There is a tattoo, beating between them. Three words that bleed into his skin and glow ethereal in her eyes. Frozen seconds shatter with their breaths, stolen in the midst of this foggy night. They are drunk on omnipotent starshine. His fingers are cold; her smile is warm, like liquefied amber in which his happiness will be forever preserved. They are immortal. They are one: a soul stitched with scars, ripped and patched by memories of nights just like this. Truth drips from her lips. He smiles; their fingers are clasped, their murmurs intertwined, synced heartbeats shimmering in the snow like gossamer ghosts.

An ocean stretches between them. Saltwater stings and whispers of home in her voice. She is strong. Gentle. Stronger than he is, and she’s comforting him – he’ll be home soon, and she’ll see him then. She loves him. He loves her. Heartstrings stretch and shake. Dark ink dribbles, absorbed by his skin, into a butterfly’s wings. Soon, he’ll be flying, above it all, watching, constantly watching, for the smile that outshines his sun.

There is a smile. A tattoo. A story. Beating between them, through his veins. Keeping him alive. Illuminating his darkest moments. A promise: three words.

I love you.