Dear readers! Again thank you all who is reading and allt hose who are giving feedback! I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well!

Starbrellaaa: We will see in this chapter what Seiya only saw but did not hear :-) And I hope you will like this!

PinkOdangos: I think I like to torture poor Seiya :-) No not really but I also always wondered what if he saw really saw what he was trying to change.

Chapter 13 - What I Remember For Us

As they walked side by side through the quiet corridors, Serenity found herself acutely aware of the space between them—small, polite, perfectly measured. And yet, it felt like an invisible thread stretched taut between them, humming softly beneath the silence.

Endymion said nothing at first. His strides were even and composed, his hands relaxed at his sides, but Serenity could sense the tension beneath his calm exterior. There was a quiet weight to his presence, like standing near a storm held carefully in check. The sheer control of it made her chest tighten, though she wasn't entirely sure why.

He's holding back, she thought distantly. For me.

That realization sent a faint flush to her cheeks, which she quickly dismissed by glancing away. Except… she found herself glancing back at him. More than once. Small, sidelong looks. Quick. Unthinking. She wasn't sure what she was searching for in his profile—the curve of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the way his gaze softened when he turned his head slightly toward her—but there was something compelling about him. Something familiar. Something that drew her in, as if she'd already memorized him once before, and was now rediscovering what had been lost.

And Endymion noticed.

He always noticed.

The flicker of her glances wasn't lost on him. Neither was the faint flush at the tips of her ears, or the way she unconsciously mirrored his pace, matching the length of his strides even as she tried to appear unaffected. She didn't remember him. Not yet. But she was still her. And he recognized the look in her eyes—the subtle, searching curiosity that had once made him feel as if the ground beneath his feet wasn't quite solid.

He'd seen that look before. Long ago, in quieter moments when they'd first begun… Back when it had been new. Fragile.

And dangerous.

It was dangerous now, too. Because he wanted to answer the question in her gaze. To give her more than patience. More than careful restraint. He wanted to take her hand, to pull her closer, to tell her everything—how long he had searched, how much he had missed her, how desperately he wanted her to remember.

But he didn't.

He kept his hands at his sides. Kept his expression soft but controlled. She needed time. And he wouldn't steal it from her.

And yet…

"You always did look at me like that," Endymion said suddenly, his voice quiet, but warm with something deeper.

Serenity blinked, startled, her steps slowing slightly as she turned to him. "Like what?" she asked, her voice softer than she meant it to be.

He glanced at her then, and there was no hiding the faint smile at the corner of his mouth. No masking the warmth in his eyes. "Like you were trying to decide if you should trust yourself," he murmured. "Not me. Yourself."

She stared at him, breath caught somewhere between understanding and confusion. "I… don't remember doing that," she admitted after a long moment, her voice hushed.

"That's all right," Endymion replied, his tone steady and reassuring. "I do."

His words hung between them, quiet and weighty. Endymion held her gaze for a heartbeat longer, and in that moment, he felt it—the same pull that had always existed between them. That look in her eyes, soft with uncertainty yet smoldering with something deeper, something unspoken. He knew it well.

He had learned to recognize it in the early days, when they had still danced around each other in stolen moments, when her curious glances and hesitant smiles had turned into something far less innocent. He had known what it meant then. And his body remembered it now—how those glances had always led to her or him closing the distance between them. How, soon after, her lips would have found his. How her fingers would have slid into his hair as she drew him down to kiss her until he lost himself completely.

Even now, his hands ached to reach for her. To feel her against him, to bridge the small, torturous space between them. But he didn't move. He couldn't. Not yet.

So he kept his hands at his sides, curled loosely into fists he quickly forced to relax. He mastered his breath, slowed the rush of his pulse. His self-control was iron, forged over years of command and discipline—but this was the sharpest test of it he had faced in a very long time.

And still, he found himself smiling faintly, as if some small part of him couldn't resist teasing her. A gentle truth, wrapped carefully in patience.

"You used to look at me that way," he said quietly, his voice dipping just enough to be intimate. "Right before you kissed me."

Serenity's breath caught. She didn't move away—but she didn't look away, either. Her silver eyes widened slightly, searching his face for something—confirmation, maybe. Or memory.

"I—" she began, but her voice faltered.

