The dim lights of the pub cast a golden hue over the wooden walls, shadows dancing with every flicker of the hanging lanterns. Mark sat slouched against the counter, a half-empty glass of bourbon in his hand. The bitter scent of alcohol clung to him like a second skin. But this time, he wasn't alone. Anthony sat beside him, arms folded, eyes silently observing his elder brother's worn expression.
"Can you stop all these?" Anthony's voice cut through the thick, heavy air, sharp but filled with concern.
Mark exhaled a shaky breath, the weight of regret clinging to every syllable. "If not for me, Sophia will be with Raymond. If not for me, I will be with Guinevere. If not for me, I am sure we all would have had a stronger bond."
Anthony rolled his eyes, shaking his head slowly. "Who said we can't still have a strong bond?"
Mark's gaze dropped to the amber liquid swirling in his glass. His shoulders slumped. "We are all grown up now and..."
"This is the time we all need one another the most," Anthony interrupted, his voice firm, almost pleading. "Look at Dad, for instance. His blood brother betrayed him. We need each other more now. Besides, I admire you a lot. Forget about the unnecessary fights, but you were so focused and I learnt a lot from you. You have always been so intelligent and ambitious."
Mark blinked, his brows lifting in surprise. "Are you for real? You admired me?"
"Why do you look surprised?"
"I thought you hated me."
They laughed—genuine, echoing in the stillness of their shared moment like a balm for old wounds.
And then she appeared.
Guinevere.
Her figure lingered near the entrance, fragile yet radiant, like a memory come to life. Her face was soft, though wearied by time. Her clothes were tattered, her hair undone—but none of it mattered. She was still the only woman Mark had ever truly loved, and in that moment, the entire world seemed to pause.
Mark shot to his feet, breath stolen from his lungs. His heart pounded against his ribs like a trapped bird. Then he looked at Anthony—and everything made sense.
Anthony had brought her.
It was all planned.
Mark's eyes glistened with gratitude as he turned toward his brother. Then, without a word, he rushed forward and wrapped Guinevere in a desperate embrace. He sobbed against her shoulder, the tears a release from years of agony, and in her arms, he found warmth again.
He inhaled her scent—it hadn't changed. Familiar. Comforting. Home.
Fingers laced, they left the pub together, stepping into the crisp evening air. They walked in silence, just as they used to—no words needed, only the comforting presence of each other.
Guinevere glanced up at him, smiling gently. "You won't ask why I came?"
He closed his eyes as they strolled under the streetlamps. "Even if this is a dream, I want to remain in it forever."
She chuckled softly, her voice like the whisper of spring. "I can watch you do any other thing but I can't watch you suffer because of me, Mark."
"Let's stay together, Guinevere. I don't want to leave your side. It is evening. I want to take you shopping, change your hair, make you automatically my queen," he said, cupping her cheeks tenderly. "I love you so much, Guinevere. I can't cope in this world without you. Give me a chance to love you again... not like that love with so much weakness but the one with strength... all of it."
With a renewed fire in his heart, he led her into a nearby salon. Under the warm lights, her hair was revived—tamed, styled, made anew. Afterwards, they wandered into boutiques, his hands eager to pick out anything that would make her smile again. He was determined to paint her world in colour again. He was going to be her everything.
***
Vanessa and Sydney strolled hand in hand along Canary Wharf, the city lights shimmering in the water beside them. The cool breeze danced around them, and the hum of distant traffic blended with their laughter.
Since graduation, they'd stayed in touch—what once began as a simple friendship had bloomed into something magical.
Sydney pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I remember how you would track me around college with your annoying bicycle."
Their laughter rang out into the night, full of shared memories.
Vanessa reached up and brushed something from his face—a stray strand of hair. Her touch lingered. "When my sister got heartbroken by Sammie, I thought of you and I knew I was blessed."
Sydney's smile faded slightly as he sighed. "For twelve years, my sister held on to a love that was not real. This same Sammie."
Vanessa touched his cheek, her fingers soft against his skin. "The way our destinies are so similar..."
He smiled again, this time with a hint of playfulness, and touched her nose gently, his eyes gleaming beneath the soft moonlight.