"We're almost there. Just a little more patience," Ethan murmured, his fingers playfully wiggling in the air.

"You've said that for the last ten minutes," Arizona replied, her voice a mix of amusement and frustration. "I don't know how much longer I can handle this," she added, her hand brushing over his as it stayed firmly covering her eyes.

Ethan chuckled softly, his breath brushing against her ear. "Trust me, it's worth it. Just a few more steps."

"You've been saying that for ten minutes," Arizona muttered, her voice a mix of impatience and humor. "And your hand is practically glued to my face."

"There's a step coming up," he warned, laughing under his breath.

Arizona lifted her foot cautiously, feeling for the stair with her toes. Just as she steadied herself, a deep gong rang out, startling her.

"What was that?" she asked, her voice tense. "Ethan, let me see!"

He hesitated, then sighed. "Alright, alright, we're here anyway."

As Ethan uncovered her eyes, Arizona blinked, taking in the scene. The room was dim and cluttered with cardboard boxes, but in the center, a small wooden table sat surrounded by two oversized, plush pillows. Her gaze lingered on the boxes before a smile tugged at her lips.

"Is this a reference to the docks?" she teased, turning to him.

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but another gong echoed through the room, cutting him off. Arizona's eyes widened.

"What *is* that?" Arizona's voice wavered, her body stiffening at the unfamiliar sound. She glanced around, eyes wide.

"Quick, sit," Ethan nudged her gently toward one of the pillows. "It's starting."

"What's starting?" Arizona's brows knit together as she lowered herself onto the plush cushion, her confusion deepening.

Ethan's expression softened, the weight of memories pulling his gaze downward. "Swan Lake," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Arizona blinked, looking around the room for some sign of a stage or performers. "But where—"

"My mom used to bring us here," Ethan cut her off, his voice quiet, as if he were speaking more to himself than to her. "After my dad left, we couldn't afford opera tickets. But she found this place. I never knew how, but..." His eyes grew distant, a mix of nostalgia and sadness creeping into them. "You can't see the performance, but the music—it wraps around you."

As the first notes of Tchaikovsky's haunting melody filled the air, Arizona's confusion slowly dissolved. The sound wasn't just music—it was emotion, swirling around them, filling every corner of the room. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

"That's... amazing, Ethan," she whispered, her voice soft. "It's so simple, but so... beautiful." She hesitated, biting back the words on the tip of her tongue, the unspoken *I love you* hanging in the air between them. Instead, she gulped, her heart racing. "Thank you."

For a moment, they sat in silence, the music weaving between them like a shared secret.

"Diana would have loved it here," Arizona said softly, breaking the quiet.

Ethan's lips curved into a bittersweet smile. "I brought her once, after I got the job at the university. I bought us tickets to the real thing." His gaze drifted as if seeing that moment play out again. "We sat at the very back of the hall, but it was incredible. I sometimes wish I could go back."

His voice wavered, and a deep melancholy settled over him, the kind that comes from memories too sweet to hold without pain. Ethan's shoulders slumped slightly, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the pillow beside him, lost in thought. The weight of the past pressed down on him, not harshly, but gently, like a constant ache he'd learned to carry.

Arizona could see it in his eyes—the lingering sadness, the quiet yearning for a time when things were simpler. He didn't just miss the moments; he missed the feeling of hope that had come with them.

She hesitated, then spoke carefully. "I've been meaning to ask you something... but I didn't want to intrude."

Ethan glanced at her, curiosity mixed with hesitation. "Go ahead."

"Why isn't Diana in school?"

The question hung in the air, delicate but heavy. Ethan sighed, his chest rising and falling with the weight of it. A flash of pain flickered across his face, and for a moment, he looked like he might break under the sadness flooding him.

"She stopped going this autumn," he finally said, his voice quiet. "I couldn't afford both school and her meds. I had to make a choice." His words came out slowly, each one carrying a piece of the burden he'd been holding. "She was so upset. It hurt her, but... she never blamed me. She understood. She's so strong."

His breath hitched, and he paused, steadying himself. "I promised her I'd re-enroll her in the spring, but... I don't know what to say if I can't keep that promise."

The room seemed to tighten around them, Ethan's silent struggle thickening the air. His eyes glistened, the weight of his unspoken fears pulling him inward. Arizona noticed, her heart tugging in response. Quietly, she shifted from her pillow, closing the space between them. She gently cupped his face, her thumb brushing against the dampness at the corner of his eye. Without a word, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"I can't fail her, Arizona," Ethan whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession.

Arizona shook her head, her touch firm but tender. "You're not failing her."

He tried to nod, but his gaze drifted, pulled back into the music that seemed to echo the turmoil in his chest. The haunting notes swirled around them, filling the silence.

Wanting to break through the heaviness, Arizona's voice lightened, her smile small but warm. "Tchaikovsky always gets to me. Every note feels like it's carrying someone's pain, someone's joy, someone's love."

Ethan's eyes softened, the melancholy loosening its grip as a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I knew you'd feel it. A Poe admirer like you would have to love this Russian guy."

