Dear readers! Thank you again for reading and leaving comments! I hope you will enjoy this next chapter as well!

Starbrellaaa: And more memories are coming and coming :-)

James Birdsong: Thank you! I hope you will like this new chapter as well!

Chapter 14 - Only a Breath Away

The late morning sunlight filtered softly through the trees in the garden, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the stone path where Serenity and Endymion walked. The air was warmer than it had been the day before, fragrant with the scent of new blossoms. Birds sang quietly from somewhere high in the branches, their notes delicate and distant, as though they too were hesitant to disturb the hush that had settled between them.

They walked slowly, side by side, neither speaking at first.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy, either. It was thick with things unsaid—heavy with the weight of everything that had passed between them the night before. The near kiss. The shared longing. The tension that had hummed between them in the shadows of the palace corridors, when neither had moved and yet everything had shifted.

Serenity could feel it still, that pull in the air. Every glance she stole at him seemed to tighten it further. And though she kept her gaze forward, every part of her was aware of him. Of his nearness. Of his calm, measured steps beside her. Of the faint brush of his sleeve when they turned a corner and came too close.

She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, or if he was keeping the distance between them deliberate now. Not cold, but careful. Careful the way he had been last night, when he'd held himself back with an iron restraint that had left her breathless and quietly frustrated.

And now… now there was something unfinished between them. A question that hung in the air like a thread waiting to be pulled.

For his part, Endymion walked with practiced ease, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression as composed as ever. But Serenity had begun to recognize the signs beneath the surface. The way his fingers flexed against each other. The way his jaw tensed, just slightly, when she looked at him too long. The way his breath shifted when she did nothing at all but exist next to him.

They both remembered the night before. Neither of them said it, but it was there, stretching thin and taut between them with every step.

And when they finally stopped near a low stone bench, Serenity was relieved to sit—not because she was tired, but because standing there, too close and too far at the same time, had become quietly unbearable.

She folded her hands in her lap, her fingers fidgeting as she tried to find something, anything, to break the silence.

Endymion remained standing for a moment longer, as if gathering his thoughts, his gaze distant—but not detached. And then, slowly, he lowered himself beside her. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. Close enough that her pulse fluttered in response.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and measured, but there was a weight behind it. As if he too felt the need to say something that mattered.

"You've been here for weeks," he said, as though they hadn't just shared a lifetime in silence. "What was it like for you, waking up with no memories?"

For a heartbeat, Serenity blinked in surprise.

That was not what she thought they would talk about. Not after last night. Not after the quiet, charged walk through the corridors. Not after the moment that had nearly tipped into something else entirely.

She had thought—hoped?—he might speak of it. That he might acknowledge what hung so thickly between them. But instead… he gave her space. A careful question. A steady hand rather than the weight of everything they weren't saying.

She wasn't sure if she was grateful or disappointed.

When she turned her head to look at him fully, his expression was still warm, still patient—but there was something else behind his eyes. Something quieter. Something knowing. The faintest curve of a smile tugged at his mouth, and he let a breath out slowly, as if he found her reaction quietly amusing.

"Were you expecting another subject?" he asked, his tone low and even, but with the faintest edge of teasing threaded through it.

Her pulse fluttered. She opened her mouth to reply, but the words tangled for a moment before she gave a breathless, shaky laugh. "Maybe," she admitted softly.

For a brief, electric moment, the composure he wore so easily seemed to slip. His breath caught, almost too quiet to hear, and something darkened in his gaze—something fierce and unguarded. His eyes softened, but the heat behind them was unmistakable. Longing. Recognition. Hers.

And it didn't vanish right away.

He held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes deepening as if weighing something—measuring how close he was to stepping over a line neither of them was quite ready to cross.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, roughened at the edges. "You're playing with fire, Serenity."

The words weren't a warning. Not really. They were an admission.

Her breath caught. She wasn't sure if it was nerves or something else, but her pulse leapt in response. He still hadn't moved, hadn't touched her, but it didn't matter. The space between them had become something fragile and volatile, and she could feel how carefully he was holding himself back.

She realized, in that heartbeat, that he wasn't as safe as he seemed. Not safe in the way she had told herself. He might be steady, might be patient—but his restraint wasn't effortless. It was deliberate. And she was dangerously close to finding out how thin the line was between his control and the things he was holding back.

Her mind flickered—an instinctive understanding more than memory. Had it been like this before? Had he always been the one holding back? Or had she been the one to break him first?

The question made her heart race even faster.

