Lee ㅇ비

At first, Zayne told himself it was nothing more than neurological residue. The mind, after all, could respond strangely to intense stimuli. The Compatibility Vision had overwhelmed several sensory pathways at once. Visual memory, emotional recall, phantom touch. It made sense that he still felt the absent pressure of a ring on his finger some mornings. It made sense that he sometimes heard children laughing in the quiet of his apartment.

It made sense.

It had to. Zayne stood in his office at Akso Hospital with the cream-coloured envelope in his hand, reading your name beside another man’s. ...

The first fracture came with a wedding invitation. Zayne received it during a quiet morning between surgeries, when the hospital corridors still smelled faintly of antiseptic and rain. His phone lit up beside a stack of post-operative reports, and for a brief moment, he expected it to be another consultation request. Then he saw your name.

His thumb stilled.

Cream and gold filled the screen. Your wedding invitation.

For several seconds, he did nothing.

He simply stared at it, expression calm, posture composed, eyes unreadable behind his glasses. ...

Anyone passing by his office would have seen Dr Zayne, Chief Cardiac Surgeon, seated with his usual restraint.

No one would have known that something inside him had gone painfully still. You were getting married.

Not someday. Not eventually. Not in some distant future he could pretend would never arrive.

Soon. To someone else.

His first thought was not fair.

His second was worse. That should have been me. The thought cut so deeply that he closed his eyes, guilt tightening through his chest. He had no right to think that. No right to feel wounded by a happiness he had never tried to claim. He had seen MC first. He had been pleased with that vision. Quietly pleased, even. It had been soft, predictable, comforting. A life that made sense. A life everyone expected of him. And then came the second vision. You. Snow. A townhouse wrapped in winter light. A silver ring on your hand.

Children laughing inside a home that had felt warmer than anything he had ever allowed himself to want. He had stood beneath the arch afterwards, stunned and silent, while you smiled like someone gently closing a door.

Now that door had a date. ...

On the day of the wedding, Zayne arrived with MC beside him.

She looked pleased. Softly satisfied. Her hand rested in the crook of his arm, her smile gentle enough for anyone watching, but Zayne knew the slight lift at the corner of her mouth. She had always been good at looking kind while claiming victory. “You’re quiet,” she murmured.

“I’m thinking.” “About her?”

Zayne did not answer quickly enough. MC’s fingers tightened on his sleeve. “It’s a beautiful day for her,” she said, voice sweet. “She found someone who chose her properly.” The words were soft.

The cut was not. ...

Then the music began.

You appeared at the end of the aisle, and Zayne forgot how to breathe. You looked older than the girl who had once stood beside him beneath the Vision Arch. Not by much, but enough for time to have softened you into yourself. There was confidence in your shoulders now. Peace in your smile. The shy ache that used to hide behind your eyes had been replaced by something warm and settled.

He had never seen you like this.

Radiant.

Steady.

Walking towards your soon-to-husband Valko He was tall, bright-eyed, and almost offensively alive. His smile broke across his face before he could restrain it, too honest, too boyish, too full of joy. Time had not sharpened him. It had warmed him. There were faint laugh lines near his eyes, the kind earned by years of grinning at things no one else found funny. His once-wild energy had matured into something steadier, but not tamer. ... When you reached him, Valko whispered something that made you laugh.

Something in Zayne folded in on itself. He remembered the vision. His older self standing outside that townhouse, dark hair touched with subtle silver. Your eyes softened by years. Children calling him Dad and Daddy. Your hand reaching for his as snow fell around you both. But the ring on your finger now was not his.

The man holding your hand was not him.

Zayne made himself watch. He watched you say your vows. Watched Valko laugh softly when your voice trembled. Watched him lift your hand and kiss your knuckles with a tenderness Zayne had once been too afraid to name. Now he watched Valko slide a silver band onto your finger.

Zayne’s own hand curled at his side. There it was again. The phantom weight. Cold. Cruel. Impossible. ...

He smiled when you looked at him after the ceremony. He congratulated you. His voice was even. His posture perfect. “I’m happy for you,” he said. And he meant it.

That was the worst part.

He was happy for you.

He was also grieving.

Months later, Greyson mentioned it first.

“You heard? She’s expecting.” Zayne’s pen stopped moving. ...

For one irrational second, the future returned in pieces.

Snow falling outside a townhouse. Your hand cradling a baby.

A small boy running past the glass door. A little girl laughing, calling him Daddy.

His children.

No. Not his. Never his. ...

Greyson’s voice softened. “Doctor Zayne?”

Zayne looked down at the chart and realised he had written the same word twice.

“I’m fine,” he said.

He was not. ...