Endymion shook his head faintly, his expression softening as he reached out, not to touch her, but to ease the weight of the moment. "You don't have to remember," he said, gentler now. "I remember enough for both of us."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she dropped her gaze, lips parting in a breath she didn't seem to notice. For a moment, it looked as if she might say something more, but then she exhaled and gave a quiet, shaky laugh. Whether it was from nerves or something else, he couldn't quite tell.

It didn't matter. The seed was planted.

And Endymion had waited long enough to know that sometimes it was the smallest things that brought memory back.

But in the space of that moment, Serenity found herself thinking—not of the memories she was missing, but of what it might feel like if she leaned in now. If she closed the distance between them, as he said she once had. Her heart beat faster at the thought, and the pull in her chest became something harder to ignore. She could almost imagine it: the warmth of his mouth against hers, the way his hand might lift to cradle her cheek with the same tenderness he had shown her all evening.

It was reckless. It was sudden. It was wrong, wasn't it? She didn't even remember him.

But she wanted to. And she wanted… that.

Her breath hitched quietly, and she forced herself to look away again, willing the rush of heat in her cheeks to fade. But the yearning didn't leave. If anything, it grew stronger.

And somehow, she knew he could feel it too.

Endymion said nothing, but the faint shift in his stance told her everything. Yet he made no move to close the space between them, no move to act on the quiet tension thrumming in the air. His restraint was absolute—impressive, infuriating, and oddly reassuring all at once.

She almost hated him for it. Almost.

And that thought made her laugh again, a soft, breathless sound she wasn't sure she wanted him to hear.

He did.

When she glanced up, his expression hadn't changed—still warm, still patient—but his eyes were darker now. Knowing. As if he could wait forever, and she was the only one who might ever break the stalemate.

For a heartbeat, Serenity wondered if she should.

The thought was reckless—foolish even. She didn't remember him. Not really. But the pull between them was undeniable. Her breath came a little faster as the space between them seemed to narrow without either of them moving at all. It wasn't imagination. It was there. She could feel it as surely as she felt the rapid beat of her heart.

Would he break, if she leaned in? Would his perfect, careful control crack if she reached up, touched his face, and kissed him?

For a moment, it was an idea so vivid it made her sway a little toward him.

And he felt it. She saw it in the sudden stillness of his body, in the faint, sharp breath he drew through parted lips. His fingers flexed at his side, as though fighting the instinct to act, to reach for her the way he once had—easily, certainly. There was heat behind his gaze now, unmistakable and raw.

But he didn't move. He held the line, though Serenity could see how much effort it cost him.

Neither of them breathed. The corridor, dim and quiet, seemed to hum with something electric and heavy, a tension strung so tight it was difficult to think.

It was she who broke the moment. A shiver ran through her—not of fear, but of something dangerously close to longing—and she dropped her gaze, inhaling slowly to steady herself.

"You and Kunzite," she said, forcing her voice to be steady, even if her pulse was not, "didn't join us for dinner."

Endymion exhaled softly, a breath that sounded almost like relief—but there was a faint rasp to it, the echo of something that hadn't quite faded. He stepped back half a pace, just enough to give them both room to breathe, and inclined his head in a small gesture of apology. When he spoke, his voice was controlled again, but she didn't miss the edge beneath the smoothness.

"No," he said quietly. "We were occupied. There were messages that needed sending, and… calls that needed answering."

He gave a faint smile, but his eyes still hadn't completely gentled. "Your mother had many questions. So did your Senshi. And later… my parents, and my generals."

Serenity's step faltered just slightly as they resumed walking. "Your parents?" she repeated, her brows drawing together.

Endymion nodded. "They were relieved to hear of your safety. As were the generals."

The words made her throat tighten, though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because of how easily he said it—as if their families, their courts, their closest friends had always known about them. About her. About them, together. There was something intimate in that knowledge, in the idea that those who mattered most had already accepted and embraced what they shared.

And yet, beyond those few… the world knew nothing.

To everyone else, she was still the lost princess. And he was still the distant prince of Earth. Whatever bound them—whatever they had been to each other—was a secret kept between them and a handful of others. It felt strange. Heavy. Like carrying something precious she didn't fully understand but instinctively wanted to protect.

And yet… she didn't remember any of it.

Her stomach fluttered, unsteady. "Of course," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "They would be."