Because now, looking at him, she knew she could. It wouldn't take much. A word. A gesture. If she closed the distance between them, if she touched him—really touched him—he would respond. She felt it as surely as she felt her own pulse. For a single heartbeat, Serenity thought she might cross that line. That she might find out what it was like to be on the other side of his control.

But was she ready?

No. Not yet. As much as she wanted to close that space, to test the weight of his restraint, she wasn't ready for what came next.

And maybe, just maybe, he knew that too.

Endymion's gaze softened after a long, weighted pause. His mouth curved faintly, the barest shadow of a smile—not teasing, but something deeper. "I won't rush you," he said, his voice quiet again. Controlled. "But don't think I'm not tempted."

Endymion watched her for a moment longer, as if to make sure she understood the weight of his words. That he would wait—but only because he chose to. Only because she needed him to.

Then, slowly, he exhaled. The breath eased something in his posture, and the iron restraint softened into something calmer. Gentler.

He shifted, leaning back just slightly. Not away, not distant—but enough to offer her the space to steady herself if she needed it.

When he spoke again, his voice was lighter. Warm, like morning sunlight breaking through a storm.

"But I did ask you something," he said softly, his tone gentling. "About waking up here. About Kinmoku."

He didn't press. Didn't rush. The invitation was there, quietly offered, as if to remind her they could stand on solid ground too. That not everything between them had to be wild and uncertain.

And for that, Serenity found herself grateful. Even if a part of her mourned the loss of that heat.

Serenity let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and gave a small, almost self-conscious smile. "It was… strange," she admitted after a moment. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap as she gathered her thoughts, smoothing the fabric of her skirt as if it could steady her. "Scary at first. I didn't know who I was or where I was."

Endymion watched her quietly, his expression steady, but there was a faint crease between his brows that hadn't been there before.

"The Starlights found me," Serenity continued, her voice softer now. "They brought me here. I think they were as surprised as I was." Her lips curved faintly, remembering. "But they were kind. Protective. They acted like… brothers, I suppose." She gave a small, almost sheepish laugh. "Annoying sometimes. Fierce, always. But they made sure I never felt alone."

Endymion's gaze never left her. He listened, truly listened, as though every word was something precious he wanted to understand.

She hesitated, then added softly, "Seiya, especially."

For the first time, something flickered in Endymion's expression. Brief. Almost imperceptible. But it was there.

Still, when he spoke, his tone remained quiet and thoughtful. "He seems… very protective of you."

There was no accusation in his words, no sharpness. Just a simple acknowledgment. An observation made by a man who missed nothing.

Then, after a heartbeat, his mouth curved—just slightly. A hint of wryness softened the edges of his otherwise composed features.

"Though I'm not sure 'brotherly' is the word I'd choose," he added mildly.

For a moment, Serenity stilled.

The mildness in Endymion's voice, the faint curve of his mouth, should have made his words easy to brush past. He wasn't accusing her of anything. He wasn't asking questions she wasn't ready to answer. And yet… she felt a faint twist in her chest. Not guilt, exactly. But something close to it.

Because he was right.

And because hearing it—so quietly, so simply—made her remember. The kiss.

It rose unbidden in her mind, and she had to lower her gaze to hide the flicker of emotion she couldn't quite name. Now that memory sat wrong in her chest. Uneasy. Misplaced. She swallowed, forcing the thought away. She wasn't ready to untangle the knot Seiya had become in her life. And she certainly wasn't ready to speak of it—not here. Not now. Not when Endymion's nearness was already unraveling things she didn't have words for yet.

So she exhaled slowly and said, with careful steadiness, "They've all been very kind to me."

Her voice was soft but clear. True, if not the whole truth.

Endymion's gaze held hers for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, as if weighing the intent behind her words. But whatever he saw in her expression—or whatever he chose to see—seemed to satisfy him.

His smile deepened, warm and faintly knowing. "I'm glad," he said simply.

There was a pause, a space where neither of them spoke, but the heaviness had shifted. It felt easier now. Lighter. Serenity found herself able to exhale fully, the tightness in her chest easing with it.

And then Endymion's head tilted just slightly, that faint curve to his mouth gaining a wryness that made her eyebrows lift in mild curiosity.

"Though I will say," he added, almost thoughtfully, "your Starlights may be very kind to you… but they've been significantly less welcoming toward us."

Serenity blinked, and then, to her own surprise, she laughed—a small, warm sound that slipped out before she could stop it. "Oh," she said, covering her mouth for a moment as if to stifle it, though it didn't quite work. "Yes, I… noticed."

His lips curved further, something undeniably amused dancing behind his eyes. "I'm not sure Kunzite has ever been glared at with such consistency."