That night, alone in his apartment, he sat at the edge of his bed and pressed his thumb against his bare ring finger until the skin reddened. A part of him died quietly there. Not dramatically. Not all at once.

Just a small, private death. The kind no monitor could detect.

Then he buried it. ...

When your daughter was born, her name was Lumi. Valko sent a photo in the group chat, his grin bright and helpless as he held the tiny newborn against his chest. You were beside him in the hospital bed, exhausted and glowing, your fingers curled around Valko’s wrist. Zayne stared at the picture longer than he should have.

Lumi had your softness around the eyes and Valko’s bright, mischievous gaze. She was beautiful.

She was not his. Another small, waiting part of him died once again.

Years later, you invited him and MC for a holiday gathering.

Your home was warm. Too warm. Zayne arrived with MC at his side, carrying a carefully wrapped gift for Lumi and your younger son, Hunter. Snow fell lightly outside, softening the modern townhouse framed by climbing ivy. There were garlands across the doorway, tiny shoes by the entrance, children’s drawings on the wall. Valko opened the door with a baby balanced against his hip, grinning like mischief had learned how to wear a wedding ring. ... “Doctor Zayne! Come in before she accuses me of scaring away guests again.” You appeared behind him, laughing. And for one impossible second, Zayne forgot how to breathe. It was the vision. Not exactly. Worse. ... The townhouse. The winter light. The sound of children running through the hall. A little boy, Hunter, darted past him, chasing a giggling girl, Lumi, with soft curls. A baby, Milo, reached for Valko’s collar, babbling happily as Valkokissed his tiny fingers. “Daddy, she took my snowman biscuit!” Hunter complied adorably. “Because you left it unattended, rookie mistake,” Valko said solemnly. You swatted his arm. “Do not teach our children theft strategy.” “But look how advanced they are.” The children laughed. Zayne smiled. He smiled because he had to. He smiled while the life he had once glimpsed unfolded in front of him with another man standing in his place. The ring on your finger caught the light when you reached for Valko’s hand. Zayne stopped breathing. ... The vision overlaid itself onto the present.

In his memory, it had been him standing there. His hand reaching for yours. His children calling for him. His ring beside yours in the morning light. But reality was colder. Valko reached for you instead.

You passed him a mug, and he bent to kiss your temple without thinking, as naturally as breathing. You smiled. That smile. Older now. Softer. Full of years shared and trusted. Zayne felt the phantom pressure of a ring around his bare finger. MC said something beside him, but he did not hear it. All he could hear was Lumi calling, “Papa, help me hide!” Valko laughed and knelt, letting both children tumble into his arms. ... Zayne watched from across the room. A spectator. A guest.

A family friend. The life he had seen was happening in front of him, almost detail for detail. Only he had been removed from it.

Later, after the gathering ended, Zayne returned home alone. MC had gone ahead after an argument too quiet for anyone else to notice. He took off his coat. Hung it neatly. Washed his hands.

Then stood in the silence of his house until the restraint finally cracked. His hand pressed over his mouth. His shoulders shook once. Then again. No sound came out. ... Zayne had spent his life learning how to steady his pulse, how to control panic, how to keep his hands calm while holding another person’s heart. But there, alone in the dark, he could not control his own. Because the life he had searched for without ever admitting it had existed. It had been real. It had simply belonged to Valko. And he had been too much of a coward to reach for it when it still had his name.

Xavier learned about your wedding from Tara.

She said it gently, as if softness could make the words less cruel. “You got the invitation too, right?” He looked down at the card in his hand. Your name.

With someone else’s name.

A date. A promise.

“Yes,” Xavier said. His voice was quiet. ...

He attended with MC beside him, both of them dressed in pale colours beneath a canopy of flowers and light. MC talked easily with the other guests, glowing in that effortless way people always noticed.

Xavier noticed you. You were smiling before the ceremony even began, nervous and radiant, fingers curled around your bouquet.

Valko was waiting for you with a nervous grin he tried and failed to hide. He shifted on his feet, then laughed at himself when the officiant gave him a look. The guests chuckled. You laughed too. ...

Xavier’s chest tightened.

He remembered a different garden. Sunlight.

A little girl with platinum-blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes clutching his sleeve.

A baby boy with your soft curls and his eyes clapping under a warm sky.

Aurora and Lucien.

Names gifted by a vision and stolen by reality.

When Valko took your hands, Xavier felt the stars shift out of reach.

MC leaned closer. “It’s sweet, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Xavier said softly.

And it was.

That was the cruelest part.

It was sweet. ...

Valko loved you openly, with no hesitation, no ancient sorrow held between his teeth, no endless waiting dressed up as patience. His joy was obvious. Almost boyish. Almost annoying.

Xavier envied him for it.

He envied the courage of being obvious.

