in.

For one, several members of the Council had been killed in the Pure Uprising (as people were beginning to call the wave of bloodshed that had happened). The vacant spots were being offered to no other than some of the soldiers who had fought in action; the ones who had suffered the worst under the Council's poor decisions.

So I did have to give the Council a little credit for that.

A Council member had briefly visited Jimin, asking on whether he wanted to be the successor of his father's place on the Council as the Infinity General of Warfare and all military departments.

Jimin had been given a month to consider. Said month was beginning to come to an end and he hadn't yet come to a final decision. We'd briefly talked about it together, but in the end, it was up to him whether he wanted to take up his father's old position.

I knew he wanted to escape his father's legacy. And for him, becoming the new General of Warfare seemed to be walking right back into that legacy, not to mention he had only just turned nineteen and there would be severe lash back for his insanely young age. However, I'd pointed out that perhaps it was the perfect chance to start creating a new legacy for himself.

A small sigh against my collarbone alerted me he was stirring again. When he pulled back there was a more tranquil expression painted across his face.

I couldn't help but reach out and run a finger lightly over the lines on the wrist, the first Marks I'd ever touched. The ones that twisted in a different way than the rest of his Marks, dancing around each other on his skin, coiled together, entwined together. Two lines. Two threads of fates interwoven.

"You've always loved the Marks haven't you?" Jimin murmured, watching me.

"I've told you. They're beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

My hand stilled at that and I met his gaze, looking for amusement or some sort of teasing in his eyes. My heart contracted when I found none.

He continued before I could find my voice. "I dreamed that we were back in the streets of the North City again," he murmured. His eyes became slightly unfocused and he idly began to stroke his thumb across my hips. "I was pinned and you were standing in front of me with the gun to your head. Except.. you pulled the trigger."

I glanced down, uncertain of how to answer. After Jimin had finally calmed down in my arms the day General Konu died, he'd begun yelling at me. Yelling at me for being so stupid as to risk my own life for his. Hugging me, kissing me, scolding me. I never realized how much the moment had been traumatic for him until recently.

"You really would've pulled the trigger?" Jimin's voice was but a whisper.

I nodded once.

His hands tightened. He pulled me against him again and kissed me, deeply, roughly. I clung to his shirt as I let his mouth work against mine, undoing me. And when he pulled back, I swore I could see celestial bodies swirling within his eyes.

"Don't throw away your life for me," he said roughly. "Don't put your life on the line like that again."

My fists tightened on his shirt. "You don't get to tell me that," I replied sharply. "I knew what I was doing back then Jimin; and if something like that was to happen again I wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing all over again."

"God damn you," he hissed, but his eyes were two deep pools of adoration and tenderness. "What the hell did I do to have someone like you?"

I smiled a little and leaned forward until our noses brushed. "Well let's see. You turned into a towel and a spider."

"You slobbered all over me in the rave and superglued me to my bed."

My cheeks heated but I continued. "You terrorized me with cockroaches and made inappropriate fruit jokes in a public place."

"They were very appropriate," Jimin immediately countered. "And now you know they were very true too."

My face grew warmer but I refused to look away from him. "You're unbearable."

He finally cracked a small smile. "And you're still beautiful."

"Flattery isn't going to get you anywhere."

"No, perhaps not." Jimin closed the little distance between us to kiss me again, hand guiding my leg up to half-straddle his waist. "But this might."

Another breeze danced around us as we dissolved into each other, carrying the scent of water and jasmine.

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