The party continues below us, the sounds of laughter and music drifting up the shoreline, but we've found our usual escape—perched on the large rock that juts out over the ocean. High tide laps at the base of our sanctuary, sending salt-scented spray into the air that catches in your hair.

Bellamy sits beside you, one arm slung casually around your shoulders, the warmth of his body seeping through your shirt. The fading sunlight gilds the edges of his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the way his dark hair curls at his temples.

"You never stay at your own parties," you observe, leaning your head against his shoulder. The familiar weight of him grounds you, as it always has.

He huffs out a laugh, low and warm against your ear. "I stay long enough to make an appearance. Then I come here. With you." His fingers brush the inside of your forearm, tracing the outline of your tattoo—the matching one you both got during that drunken night months ago.

The touch sends a shiver through you, one that has nothing to do with the ocean breeze. "You've been quiet tonight," you note, turning your hand to lace your fingers with his.

He's silent for a moment, staring out at the horizon where the sun dips below the waves, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. When he finally speaks, his voice is lower than usual, almost rough with something you can't quite place.

"Just thinking about how far we've come," he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Five years on Earth. Four years building this place... with you." He turns to face you fully, his dark eyes intense in the fading light. "About what comes next."

The air between you shifts, crackling with something unspoken but long-simmering. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the question in it that he hasn't quite asked yet.