Charles woke to a ceiling that was too clean to belong anywhere else. White, flat, without shadow. The air smelled sharp, sterile in a way that didn’t belong to the sea or dust or anything he had grown used to. It settled in his lungs before he could make sense of it.

He pushed himself up slowly.

The movement felt wrong, like his body had returned before everything else had. There was a chair beside the bed, and someone in it. His omega father.

For a second, Charles just looked at him.

Then everything broke.

His father stood the moment he moved, crossing the small distance without hesitation. “Charles,” he said, voice tight, like it had been waiting too long to be used.

Charles didn’t answer.

He reached for him instead, and the moment he was held, something inside him gave way completely. The sound that left him didn’t feel like it belonged to him. It was too raw, too unguarded. He didn’t try to stop it. He couldn’t.

“I—” His voice caught, broke, tried again. “I don’t—”

He didn’t know what he was trying to say.

He couldn’t remember.

That was the first thing that should have mattered. That should have been enough to explain the panic rising in him, the confusion, the way everything felt wrong.

But it wasn’t that.

It was something else.

His hand moved without thought, pressing against his abdomen, fingers curling there like they were looking for something that should have been present. The emptiness under his palm made his breath hitch again, sharper this time.

“I lost something,” he said, the words coming out uneven. “I know I did. I just— I don’t know what it is.”

His father held him tighter, one hand at the back of his head, steadying him the way he used to when he was younger. “It’s alright,” he said, though his voice didn’t fully hold. “You’re safe. You’re here.”

Charles shook his head against him, tears not slowing, not easing. “No,” he said. “No, it’s not just that.”

He didn’t have the words for it. That was the worst part. The feeling was there, heavy and undeniable, but it had nothing to attach to. No face, no name, no memory clear enough to hold.

Just loss.

His father felt it too.

Not the same way, not from the inside, but in the way Charles clung to him, in the way his body shook without restraint. This wasn’t the son he knew. Not the one who learned to smile when he needed to, who measured every reaction, who kept himself contained even as a child.

Charles didn’t cry.

Not like this.

This was something real, something unfiltered, and it frightened him more than anything else could have.

“It’s okay,” he said again, softer now, even as his own chest tightened. “We’ll figure it out.”

It took time for the crying to slow.

By then, the room had filled.

His mother arrived first, then the others, each one stepping in carefully, like they were entering something fragile. They surrounded him without crowding, close enough to be felt, not enough to overwhelm.

Charles looked at them, searching for something that might explain the weight in him.

He found nothing.

“What happened,” he asked finally, his voice rough from everything he had already let out. “Why can’t I remember.”

His mother stepped forward, her expression controlled in a way that mirrored him too closely. “The plane,” she said. “There was a storm. Stronger than anything expected. Several flights were caught in it.”

Charles listened, his breathing uneven.

“It wasn’t just the weather,” she continued. “There was a system forming at the same time. It made everything worse. The aircraft went down over the sea.”

The words felt distant.

“You were pulled out hours later,” she added. “A local volunteer. He took his yacht out when others couldn’t. Stayed out there longer than anyone thought possible.” Her voice softened slightly. “You were the last one he found before he collapsed.”

Charles stared at her.

The details settled in his mind, but they didn’t reach where the pain was.

“The storm…” she said, pausing just enough for it to land, “it’s being called the worst we’ve had. People didn’t expect it to hit like that.”

Silence followed.

Charles looked down again, his hand still resting against his abdomen.

It didn’t make sense.

None of it did.

If this was all there was, then why did it feel like something had been taken from him, not just lost in an accident, but torn away before he could even understand it.

He swallowed, his throat tight again.

“I feel like…” He stopped, unable to finish.

His father watched him, something breaking quietly behind his eyes.

“I know,” he said.

Charles shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

And that was the truth.

Because whatever it was, whatever had been there, whatever had made him feel something real for the first time in his life—

It was gone.

And he didn’t even know what to call it.

Three days later, Charles was finally allowed to leave.

His sister had argued longer than necessary, keeping him there past the point anyone else would have agreed to. He didn’t fight her on it. He didn’t have the energy, and part of him understood she needed the time more than he did. Still, when they stepped out of the hospital, the air felt different. Not lighter, just real again.

The sea was close enough to see.

Even from a distance, the damage held. Broken lines where there should have been clean edges, debris scattered in places that used to be clear. It didn’t look like a single event had passed through. It looked like something had stayed and taken its time.

Charles stood there a moment longer than needed.

“Can we go closer,” he asked.

Liham glanced at him. “The roads aren’t clear yet.”

“I know.”

“It’s not safe in some parts.”

Charles didn’t argue. He just looked back at the shoreline, then at his brother again. “Please.”

Liham hesitated, then sighed under his breath. “Let me call Mom.”

The answer came back quickly, along with two guards sent to walk with them. It turned into a slow path rather than a drive. Sections of the road were blocked, forcing them to step around what had been left behind.

They moved carefully.

At some point, Liham gestured ahead. “That’s where they found you.”

Charles followed his gaze.

