Late afternoon light filtered through the dormitory windows. 

The room was spacious and refined. The carpets were soft, and the furnishings whispered prestige without excess.

Greyson sat on the edge of his bed, his bag lying unpacked at his feet.

Anyone else might have been thrilled by the honor of being assigned to Class S and a room this luxurious, but Greyson felt none of that. 

Instead, his chest felt heavy.

Then, he remembered.

“Ah—”

He reached into his bag, searching for his phone. And the moment he pressed the familiar speed dial, the line connected almost instantly.

“Wow,” Grant’s voice came through, amused and warm. “Did the great Central Esper Academy steal my son already? I was starting to think you were too popular to even remember your old man.”

Greyson chuckled, straightening unconsciously. “Sorry, Dad. I just got settled in.”

Grant hummed knowingly. “Uh-huh. Settled in. Let me guess. You made friends already? Half the campus swooning?”

Greyson smiled into the phone, lightening his tone. “I did make a friend. His name’s Wade. And… I got into Class S.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“What?”

Grant laughed, loud and unrestrained. “Class S? That’s my boy! I knew it. You hear that, world?”

Greyson laughed along, letting the sound mask the knot in his chest.

But Grant heard it anyway, his voice softening. 

“Son.”

Greyson stilled.

“What’s wrong?”

Greyson blinked. 

“You’re… always so sharp,” he murmured.

Grant smiled on the other end. “Comes with the job.”

Greyson hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “Dad… I met someone today.”

“The friend you mentioned?” Grant asked.

“No,” Greyson said quietly. “A different boy.”

Grant didn’t speak. He could already tell.

Greyson continued, words spilling carefully like something fragile. 

“I don’t know why, but… I’m sure I know him. I know I do. Even though he was cold to me… Even though he barely spoke, I could tell. He knew me too.”

His voice lowered. “I… I can’t get him out of my head.”

Greyson waited for laughter or some sort of teasing, for some playful jab about crushes or destiny.

But none came.

On the other end, Grant closed his eyes.

Of course.

Of course Frost had pushed Greyson away.

Grant knew all too well that Frost was someone who loved so fiercely yet feared even more fiercely. He was someone who believed that distance was protection and that cold was mercy.

But who could blame him… after having almost lost the one thread he held so dear?

Grant sighed, the sound heavy with sorrow.

Greyson’s voice pulled him back. “Dad?”

Grant straightened. “I’m listening.”

There was a pause.

Then, Greyson asked the question he hadn’t dared voice for seven years.

“Is he… connected to my past?”

Grant’s breath caught.

Greyson had never asked about his past, not even once. It wasn’t because he was not curious, but because he had been kind.

Grant had always known that Greyson did not want to make him feel replaceable. He didn’t want to burden the man who had taken him in, loved him, and raised him.

But now… the fact that he was asking meant the emptiness was starting to eat at him.

Grant wanted to tell him everything. He wanted to say Frost’s name aloud and explain about the promise and the night seven years ago.

But he didn’t… or perhaps, he couldn’t.

Because he, too, was afraid.

Instead, Grant asked gently, “You said he was cold toward you and that he was reluctant to speak?”

“Yes,” Greyson replied, a trace of sadness in his voice.

Grant nodded to himself. “Then let me ask you this, Son.”

“Is your past as important to you as he is?” The words came out unfiltered.

Greyson went quiet. He stared at the dorm ceiling, searching for an answer that felt honest.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted.

Grant’s voice was steady, warm. “If the past is what’s keeping him away from you… then maybe, just maybe, you don’t need to chase it.”

Greyson’s eyes widened. The idea settled slowly, not fully convincing, but comforting.

He smiled faintly. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and soft. “I guess you’re right, Dad.”

His grip on the phone tightened slightly, resolve forming.

“I think… I know what to do.”

Grant closed his eyes.

I hope so.

Later that evening…

Greyson had eaten a light dinner with Wade. The latter had been animated, practically glowing as he talked about the facilities.

“Did you see the training wing?” he had said between bites. “And the baths? I swear they’re bigger than my hometown’s public springs.”

Greyson had listened, smiling and responding when appropriate. He had laughed at the right moments and asked a question or two. 

Wade eventually left, still talking as he waved goodnight.

Now, Greyson was alone in his dorm room again, unpacking his stuff. 

Go back.

The words echoed again in his head.

Greyson paused mid-motion and turned toward the windows, pushing them open. 

Cool air brushed his face softly, and it carried a hint of that same familiar chill.

Greyson closed his eyes and inhaled, mind clearer than it had been.

When he opened them again, resolve had settled into his silver gaze.

Back where the ancient tree stood, Frost still sat on the same branch, barely having moved from the spot. 

He felt it before he heard it, the familiar presence, the same warmth.

Frost did not turn, but his chest tightened anyway.

He’s here.

Greyson approached the tree without speaking. He didn’t call Frost’s name or even look up. Instead, he stopped at the base of the trunk and lowered himself to sit, back resting against the bark. 

It was close enough that Frost could feel his warmth pressing against all his senses.

Frost couldn’t hold back. He risked a glance.

His eyes caught the silver hair and eyes that reflected the moonlight. The satin fabric clung neatly to a frame he knew far too well.

Grey…

The name remained locked behind his teeth.

Neither of them spoke for a stretch of time.

Then, Greyson’s voice came quietly.

“Aren’t you… wearing too thin?”

Frost stiffened. For a split second, thoughts collided in his mind.

Does he remember? 

Is he testing me? 

How much does he know?

The temperature dipped, and Greyson noticed, shifting immediately.

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to judge.” He hesitated, then added gently, “It’s just… the night’s chilly.”

Frost exhaled, carefully smoothing his expression.

“I’m the cause,” he said softly, “of the cold.”

Greyson nodded, accepting the answer without pressing.

For a moment, he said nothing. 

Then, he looked up, gaze meeting Frost’s eyes directly.

“Still,” Greyson said, voice calm and sincere, “it’d be nice to have something to warm you up.”

Frost didn’t move.

Greyson’s eyes flicked to the white scarf around Frost’s neck.

“Like that scarf of yours.”

The words struck deep, and Frost’s body reacted before his mind could stop it.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing the fabric around his neck, then drawing it closer until the cloth touched his cheek.

This is…

But he said nothing.

He didn’t complete the thought either.

The moonlight caught the faint tremor in his fingers—

And the space between them felt impossibly small for a very brief moment.