When you said your vows, your voice trembled.

Valko whispered something that made you laugh through the tears.

The crowd softened.

Xavier smiled too.

When the officiant declared you married, the room erupted.

Xavier clapped with everyone else.

His palms felt numb. ...

Later, when you hugged him, you whispered, “I’m glad you came.”

He smiled gently.

“I am too.”

It was not a lie.

That made it worse, as inside, something dimmed.

When he heard you were expecting your first child, he was on a late patrol.

Jeremiah mentioned it while checking equipment.

“Did you hear? She and Valko are having a baby.”

Xavier looked up.

For one foolish heartbeat, he saw the baby from the vision.

Lucien.

Tiny hands. His eyes. Your curls.

Then reality returned. ...

“Oh,” he said. “That’s good.”

Jeremiah watched him carefully.

Xavier adjusted his gloves.

“That’s really good.”

Later in the day, he went and visited you and Valko. He congratulated you with the same soft sincerity he always carried. He brought carefully chosen gifts, star-patterned blankets, and small glowing mobiles for the nursery.

Valko teased him mercilessly.

“Trying to make my baby a sky nerd before birth?”

Xavier chuckled.

“Consider it an early education.”

You laughed.

The sound warmed the room.

Then hollowed him afterwards. ... He completed the patrol with perfect focus. He returned his reports on time. He even answered MC’s messages with his usual gentleness.

Then, much later, he sat alone beneath the pale glow of his room and stared at his hands.

He wondered if there was a version of himself somewhere who had not hesitated.

A version who had said your name before you let go.

A version whose child had been real.

Because once, in another possible life, that nursery might have been his to prepare.

When your daughter Lumi was born, Xavier visited with a gift wrapped in silver paper. Valko opened the door looking sleepless, delighted, and utterly ruined in the way new fathers often were.

“She’s tiny,” Valko whispered, as if announcing a miracle.

You were asleep when Xavier first saw the baby.

Lumi rested against Valko’s chest, one tiny fist curled into his shirt.

Valko looked down at her with such fierce, melting warmth that Xavier had to look away.

That was the second death.

Not jealousy alone.

The realisation that Valko had become the kind of father Xavier had only seen in a vision.

Years later, he visited your home during a summer evening celebration. Xavier almost did not go.

MC insisted.

“You’ve been distant enough,” she said lightly, though there was an edge beneath it.

So he went. ... The moment he stepped into your garden, his breath caught.

The garden was lit with tiny lanterns.

Children ran barefoot across the grass, chasing floating lights Valko had rigged purely to make them squeal. ... Lumi ran across the grass, pointing at the early evening sky. 

“Daddy, look! The stars are waking up!”

Xavier froze.

The world shifted beneath him.

Not with Evol.

Not with danger.

With memory.

That line.

That exact breathless joy.

Only this time, she was not holding his sleeve.

She was tugging Valko’s hand. ...

Valko scooped her up dramatically. “Stars? Already? Without my permission?”

She giggled and pressed both hands to his cheeks.

You stood nearby with your younger child, Milo, on your hip, smiling at them as your wedding ring glimmered beneath the garden lights.

Xavier watched from the edge of the patio.

A spectator.

A distant star.

The future had not disappeared.

It had simply moved beyond him.

That night, after he and MC returned home, he stood alone by the window.

The city lights blurred.

He touched his bare ring finger.

For years, he had told himself the vision was only a possibility. Something kind. Something impossible.

But the universe had not lied.

It had shown him happiness.

Then waited until he was too late to recognise it. ...

His grief arrived quietly, like moonlight through glass.

No sound.

No collapse.

He did not cry loudly. ...

He simply lowered himself to the floor, back against the wall, and covered his eyes with one hand.

The grief overcame him quietly.

Like nightfall.

He had spent lifetimes waiting for fate.

But fate had opened one door he had been too afraid to walk through.

Now he could only watch its light from outside.

Rafayel almost did not attend the wedding.

Not because he did not want to see you happy.

That was the problem.

He wanted to see you happy too much.

MC chose his suit, fussing over the collar with a smile.

“You look like you’re going to your own funeral,” she teased.

Rafayel laughed.

It sounded convincing.

“It’s a wedding. Same thing, depending on the couple.” ... Rafayel hated how beautiful your wedding was.

That was the first thought he had, and it made him feel monstrous.

The colours were perfect.

Soft ivory. Warm gold. Hints of sea-glass blue in the decorations. Light spilled through the venue like paint diluted with sunlight.

It was the kind of scene he would have wanted to capture.

If it had not been killing him.

MC stood beside him, commenting on the floral arrangement with a pleased smile.

Rafayel barely heard her.

He was watching Valko.

