The anniversary arrives on a Tuesday.
Not the wedding anniversary — the other one. The one that doesn't have a card category or a traditional gift list or any of the external markers that tell you how to observe it. The one that exists only inside the specific private accounting of two people who know what it cost and what it became.
Ten years since Night One.
Damien remembers the date the way he remembers all the dates that changed the direction of his life — not through effort, not because he marks it in a calendar, but because some dates become load-bearing in the architecture of a person and you simply know them the way you know your own name.
October fourteenth.
He's known for three months what he wants to do with it.
Aria figures it out on a Monday.
Not because he tells her. Because she pays attention and she knows him and there are signs if you know where to look.
