Quiet pressed in, the kind that settles after a day spent and emptied. Not peace, but something dulled, edges blunted. The city’s hum seeped through the glass, distant and constant, a signal that the world persisted moving outside this space. One lamp burned in the living room, its light gathering across the floor, softening the furniture’s hard lines. The space felt inhabited, even before Jared crossed the threshold.

Jared closed the door carefully behind him.

He remained at the door, fingers pressed to the lock, allowing the burden of the room settle into him. The Dark hung back, less insistent than usual, the presence an ongoing reminder of its power to overwhelm. Not absent, never absent, but hushed, as if the tide had drawn away, leaving behind slick sand and the suggestion of something steady underfoot. Jared knew the Dark carried a cost, a tether holding him to its shadows whenever it chose to surge forward.

The black cat peered out from the crook of Jared’s arm, eyes luminous and curious.

Adrian emerged from the guest room, exhaustion written across the set of his shoulders, jaw firm in a way Jared knew by heart. Relief crossed his face, brief and fragile, chased quickly by something harder, sharper.

“You’re back,” Adrian said.

“Yeah,” Jared answered gently. “I’m back.”

Adrian’s eyes lowered, then froze.

There was a pause in the conversation. Then, very carefully, “Is that a cat?”

The cat flicked an ear. Jared huffed a quiet laugh despite the knot in his chest. “This,” he said, shifting his hold so Adrian could see more clearly, “is my familiar.”

Adrian stared. “Your what?”

Jared proceeded further into the room, peeling off his jacket and letting it fall over the back of a chair. The cat stayed curled up in his arms, unbothered, as though being ferried from the Dark by a tired human was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I finally pulled them out,” Jared said. “From the Dark. Fully.”

Confusion, disbelief, awe. Adrian experienced each emotion flare and recede in rapid succession, their ripples written plainly across his face. As he looked at Jared, Adrian focused on the subtleties he had memorised: the dilation of his pupils, the pattern of his breath, the guarded tightness in his shoulders. He saw that the usual shimmer of Dark was gone from Jared’s outline, an absence more alarming in its unfamiliarity. Yet for Adrian, the thought of that darkness remained vivid and immediate, as if he could still sense its shadow pressed between them, refusing to fully release its hold on Jared.

“You disappeared,” Adrian said, voice subdued. “No ping. No check-in. And then...” He swallowed. “Your vitals spiked. Hard. Heart rate, cortisol, and neurological activity. And the Dark resonance went all over the place.”

Jared winced. “I know.”

“I was five minutes away from calling containment,” Adrian continued. The frustration finally broke through, sharp and raw. “Do you have any idea what that feels like? Watching your numbers go insane and not knowing where you are or what’s happening to you?”

The cat’s tail swished, a single sharp movement. Jared eased them onto the couch. They sat upright, composed, eyes flicking between the two of them, curious.

“I should’ve told you,” Jared said quietly. “You’re right.” Jared paused, then added, “I just thought that I had to do this alone.”

Adrian dragged fingers through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of Jared. “You don’t get to do this alone,” he said. “Not anymore. Not after everything you’ve asked of me.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Jared said. “Qhall was there. Jolk too.”

“That’s not the point,” Adrian snapped and then immediately softened, shoulders sagging. “I don’t care how competent they are. I care that I didn’t know. That I couldn’t get to you if something went wrong.”

Jared returned his gaze. Fear lived there now, raw beneath the anger. The kind of terror that comes from watching someone survive too much, knowing there is more waiting.

“I need you to tell me where you’re going,” Adrian said. “Every time. If you’re doing something risky, something Dark-adjacent, I need to know.”

Jared hesitated.

Adrian saw it immediately. “What?” 

He had kept too much from Adrian today. Old habits rising up again: retreat, silence, running. Last time, it had broken everything between them.

Jared sighed.

“You’re right,” Jared whispered.

Adrian watched him, waiting, giving him space to handle his feelings and think through what he needed to say.

“I have been struggling with the voice in my head,” Jared gestured at the cat, who flicked their tail in response.

Adrian looked over at the cat. “Alright.”