That made her laugh again, brighter now. "They're very protective," she said apologetically, though her smile lingered. "And very suspicious. It's… sort of their nature."

Endymion nodded in easy agreement. "I noticed," he murmured. And then, with a trace of dry humor, "Though I suspect Kunzite's first impression didn't help."

Her brows lifted. "You weren't there."

"No," Endymion agreed, the faintest trace of humor in his voice. "But I've known Kunzite long enough to make an educated guess."

Endymion's grin was faint but unmistakable. "He was Kunzite," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "Formal. Direct. And very… thorough in his questioning. Which usually leaves people wondering whether they've just been assessed, challenged… or dismissed."

She smiled at that, though it was tempered by thoughtfulness. "He was… very formal," she murmured, remembering. "And sharp. Seiya didn't like it."

Endymion's mouth quirked again, a slow and knowing tilt. "Seiya wouldn't," he said simply. "Kunzite doesn't much care for people who think with their hearts before their heads. He is fiercely protective. He's never exactly mastered the art of putting people at ease."

She hesitated, thoughtful for a moment. "Does he… mind? The way they treated him, I mean."

Endymion chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Kunzite? No. He's used to it. He's not particularly bothered by other people's opinions… unless they threaten someone he's sworn to protect."

Serenity's expression gentled. "You."

He glanced at her, and for a brief moment, something warmer flickered in his gaze. "Among others," he said. "But yes. Me."

She was quiet for a moment, considering that. Then she smiled again. "They're very alike, I suppose."

Endymion gave a low hum of agreement. "In some ways," he said. "Though I'm not sure either of them would appreciate the comparison."

That made her laugh again, bright and genuine. "No, I don't think they would."

He watched her for a moment longer, his expression softening further as he listened to her laughter. It was easy between them now, natural in a way that made his chest ache—but also feel oddly whole.

Endymion's gaze drifted to her hair, which flowed down her back like a river of silver light. It was different from how he remembered it, though no less breathtaking. Now it was gathered loosely at the nape of her neck, twisted into a soft knot to keep it from falling entirely free, while the rest spilled over one shoulder in a graceful, tumbling sweep of pale strands. Several wisps had slipped free, framing her face in a way that seemed almost intentional, though he suspected it wasn't.

A small smile played at his lips.

"Your hair," he said softly, his voice a low ripple in the quiet. "It's beautiful like this. But… it's different from how you usually wear it."

Serenity blinked, startled for a moment, before her fingers lifted automatically to touch the twist at her nape. She smoothed it self-consciously, fingertips trailing along the silken strands, as if noticing the difference for the first time.

"Oh," she murmured, her tone faintly embarrassed. "I didn't even think about that. When I woke up, I had no memories. I didn't know there was a particular way I was supposed to do it." She glanced at him with a small, uncertain smile. "Honestly, I'm not even sure how it's done."

Endymion's chest tightened, though his smile only deepened. There was something so achingly familiar in the way she said it—straightforward, honest, with that faint tilt of shyness. A softness that had nothing to do with memory and everything to do with who she was.

"I've seen you do it many times," he replied, his voice a little lower now. Warm. Steady. "Maybe… I could help."

For a heartbeat, she stared at him, wide-eyed. The faintest parting of her lips betrayed her surprise, and something else beneath it. Something she might not have fully realized was there, but he did. Interest. Curiosity. Longing.

"You've seen me do it?" she asked softly. "I thought the Moon Princess always wore her hair like that."

He tilted his head slightly, and something in his gaze darkened—not dangerous, but intense. Drawn to her, and completely unashamed of it.

"Yes," he said slowly, "in public. And during the day."

She frowned a little, processing the implication. And then, it clicked.

Her cheeks flushed instantly, blooming with color as she quickly turned her face away. But it was too late—he'd already seen the moment realization took hold of her.

Her voice was a little unsteady when she spoke next, hesitant but unable to stop herself. "Do you mean… we…"

He leaned forward then, just a fraction. His forearms rested loosely on his knees, his hands open and relaxed, but the tension that rippled through him was unmistakable. It wasn't the tension of unease—but restraint. Careful, deliberate restraint. Holding himself back by inches.

"Every night," he said quietly, his voice like velvet over steel. "You used to let it down. When it was just the two of us."

She drew in a sharp breath, her pulse leaping as something warm and heavy coiled low in her belly. The way he said it—steady, matter-of-fact, but threaded through with something deeper, something personal—left no room for doubt. There was history between them. Intimacy. And it wasn't just memory. It was something alive between them even now.

Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap, as if she wasn't sure what to do with them. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, watching her carefully, giving her space—but only just.

