It is almost midnight when the door to the apartment opens and closes, the click of the electronic lock sharp through the dark. There is a barely-audible shuffle in the hallway; the pressure of footsteps toward the sitting room.

Athrun's form comes to stand in front of the armchair on which Cagalli is curled into herself. His face is partially illuminated by the faint moonlight from the large window through which he stares: jaw, nose, cheekbones all sharp angles in the semi-darkness.

There is a weighty silence in the small space between them. There linger all the disappointments and frustrations and quelled hopes of the past two months—the lack of success in tracing Kira, the unresolved stalemate over power between the royal families, the persistent threats to Cagalli's life—pressing down on them from all sides like a heavy blanket, suffocating. Cagalli's continued residence in Athrun's apartment goes unaddressed by either of them. What was intended as a short-term safe house has morphed into a more permanent, unspoken arrangement. Though she'd hardly confess it openly, being close to him makes Cagalli feel safest. She is constantly drawn to him, to his ambiguity and his conscientiousness, like a light draws a moth. His presence warms her from the inside out so her heart flutters against her ribcage.

The frown marring the shape of Athrun's mouth is prominent.

Such is the winter of our discontent, Cagalli thinks, calling on a line from a play about a profoundly unhappy world. She shifts out of her curled position to sit up, bare feet brushing the cool hardwood of the floor.

Athrun moves away without looking at her, frown deepening. He drops his hands to the windowsill. His fingers tighten into white apostrophes around its edge. "You're not asleep?" he says at last, voice rough at the edges.

"I was waiting for you."

"You shouldn't have," tersely. When he turns his head, the green of his eyes is obscured.

Automatically, Cagalli folds her body closer to make space for Athrun beside her, even though the armchair isn't nearly big enough for both of them. There is a pause when she thinks that he won't come, that he doesn't want her. But then he approaches and lets himself fall next to her with a heavy sigh. All at once they're pressed incredibly close together, a tangled crush of limbs and pounding pulses. Cagalli's entire left side burns from the heat of him.

"Today's the day my mother died," he murmurs, so lowly that she nearly misses it. The admission seems to surprise him, as if he hadn't exactly meant to speak it. He still hasn't met her eyes. When Cagalli doesn't respond for a long time, he lowers his head into his hands.

Something inside Cagalli hurts strongly, like her heart grows thorns. He hadn't told her. The idea that he has been alone on such a terrible day chokes her. When their father had been killed, she and Kira had been inseparable—right until the day that her brother disappeared. By then, the pain was manageable. But even now, she finds that she's dreading the anniversary of her father's death…and she is outright petrified of May eighteenth. Of a birthday without Kira.

Cagalli winds her arms around Athrun and draws him near. He rests his head in the crook between her shoulder and neck, shoulders pushing into her collarbone. Their proximity should feel strange and uncomfortable, but for some reason it doesn't. It feels right.

His breathing steadies as she cards her fingers through his hair. "I don't like it here," he whispers onto her skin. "It's not home. But there isn't any way for me to go back now."

"Shhh," Cagalli soothes, even though her insides are confused and chaotic. "It's going to be all right." Then, "I'm here."

When Athrun kisses her, it is like waking up from an endless sleep or catching a breath after an underwater dive. It undoes her from the inside so she's trembling from where his hand cups her chin to where her bare ankle grazes his shin. It is like tasting ambrosia on his mouth, like dying and being reborn in a burst of stars.

For the first time that night, Athrun's eyes meet hers. It's like an explosion. Cagalli thinks the world drops out from under their feet.