Jared drew in a breath, steadying. “While you were gone, I did the usual stupid things, the ones I always do to keep it quiet.”

Adrian nodded. “I found the spent nano injectors.”

“Well, nothing was working, and I started to feel like I was falling apart from everything. So, I went to The Alchemy Room.” Jared shrugged, as if that said everything.

Adrian remained silent, waiting.

“I went there to buy magic from the Drow. They have spells that help people forget,” Jared confessed in a rush.

Adrian’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t do it!” Jared added.

Adrian nodded. Still silent.

“Well, while I was there, I was invited to meet with Qhall, and he is helping me,” Jared explained. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Adrian.

“I signed a contract,” Jared said.

Adrian took the envelope and read each page in silence. He slid them back inside, fingers clenching around the paper before letting it rest on the table. He didn’t look at Jared. Just stared at the wood grain, jaw locked, breath measured and slow, as if each inhale was a battle.

“So,” Adrian said at last. “This means if you destabilize past a certain point, it’s not containment.”

Jared nodded. “Not stasis. Not waiting. Not hoping someone finds a workaround.”

Adrian’s voice was quiet. “It’s death.”

“Yes,” Jared said.

The word rested between them, heavy. Outside, the city’s sound dimmed, the world pulling back, leaving space for this truth to take root.

Adrian scrubbed a hand over his face. He let his hand fall back to the envelope. His fingers caught on a crease, and he smoothed it out meticulously, as if imposing order on the paper could steady the chaos within his being. When he looked up again, his eyes were bright, not crying yet, but close. "I’ve been telling myself..." He stopped, swallowed. "I’ve been telling myself that containment was still a version of you being alive. That even if you were asleep, even if it took decades, maybe longer... There was time. There was always time."

Jared moved closer, stopping just short of touch.

“With this,” Adrian continued, tapping the envelope once, sharply, “there’s no time. There’s just a line. And if you cross it...” His voice broke.

“I don’t come back,” Jared said with tenderness.

Adrian laughed once, brittle. “You say that like you’re talking about missing a bus.” The tears came freely then.

Jared winced. “I’m not trying to be flippant. I just...” He took a breath. “I need you to understand that this doesn’t feel like giving up to me. It feels like choosing how it ends.”

Adrian looked at him then, really saw him. “Do you know how terrifying that is to hear from someone you love?”

“Yes,” Jared said immediately. “That’s why I’m scared I’m hurting you.”

Stillness spread, thin and taut. The cat watched from the couch, eyes half-closed, tail coiled about their paws. Unmoving.

Adrian leaned back against the counter, arms folding across his chest. Not defensively, but protectively, like he was holding himself together. “I’m afraid,” he admitted. “Not just of losing you. Of losing you like that. Of knowing that if something goes wrong, there’s no emergency protocol, no last-second intervention. Just you’re gone.”

Tightness in his chest, sharp and sudden. Jared approached, pressing his forehead to Adrian’s chest. “I know,” he said in a low voice. “I hate that this is yours to carry.”

“Then why?” Adrian asked quietly.

Jared lifted his head, meeting Adrian’s gaze. “Because I don’t want you trapped in uncertainty. I don’t want you watching monitors, waiting for the day you lose me, but not really, not all the way. I don’t want to be something you’re waiting on, instead of living.”

Adrian’s lips parted, but no words came out.

“And,” Jared said, voice composed, “this is my body. My Dark. My ending. I need to know I chose it.”

The words rested between them, fragile, impossible to take back.

Adrian closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the anger was gone. What remained was grief. Raw, unhidden, unashamed. “I don’t want this,” he whispered. “But I don’t want you resenting me either. Or feeling trapped in a future that terrifies you just because I can’t let go.”

Jared reached out then, cupping Adrian’s face and wiping at his tears. “I’m asking you to go along with it,” he said. “Not because it’s easy. Because I need it. Can you do that?”

Adrian leaned into the touch, eyes closing briefly. “I can,” he said, voice husky. “I will. I always will. Even when it scares the hell out of me.”