And as she sat there, she realized how easy it would be to reach up and undo the loose knot at the back of her neck and offer him the same quiet invitation she once had.

The memory came then. Swift. Vivid. And she was lost to it.

The room was bathed in the soft glow of early morning light, the first pale rays slipping through gauzy curtains and spilling warmth across the floor. The air smelled faintly of jasmine from the garden below, mingling with the comforting scent of linen and skin. There was a hush that lingered in the space between night and day, where the world seemed to hold its breath.

Serenity stood in front of a gilded mirror, her silver hair cascading down her back like silk, catching the light and turning it to liquid moonlight. She moved slowly, sleep still clinging to her limbs as she ran a brush through the long, luminous strands. There was no hurry in her motions, no sense of duty—just the quiet rhythm of someone comfortable in their own space. Their space.

Behind her, Endymion lounged against the pillows, half-hidden beneath the soft white sheets tangled loosely around his hips. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, his bare chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching her with a kind of lazy reverence. As though he could spend the entire morning doing nothing else and count it as time well spent.

His gaze wasn't heavy—it was familiar. Warm. It traced her with the ease of a man who had long since memorized every curve, every movement, every quiet sigh she made when she thought he wasn't listening.

"You're up early," he said, his voice thick with sleep, low and rough in a way that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. He didn't sound displeased. Just curious. And faintly disappointed she was no longer lying beside him.

Serenity smiled faintly at his reflection, brushing through another long length of hair. "I didn't want to be," she admitted softly. "But it's already late for me."

Endymion huffed a quiet breath through his nose, clearly unimpressed with the concept of morning. "Late is relative."

Her smile widened, but she didn't argue. She picked up one of the silver pins resting in a dish on the vanity, her fingers moving automatically to part her hair.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" he asked suddenly, his tone teasing, but something genuine beneath it. "All the braiding and pinning and twisting?"

She stilled for a moment, glancing at him through the mirror. His eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, watched her like she was something rare. Something precious. It made her heart tighten in the best way.

"Not really," she said after a beat. "It's just… part of who I am."

His gaze was steady on hers, something softer slipping into his features. "Maybe," he allowed. Then, his hand emerged from beneath the sheets, his fingers gesturing lazily toward her. "But I like it better like this."

"Like what?" she asked, though she already knew.

His grin deepened. "Free."

Her cheeks flushed. She set the pin back in its place, her hands hesitating. "I can't exactly walk around the palace with my hair loose," she pointed out, turning slowly to face him. Her hair spilled forward over one shoulder, gleaming silver against the thin strap of her nightgown. "It's not exactly proper."

"Proper," Endymion said, his voice low and thick with something that made her stomach flutter, "is entirely overrated."

He held her gaze for a long, charged moment. Then, with a lazy sort of determination, he shifted fully onto his back, making space as he extended his hand toward her. His palm opened in silent invitation.

And Serenity moved before she thought. Her feet carried her across the room, the brush forgotten on the vanity, her fingers drawn to his like the tide to the moon. She let him pull her toward the bed, let herself be guided with a gentleness that was almost reverent. But when she was close enough, Endymion's hand slid from hers to the curve of her waist, and he tugged her down onto the mattress with a swiftness that made her breath catch—and then laugh.

She giggled, a bright, breathless sound that filled the quiet room as she landed half across his chest, bracing herself with both hands. His dark hair fell across his brow, and his grin was slow, wickedly pleased.

"You're impossible," she whispered, laughing again.

"And yet," he said, his voice low, "here I am."

He shifted beneath her, his arms wrapping around her with practiced ease. His hands slid up the length of her back, fingers tangling briefly in the loosened strands of her hair before they cupped her nape. His thumb brushed the curve of her jaw, tilting her face toward his.

She could see it then, in the sudden heat of his gaze. The depth of what he felt for her. The longing that never really left his eyes.

"You never have to be proper with me," he said softly, just before his mouth found hers.

The kiss wasn't tentative. It wasn't gentle. It was a claiming—deep and slow and consuming. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world. Like she was the only thing in it. And Serenity answered it without hesitation, her hands slipping into his hair, her body melting against him as if they were two halves of something whole.

When they finally parted, both of them breathing a little harder, she let her forehead rest against his, their noses brushing.

"We're going to be late," she murmured, though her voice was breathless and far from convinced.

Endymion smiled against her lips, pressing another kiss there—softer this time, but no less certain. "It wouldn't be the first time," he said, his tone rich with amusement.

And as his hands slid lower, drawing her closer, Serenity found herself laughing again—her worries forgotten, the weight of the world left somewhere far away. There was only this. Only them.