She could feel Endymion watching her out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't press. Again his patience was both infuriating and reassuring.

Shaking herself slightly, Serenity lifted her chin. She wasn't ready to untangle those feelings. Not yet. So instead, she asked, "And Kunzite… and Mina?"

Endymion's mouth curved again, the faintest hint of mischief sparking in his gaze. "Ah. That's a story. A long one. But I'll tell you one of my favorite moments."

She smiled, her curiosity piqued. "I'd like to hear it."

"Well," he began, "there was a time when Kunzite and Mina couldn't be in the same room without arguing. She thought he was too serious and stiff, and he thought she was too impulsive. One day, during a strategy meeting, they got into a heated debate over something ridiculous—whether to use roses or lilies as decoys in a distraction plan."

"Roses or lilies?" Serenity asked, laughing softly.

"Exactly," Endymion said, grinning. "Kunzite argued for lilies because they were 'more practical,' and Mina insisted on roses because, in her words, 'they're more romantic.' The argument got so heated that they actually ended up knocking over a table."

Serenity's laughter rang out, clear and light, as she imagined the scene. "What happened next?"

Endymion's grin softened. "They were forced to work together to clean up the mess they made. Somewhere between scrubbing the floor and picking up broken dishes, something shifted. By the time they finished, they were laughing instead of arguing. That was the beginning of… well, everything."

Serenity shook her head, still smiling. "That's incredible. I can't imagine Kunzite arguing over roses and lilies."

"He'd deny it if you asked him," Endymion said with a chuckle. "But it happened."

Their conversation continued as they reached her door, the warmth of their shared laughter lingering in the air. As they stopped, Endymion turned to her, his expression soft and thoughtful. "Thank you for tonight," he said. "For trusting me."

Serenity smiled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "Thank you for staying," she said softly.

Endymion lifted her hand gently, his movements deliberate and reverent, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The simple, intimate gesture sent a jolt through Serenity, her cheeks flushing as a sudden memory surfaced.

She was standing in a sunlit garden, warmth seeping into her skin, the air rich with the scent of roses and wild grass. Her hands were clasped tightly in Endymion's, their fingers twined together in an easy, familiar way that spoke of comfort and trust.

They were laughing, their voices mingling with the hush of rustling leaves and distant birdsong. He had just told her a joke—a terrible one, something about moonlight and horses—but his delivery was so earnest, so hopeful for her smile, that she couldn't help but laugh until her cheeks ached.

"You're impossible," she said, breathless, shaking her head.

"And you're perfect," he replied, his voice low and warm in a way that made her heart skip.

Her laughter softened, fading into quiet. He raised their joined hands, brushing his thumb over her knuckles before pressing a kiss there—slow, reverent, as though he were making her a promise without words.

The world seemed to still. She could hear the faint beat of her own heart.

"I'll always protect you, Serenity," he whispered, his blue eyes searching hers. "No matter what."

And she had believed him. Completely.

The memory faded, but its echo lingered—warm and familiar, like sunlight she hadn't felt on her skin in too long. Her heart was racing, her breath shallow, but not from fear. It was something else. Something that made her chest ache with longing and relief all at once.

It was real.
Not just a dream or a story someone else had told her. She had been there. She had felt it. And that same hand now held hers.

Endymion was still holding her hand, his gaze searching hers. "Are you all right?" he asked gently.

She nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I think I remembered something."

Endymion's fingers tightened fractionally around hers, as if grounding himself, though his expression remained steady. Only his eyes betrayed the depth of his emotion—darkening with something raw and fierce before he carefully tempered it.

"What did you remember?" he asked, though his voice was rougher than before.

"You. A garden. And… this."

She let her thumb brush over his knuckles in return, a tentative echo of the gesture from her memory.

Endymion's breath caught audibly, though he said nothing. He only smiled—soft and reverent—as if the universe had just begun to right itself. "Then we'll build from there. One memory at a time."

She wanted to ask him what they had been like before. How they had met. How they had fallen in love. But the questions tangled in her throat, too heavy, too soon.

For now, this was enough. This touch. This memory.

And the quiet promise in his voice, steadying her like the earth beneath her feet.

"Good night, Endymion," she whispered. It wasn't just a farewell. It was a promise.

"Goodnight, Serenity," he said, his voice low, threaded with something more than promise—something like hope.