Jared let out an unsteady breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

They remained side by side, breathing in the same air. The tension remained, but more gentle now, shifting into something that could be carried.

“There’s something else,” Jared said after a moment.

Adrian sighed faintly. “Of course there is.”

Adrian pulled back, making physical space as if that would give more room for additional bad news. He wiped his face roughly.

A smile threatened, brief. He loved how much Adrian could feel, how much space he offered. Still, the weight of being a burden pressed in. Always asking for too much.

“I want you to put a tracker in me,” Jared said.

“Absolutely not.”

“Adrian...”

“No,” Adrian said, more firmly now. “That’s extreme. You’re not a runaway patient.”

“I know,” Jared said. “I’m your partner.”

“Exactly,” Adrian said. “Which is why I’m not turning you into a monitored asset.”

Jared took Adrian’s hands, grounding both of them. “Listen. If today had gone wrong. If I’d been anchoring, none of the plans would have mattered. You wouldn’t have found me. You would have been too late.”

Adrian stilled.

“We can’t take that risk again,” Jared said quietly. “Not when the margin for error is zero.”

Adrian’s jaw worked. He looked away, then back. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know,” Jared murmured quietly.

A long pause followed.

“Tomorrow,” Adrian said at last. “At the clinic. I’ll do it myself.”

Jared nodded. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

Adrian huffed a tired laugh. “Of course it was.”

The strain lifted. Adrian pulled him close, arms tight. Jared clung back, face pressed into Adrian’s chest, letting himself be held, just this once, not bracing for what might come next.

Their mouths met, soft at first, then deeper, slower. Not desperate. Nothing but a promise. Still here. Still choosing, even with everything between them.

They might have stayed like that longer. If the cat hadn’t cleared their throat.

Both of them froze.

They pulled apart just enough to look down at the cat as they hopped off the couch and padded closer, sitting neatly between them. They looked up at Adrian first, eyes assessing.

“You’re loud,” they observed. “But you care. I approve.”

Adrian opened his mouth, closed it, then released a trembling laugh. “Thanks?”

The cat turned to Jared. “So,” they said, tail flicked sharply. “If I’m staying, and it seems I am, it would be useful to have a name.”

Jared looked down at them, heart unexpectedly full.

“A name,” he echoed.

“Yes,” the cat said patiently. “Preferably one that isn’t ‘the voice in your head.’ That was never meant to be permanent.”

Jared glanced at Adrian, who watched him with a blend of fatigue and affection.

“Okay,” Jared murmured. “Let’s figure that out together.”

Jared crouched on the floor, forearms draped over his knees, watching as the cat prowled around the apartment. Each step measured, tail level, black fur soaking up the lamplight and giving nothing back. Shadows leaned in, drawn to them, recognizing something of their own.

Adrian stood leaning on the counter, arms crossed. Not defensive now, just bracing himself for whatever strange came next.

“Well?” the cat prompted. “You were thinking very loudly a moment ago.”

Jared exhaled through his nose, a small, rueful smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah. I was.”

Adrian lifted an eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to name a star or doom us all.”

“Maybe both,” Jared said.

The cat padded closer and sat in front of him, looking up expectantly. Patient. Certain.

“Erebus,” Jared said.

The word settled into the room like a final piece clicking into place.

Greek personification of deep darkness. Not the Dark as destruction but as the space before creation. The pause before breath. The shadow that makes light meaningful.

The cat closed their eyes.

When they opened them again, their voice (the voice, the one that had troubled and guided and endured with him) was warm with something which seemed unmistakably like approval.

“Yes,” Erebus said. “That will do nicely.”

Adrian chuckled. “Of course it’s Erebus,” he muttered. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Erebus flicked an ear in his direction. “You may call me Erebus as well,” they said graciously. “Provided you continue to keep him alive.”

Adrian snorted despite himself. “No pressure.”

Jared reached out, hesitating only a second before resting his hand on Erebus’s head. The fur beneath his fingers was warm. Solid. Real.

“Welcome home, Erebus,” Jared said.

The darkness within the room deepened, just slightly, as if the Dark itself had leaned in to listen.