The memory faded slowly, like the last lingering warmth of a dream slipping away with waking. But the feeling it left behind didn't fade. It burned. It lingered.

Serenity blinked, the soft dappled light of the garden coming back into focus around her. But for a moment, she couldn't move. Her pulse was racing, wild and unsteady beneath her skin. Her cheeks were hot—too hot—and her hands… she realized she was gripping the fabric of her skirts so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Her whole body felt aware, as if her skin remembered even more than her mind.

"Serenity?" Endymion's voice was low, careful. Concern laced the edges of it, but beneath that, something else—something quietly hopeful. He was watching her. She could feel it. "Are you all right?"

She turned toward him slowly, too slowly, her breath catching in her throat when their eyes met. His gaze was steady, patient, but it wasn't empty of emotion. She could feel it, the weight of his concern, the quiet longing he was holding back with almost painful restraint.

"I… I think I remembered something," she said softly. Her voice was unsteady, thick in her throat. And though she tried to sound composed, it was impossible to ignore the tremor beneath the words.

Endymion leaned toward her, just slightly, as if pulled by something instinctive. His hand flexed where it rested against his knee, as though fighting the urge to reach for her. "What did you remember?" he asked. His tone was gentle. Careful. But there was an edge of reverence in it too. Like the question mattered more than anything else in the world.

Serenity swallowed hard. Her gaze dropped to her lap, where her fingers still twisted in the folds of her gown. She forced them to still, but it took effort.

"It was a morning," she said, her voice quiet but steadying as she spoke. "Early. The light was soft… everything was quiet." She hesitated, the memory burning beneath her skin. "I was… doing my hair."

She didn't look at him, but she felt the shift in his presence—how he seemed to hold his breath as he listened.

"You were there," she continued, her voice even softer now. "Watching me. On the bed."

Her blush deepened, heat spreading over her cheeks, down her throat. She forced herself to breathe, but it was shallow. Unsteady. The image was so vivid in her mind—the way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her.

"You said you liked my hair down," she finished, her voice barely a whisper.

She still couldn't bring herself to tell him more. Not the feel of his arms around her. Not the way he had kissed her—claimed her—and made her laugh at the same time. She wasn't ready. Not yet. But the memory was there, thrumming beneath her skin, making her pulse race in a way that was impossible to hide.

Endymion didn't push. He didn't need to. His hand shifted, just slightly, as if he might reach for her—then stopped himself. But his gaze… his gaze. It softened, darkened, and for a heartbeat, it was the same look he had given her in that memory. Open. Consuming. Like she was the center of his entire world.

"I remember that morning," he said, his voice rougher now, lower. "I remember… everything."

Serenity's breath caught again, her heart stumbling in her chest.

"We were together," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. They hung there in the space between them, fragile but real.

"Yes," Endymion answered. Simply. Steadily. But his eyes told her everything else. The depth of it. The weight of it. The truth.

She didn't realize how much she was trembling until she exhaled, trying to calm the rush in her blood. But it was there now—that pulse of awareness between them, quickening.
And it wasn't going away.

The memory still clung to her skin. Not just the sight of him in her bed, but the feel of his hands on her hips. The warmth of his lips against her throat. His voice, low and rough with want, as he'd pulled her back into bed. And he was so close now. Close enough to touch. Close enough that if she moved—just a little— If she reached for him…

Her hand lifted from her lap, slow but deliberate, as though testing something fragile. And then her fingers brushed lightly over his—just at first. A feather-light touch. But she didn't pull away.
Instead, her hand turned, palm up, and she let her fingers curve around his, holding him.
Silent. Sure. Her choice.

Endymion stilled. As if she had stopped his breath. As if that one small gesture had undone him in ways no words ever could. He didn't speak at first. He didn't have to. He simply turned his hand, threading his fingers through hers. And then his other hand rose, slowly—giving her time to stop him if she wanted to. But she didn't. His fingertips brushed her cheek, light at first, then firmer as his palm cupped her jaw. His thumb traced along the line of her cheekbone, and she shivered at the gentleness of it. At the way his hand trembled—just a little. At the way he held her, as though she were precious and breakable and his. And then he leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against hers. Their breaths mingled. Shallow. Unsteady. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his mouth, the faint rasp of his breath against her skin. But he didn't move further. Didn't kiss her. Not yet.

"When you're ready," he murmured, his voice a low promise, rough and steady all at once.
"You'll only have to ask."

Her pulse fluttered wildly in response.
She wanted to close the space between them. She wanted to press her mouth to his and remember everything she'd ever forgotten.