The spot didn’t look like anything. Just water meeting land, uneven and silent now. But the moment he focused on it, something shifted inside him. Not a memory, not something he could hold onto, but a sharp, sudden ache that caught him off guard.

He pressed his hand lightly against his chest.

“That’s… it,” he said, though he didn’t know what he was confirming.

Liham watched him, concern flickering, but didn’t interrupt.

Further down, near the edge of what remained of a small dock, a yacht sat anchored, marked by wear but still standing. Liham noticed it next.

“That might be the one,” he said. “The one they mentioned.”

Charles looked at it, then nodded once. “Let’s go.”

They approached slowly.

Liham called out first. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then movement. A young man appeared, stepping out from the side, his expression cautious at first.

“Yes,” he said. “Can I help you.”

“We’re looking for the owner,” Liham replied. “We were told this yacht was used during the rescue.”

The man studied them briefly, then nodded. “Wait here.”

He disappeared inside.

A moment later, he returned, helping another man step out carefully. His arm was in a cast, his posture steady but clearly restrained by the injury. He looked younger than Charles expected, though there was something in the way he carried himself that made the detail less important.

“This is Yiannis,” the first man said. “I’m Willahelm.”

Liham stepped forward slightly. “We came to say thank you. He’s the one you pulled from the water.”

He gestured toward Charles.

Yiannis looked at him.

Not quickly. Not with surprise.

Just… looked.

There was a pause, the kind that didn’t need explanation.

Charles felt it before he understood it.

Something shifted, deep and immediate, like a space inside him had been waiting without him realizing it. The emptiness that had followed him since he woke, the weight he couldn’t name, it moved. Not disappeared all at once, but cracked, like something had found its way back in.

He didn’t look away.

Liham cleared his throat lightly. “We’ll come back properly once things settle,” he said. “This is just—”

Charles didn’t hear the rest.

“Can you give us a moment,” he said.

Liham glanced at him, one brow lifting slightly, then nodded. “We’ll be over there.”

He stepped away with Willahelm, leaving them with a distance that wasn’t far, but enough.

Charles turned back to him and stopped there, like something in his body had decided before his mind could catch up. Yiannis hadn’t moved. He stood where he was, steady in a way that felt almost stubborn, like he had learned to wait without knowing what he was waiting for.

The space between them held for a second, silent but full.

Charles didn’t plan what he did next. The question came out uneven, barely formed, like he wasn’t sure it belonged to him. He didn’t finish it properly, just enough to be understood. It sounded strange when he heard it, too formal for something that didn’t feel formal at all.

Yiannis didn’t make him explain. He gave a small nod, easy, like it was nothing, like it had always been allowed.

That was all it took.

Charles stepped forward and closed the distance. The moment he reached him, something inside him shifted in a way that didn’t ask permission. It wasn’t sharp or overwhelming. It was silent, almost gentle, like a door opening that had been stuck for so long he forgot it was there. The weight he had been carrying since he woke up, the hollow place he couldn’t name or fill, loosened without warning.

He held on.

Not carefully, not with hesitation. Just held on like letting go wasn’t part of the decision. The feeling didn’t rush him. It settled. It fit. For the first time since he opened his eyes in that white room, what he felt matched something real, something solid enough to trust.

Yiannis held him back without question. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was certain, like he had already chosen this without needing to think it through again. There was no surprise in him, no confusion. Just recognition that didn’t rely on memory or explanation.

Yiannis had stayed for this.

Not in a way he could justify to anyone else. He had stayed because leaving never felt right. Seasons had passed, storms had come and gone, and still he stayed near that stretch of sea like something in him refused to let go of it. People had asked, joked about it, told him to move on. He never did. He didn’t know why. He just knew he couldn’t.

Now he understood.

Charles pulled back slowly, not far, just enough to see him clearly. His expression had changed in a way he couldn’t control. There was no mask to fall back on this time. His voice caught when he tried to speak, the words coming out incomplete, like he was admitting something he didn’t want to admit.

Yiannis nodded once, steady. He had expected that. It didn’t shake him.

Charles looked at him longer, searching without knowing what he was looking for. Then something settled in his gaze, silent but certain.

It was him.

He didn’t know how he knew. There was no memory to support it, no clear thought that led him there. It came from somewhere deeper, something that had been there long before logic or explanation. The kind of knowing that didn’t need proof.

Yiannis let out a breath that almost broke into a laugh, though it didn’t quite reach that point. It was softer than that. Relieved in a way he didn’t try to hide.

They stayed where they were, close enough that the space between them didn’t matter anymore. Around them, the sea moved in a quieter rhythm, nothing like the violence it had shown before. It didn’t feel like the same place, but it didn’t feel empty either.

Charles looked out at it briefly, then back at Yiannis. The ache that had followed him since he woke was gone. Not reduced. Not dulled.

Gone.

And he understood it now, not as a memory, not as something he could explain to anyone else, but as something he could feel without doubt.

A gut feeling.

The kind that doesn’t argue, doesn’t explain itself, doesn’t wait to be proven right. It just settles in and stays, steady and undeniable.

He didn’t need anything more than that.

He had found what he lost.

Or maybe, it had found its way back to him the moment he stopped trying to understand it.