"Time is a thief, but midnight is its accomplice. It steals moments in plain sight, leaving behind only the ghosts of what could have been."
Midnight is a paradox.
It is both my resurrection and my funeral.
Every night, as the clock's hands kiss at twelve, I claw my way back into existence. It starts as a hum in the silence, a vibration in the air, like the world itself is tuning a violin. Then comes the pain a white-hot agony as my bones reassemble, muscle stitching over spectral sinew, skin stretching taut over a frame that no longer belongs to this world. I am reborn in bloodless flesh, cold and hollow, a marionette strung together by desperation and Amara's stubborn heart.
Tonight, the ritual is worse.
I materialize in the corner of her bedroom, my form flickering like a dying bulb. The room spins, shadows pooling at my feet like ink. I clutch the wall, nails gouging the plaster, and bite back a scream. Focus. Breathe. Remember her.
Amara sits on the edge of the bed, waiting. Always waiting. Her hair is unbrushed, her eyes rimmed with sleepless bruises, but she's radiant. Mine.
"Aiden?" Her voice cracks.
I force a smile. "Hey, pretty girl."
She's across the room in seconds, her hands skimming my chest, my arms, my face, as if to confirm I'm real. Her touch burns not with heat, but with life. A reminder of everything I've lost.
"You're late," she whispers.
"By two minutes." I catch her wrist, pressing her palm to my lifeless heart. "I'm here now."
"For how long?"
The question hangs between us, sharp as a guillotine.
For as long as you let me.
But I don't say that. Instead, I kiss her. Slow. Deep. A distraction. She melts against me, her fingers tangling in my hair, her breath hitching in that way that used to drive me wild. Now, it just drives me mad.
She pulls back, searching my face. "Tell me what's happening to you."
"Later."
"Aiden..."
"Later." I spin her around, pinning her to the wall, my lips trailing down her throat. She gasps, her hips arching into mine, and for a moment, I almost forget. Almost.
But the clock is ticking.
We don't make it to the bed.
Her back hits the floor, my body caging hers. The cold seeps through my clothes, but she doesn't seem to care. Her hands are everywhere under my shirt, clawing at my belt, pulling me closer, closer.
"Look at me," I growl.
She does. Her eyes are wildfire.
I sink into her, and it's like coming home. Her warmth envelops me, a temporary balm for the frost in my veins. She moans my name, and I swallow the sound, committing it to memory. This. This is why I endure the pain.
But as we move, the room darkens. The air thickens. Shadows coil around us, whispering promises I can't afford to keep.
More time. More nights. More of her.
Her soul. Her soul. Her soul.
I grit my teeth and push harder, faster, as if I can outrun the truth. Amara's nails break skin, her cries crescendoing, and when she shatters, I let myself believe just for a heartbeat...that I'm still alive.
After, she traces the new scars on my chest. They're blackened, branching like lightning, spreading faster each night.
"Does it hurt?" she asks.
"Only when I'm not with you."
She frowns. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not." It's the closest I'll come to the truth.
The clock on the nightstand reads 3:17 AM. Dawn is a distant threat, but I feel it already the pull of the void, the fraying of my edges. Amara's fingers tighten on my arm, as if she can anchor me here through sheer will.
"Stay awake with me," I say suddenly.
She blinks. "What?"
"Every night. Stay awake. Don't let me fade." The words spill out, reckless. "If we don't sleep, if we don't let the sun rise"
"Aiden, that's impossible."
"So is this!" I gesture to myself, to us. "But here we are."
She sits up, the sheet pooling at her waist. "You're asking me to give up sleep? To just… stop living?"
"I'm asking you to fight!" My voice cracks. "For me. For us."
"And what happens when we lose?"
"We won't."
She laughs, bitter. "You don't know that."
But I do. The shadow's offer coils in my mind, venomous and sweet. Her soul. Her soul. Her soul.
I crush the thought. "Trust me."
She studies me, her gaze piercing. Then, slowly, she nods.
We spend the next hours in a haze of coffee and desperation.
Amara blasts music, dances barefoot on the kitchen counter, her laughter a fragile thing. I watch her, memorizing the way her body moves, the way her hair catches the lamplight. She's a comet, blazing through the dark, and I'm the fool trying to cage starlight.
At 4:43 AM, she stumbles, her eyelids drooping.
"Stay awake," I warn, catching her arm.
"I'm trying," she slurs.
I drag her to the shower, turning the water ice-cold. She shrieks, swatting at me, but it works for ten minutes. By 5:30 AM, she's slumped against the couch, her head lolling.
"Amara." I shake her. "Amara."
She jolts awake. "I'm up! I'm up."
But she isn't.
By 6:12 AM, she's asleep in my arms, her breath soft against my neck. I hold her, cursing the sunrise creeping through the blinds.
"Please," I whisper, to her, to God, to whatever's listening. "Just one more minute."
The clock ticks.
The shadows laugh.
At 6:27 AM, I begin to fade.
It starts in my fingertips, dissolving into smoke. Amara stirs, her eyes fluttering open.
"Aiden?"
"I'm here."
She sees the truth. "No. No!"
She clutches at me, but her hands pass through my chest. Panic twists her face. "Fight it! Please, fight it!"
I try. God, I try. But the sun is relentless.
"I love you," I say, as my lips disintegrate.
"Don't go! Don't..."
The light consumes me.
"They say love conquers all. But they never mention the cost the silent wars fought in the dark, the casualties counted in heartbeats, the victories that taste like ash."