The last place for the day was El Tajín — a world of quiet majesty wrapped in the golden blush of late afternoon. The pyramids stood tall and ancient, their shadows stretching across the courtyard like the hands of time itself.
Vicious had been the one to suggest the visit. From the moment they stepped through the gates, he took gentle command of the tour, walking beside her but always just a step ahead, as though leading her through the stories carved into the stone.
She couldn't stop taking photos — the walls, the carvings, even the stray bird that landed on the temple's edge. "Hold still," she said with a grin, raising her camera toward him. He rolled his eyes but stayed put, and the click of the camera caught a rare sight — his faint, amused smile.
"Perfect," she said.
"I doubt that" he replied smoothly. "You should take another — this time, try to make me look less like I'm enduring torture."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
As they continued, he pulled something small from his pocket a silver trinket shaped like a feather.
"I found this earlier," he said quietly. "It reminded me of you. Always drifting, but somehow, always landing somewhere meaningful."
Her fingers brushed against his as she took it, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to still the air heavy with something soft and unspoken.
She asked endless questions about the ruins, curious and alive, and he answered with a half-smile, though his eyes often lingered on her rather than the history around them. Every time she turned toward him, the sunlight caught her eyes, and it made him forget whatever he had planned to say next.
After a while, he noticed her slowing down.
"You must be hungry," he said. "Let's go find something to eat before you faint and make me carry you all the way back."
She gave him a mock glare. "I'd walk just fine."
"Sure," he teased. "You said that ten minutes ago — right before I had to stop you from tripping over that rock."
She laughed and swatted his arm lightly, but didn't argue further. They left the site together, walking down a narrow cobbled path that led to a small town just outside the ruins. The evening air was scented with roasting corn, spices, and the distant sound of music.
They found a charming little restaurant — nothing grand, just wooden tables beneath strings of soft lanterns that danced in the wind. They chose a seat outside, close enough to feel the cool night air.
The waiter brought them a variety of local dishes, vibrant and unfamiliar. She looked at one plate curiously.
"What's this?"
He smirked. "The brave call it dinner. The cautious… well, they just watch others eat it."
"Oh, really?" she said, arching a brow. "Then maybe I'll be brave tonight."
"Or maybe you just want to impress me."
She laughed, trying to hide the small blush that crept onto her cheeks.
He leaned a little closer, voice low but teasing. "Don't worry, you already have."
She threw him a look, caught between amusement and embarrassment, and quickly took a bite — only to cough lightly at the unexpected spice. He burst out laughing, handing her water.
"I told you," he said, still chuckling. "Bravery has its price."
"Remind me never to take food advice from you again," she replied, trying not to smile.
"Too late. You'll trust me again you "
The teasing continued, playful and warm, the kind that carried a sweetness underneath. They shared bites of food, swapped stories, and laughed until the sky turned a deeper shade of blue.
And though neither spoke of it, there was something different between them now — something quiet, glowing and real.
When they finally finished eating, the sky had already deepened into a velvet blue, scattered with stars. The lanterns above their table flickered like fireflies, casting a golden shimmer over their faces.
She leaned back, sighing softly. "That was… actually amazing."
He smiled, resting his elbows on the table. "Told you bravery suits you."
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips curved upward. "You'll never let that go, will you?"
"Not when it makes you smile like that," he murmured.
For a heartbeat, silence fell — not awkward, but warm, charged with the kind of quiet that made words unnecessary. He stood, offering his hand.
"Come on," he said gently. "Let's walk. The night's too beautiful to waste."
They stepped out into the cool air, leaving the little restaurant behind. The path back was lit by soft streetlights, each one glowing like a star brought down to earth. The distant hum of music drifted from the plaza, blending with the rustle of the trees.
She walked beside him, the silver feather he'd given her now resting around her neck. Every so often, their hands brushed — small, unintentional touches that sent tiny sparks through her chest.
"You know," he said quietly, "I didn't plan for today to feel like this."
"Like what?" she asked, glancing at him.
He smiled faintly. "Like… I don't want it to end."
Her heart skipped. The world seemed to shrink — just the two of them, the road, and the stars watching in silent approval.
"Then maybe," she said softly, "it doesn't have to."
He looked at her, the hint of surprise quickly melting into a quiet smile. "You're dangerous when you say things like that."
"And you," she replied, teasing but tender, "are too used to pretending you're not the soft one here."
He chuckled under his breath. "Don't push your luck."
But his tone was gentle, affectionate — the kind of teasing that carried warmth instead of edge.
They continued walking, the air filled with unspoken words, every step a promise of something they both felt but neither dared name.