A burst of laughter escaped Arizona, the tension between them melting for a moment. She lowered her head onto Ethan's lap, her body relaxing as he began to gently run his fingers through her hair. His touch was absentminded, but comforting, grounding them both in the present as the heavy air around them lifted.

Ethan's gaze drifted across the wooden walls, the scent of dampness and aged wood pulling him deeper into the past. The room, heavy with old memories and soft music, felt like it existed outside of time. After a pause, his voice came quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "What would you have done, if things had been different?"

Arizona's brow knitted together, her fingers unconsciously tracing a pattern on his arm. "What do you mean?"

"If your father hadn't made you work for him," he clarified, his eyes distant, staring through the room as though looking for an alternate version of their lives. "If you had the chance to live your life differently... what would it have been?"

She didn't answer immediately. The question lingered in the space between them, stirring something deep within her. After a moment, she started playing with his fingers, gently tracing the lines of his hand that rested on her abdomen.

"I don't know," she admitted softly, her voice almost lost beneath the music. "Maybe... I would've bought a boat, a small one." Her fingers brushed the tips of his, her mind wandering. "I'd have been a marine biologist, I think. Roaming the oceans like Cousteau, guided by the stars, studying creatures no one's ever seen."

A soft smile curved her lips as the dream unfolded in her mind, and Ethan's gaze dropped to her face, watching the way her features relaxed into that vision. There was a lightness to her expression, something raw and unguarded that he rarely saw.

"You'd look amazing doing that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It suits you."

She sighed, the smile fading slightly as reality settled back in. "That's just a fairytale, though, isn't it?" Her voice held a trace of wistfulness.

Ethan's eyes softened, his smile carrying a mix of fondness and melancholy. "Speaking of fairytales..."

"Mmm?" Arizona murmured, her eyes fluttering shut as she nestled closer into his lap, savoring the warmth of his presence.

"My mother used to tell us one, a long time ago."

She opened one eye, curiosity sparking. "What was it about?"

Ethan's voice took on a wistful tone as he began. "It was about a knight—brave and relentless. He fought battle after battle, all in search of true love. But no matter how hard he fought, or how far he traveled, he couldn't find it. So, in desperation, he went to a witch."

Arizona's lips curled slightly at the mention of a witch. "And let me guess, she had the solution?"

"Of course," Ethan chuckled softly. "She gave him a necklace with a blue butterfly pendant. She told him that when he found his true love, the butterfly would come to life. So, they searched together, traveling through kingdoms and going on countless adventures, meeting girl after girl... but none could awaken the butterfly."

Arizona's eyes opened fully now, her attention fixed on him. "So what happened?"

Ethan smiled ruefully, as if the story were something personal. "The knight grew frustrated—angry, even. He accused the witch and demanded his money back, accusing her of tricking him with a broken necklace."

Arizona lifted her head from his lap, eyebrows raised. "And let me guess, that's when the twist happens."

Ethan's grin widened. "Exactly. The witch, exasperated, put the necklace on herself. And right then, the butterfly came to life. They both realized the truth—they had been in love with each other all along. So, the knight and the witch lived happily ever after."

Arizona snorted, shaking her head with a smirk. "She probably enchanted that necklace just so she could be with him. I mean, she *was* a witch."

Ethan's soft laughter filled the space between them, his fingers brushing her cheek with a tender familiarity. "You might be right," he said, his voice low. "But maybe... sometimes we don't see what's right in front of us until it's staring us in the face."

Without breaking the gaze, Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate necklace. Thin and understated, it held a small blue butterfly pendant. He gently placed it in her hand, his fingers lingering against hers for a moment longer than necessary.

"My mother had one just like this," he said, his voice tinged with something fragile. "She gave it to me when she got sick. Told me, 'One day, my knight in shining armor, the gods will send you the real butterfly.'"

Ethan stood there, searching her face, fear and hope flickering in his eyes. The room seemed to hold its breath. Arizona's heart pounded, the weight of the moment pressing against her chest like a tide rising too fast to contain.

Suddenly, the words slipped out, unbidden but undeniable. "I love you," she whispered, then quickly slapped a hand over her mouth, as if trying to reel them back.

Ethan's eyes lit up, his entire face softening. He gently removed her hand from her mouth, taking the necklace from her trembling fingers. "I love you," he echoed, his voice steady and sure. "My butterfly."

With delicate care, he fastened the necklace around her neck, his hands brushing against her skin. Time seemed to slow, the music of *Swan Lake* fading into the background, replaced by the faint hum of the audience's applause outside.

But in the small, intimate space they shared, the world outside ceased to exist. The air around them buzzed with an unspoken connection, something deeper than words could capture. Arizona's breath hitched, her chest tightening with the weight of everything she had held back. Ethan's gaze never wavered, his thumb gently caressing the pendant that now rested against her skin.

The applause continued, but neither of them moved, suspended in the fragile, beautiful silence between heartbeats. In that moment, nothing else mattered.