In spite of the wonderful day he'd just spent, something still troubled him. He found himself thinking of all the kindness Val always had for him, ever since the first second he welcomed him in his house and let him eat at his table; every lesson, every word, each and every of his gestures had always been steeped in gentle care - he was giving to an extent that Adrien would have thought impossible; kind and beautiful in every aspect of his being. And yet, he wished for more; he wished for more of his words, wished for more time at his side - he wished for his love. There had been words trapped inside his throat, words that he could not release - there where he hid them, their presence tore at his heart; there had been a gash underneath his skin - it had been tearing itself apart ever since he'd first learned its name. In it, Adrien saw what he could not dare to ask for, what he could not have. In a few months, he'd have to return home; their future was already over. And yet, Adrien wished - and his wish burdened him. What did his flights of imagination matter, anyway? He and Val already shared such a bond. This stained fantasy of a fruitless romance - was it worth pushing a wedge between them, was it worth this gloom over the last of their time together, was it worth destroying what they already had?