The man looked infuriatingly alive. Restless, playful, grinning at guests one second and blinking too quickly the next as if trying not to cry before you even reached him. 

But when he saw you, the joke dissolved.

You were beautiful in a way that made colour feel insufficient.

Valko stood at the altar, rocking slightly on his heels, trying and failing to look composed. The moment you appeared, his face changed completely.

Not into awe.

Into recognition.

As if some restless part of him had finally found where it belonged.

Rafayel hated how much he understood that expression. ... Rafayel’s hand tightened around his programme.

He remembered another studio.

A future painted in warmth.

A little girl with purple hair holding up a sketchbook.

A toddler with paint on his fingers.

Serina and Arien.

Your wedding band catching the afternoon glow while you laughed with a brush tucked behind your ear.

That vision had felt like art made flesh.

Now he watched you walk towards a different canvas. ...

During the vows, Valko’s voice broke halfway through a joke.

You cried.

He cried worse.

The guests laughed softly.

Rafayel smiled with them, one hand tucked into his pocket so no one would see his fingers trembling. ...

At the reception, you asked him to take a photo with you.

“Come on, Raf,” you said warmly. “You’re not escaping.”

He laughed because he knew how to perform happiness.

“Me? Escape attention? Never.”

Valko slipped an arm around your waist for the photo. You leaned into him with ease.

The camera flashed.

Rafayel smiled.

A masterpiece of a lie.

When news of your pregnancy reached him, he was in his studio.

Thomas said it casually, flipping through exhibition schedules.

“By the way, she and Valko are expecting. You should send something nice.”

Rafayel’s brush fell from his hand.

A smear of blue ruined the canvas.

Thomas stopped talking.

Rafayel stared at the colour bleeding across the half-finished painting.

Blue like the sky in the vision.

Blue like the shadows in a home that had never been his.

“I will,” he said after a moment. “Of course I will.”

He sent a custom mobile for the nursery, all soft shapes and tiny painted stars. ...

You sent him a picture of Valko trying to hang it, standing on a chair while you scolded him for nearly falling.

Rafayel laughed at the photo.

Then he sat on the studio floor and cried so quietly even the canvas seemed to look away.

When Lumi was born, you sent him a picture of her.

Her tiny hand wrapped around Valko’s finger. ...

Rafayel stared at the image until the screen dimmed.

Then he opened a blank canvas.

For three hours, he painted nothing.

Years later, you commissioned him for a family portrait.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” you said gently.

He smiled too quickly.

“Comfortable? Please. I was born for this level of artistic suffering.”

You laughed.

Valko leaned into frame behind you. “Should I wear something dramatic? Maybe a cape?”

“No,” you said immediately.

“Cruel woman.” ...

Rafayel watched you both bicker with a kind of tenderness that made his ribs ache.

When you arrived at his studio with Valko and the children, Rafayel felt the world tilt.

The same golden light poured through the windows.

The same scent of paint and lavender settled in the air.

Lumi ran in first, clutching a sketchbook almost too big for her small hands.

“Uncle Raf! I drew you!” ...

His brush slipped.

For one second, he was back in the vision.

Papa, I drew you.

That was what the child in the vision had said.

Only now the child was yours and Valko’s.

Not his.

Only the word had changed.

Not Papa.

Uncle.

The smallest alteration.

The cruelest one.

He crouched and accepted the drawing with a flourish.

“A masterpiece. I’m clearly outmatched.”

The child beamed.

Hunter toddled behind her, fingers already smudged with marker despite your best efforts. Valko followed with a laugh, older now, broader in presence, softer in expression. Time had touched him beautifully. His grin still carried mischief, but fatherhood had warmed it into something protective. A few silver strands threaded through his hair, and his eyes held the tired brightness of a man who had spent years being loved loudly and loving louder in return.

Valko laughed as he stood beside you, holding  Milo against his chest while you adjusted the baby’s collar, your wedding ring flashing under the studio lights. ...

Rafayel could barely breathe.

Rafayel looked at the four of you.

His throat tightened.

The composition was perfect.

That made him want to ruin it.

The vision returned with brutal clarity.

The studio walls filled with layered canvases. Your laughter across the room. Children’s hands covered in paint. His own older reflection, softened by time, watching a life he had never imagined he could deserve.

Except now he was behind the easel.

Watching.

Not living. ...

Valko crouched beside Lumi and whispered, “Make sure Uncle Raf gets my good side.”

Lumi giggled. “Daddy, you don’t have one.”

You laughed so hard you leaned against Valko’s shoulder.

Rafayel smiled.

Painted.

Captured the light.

Captured the love.

Captured the exact life the universe had once shown him, now rearranged around another man.

When the portrait was finished weeks later, you cried when you saw it.

Valko wrapped an arm around you and kissed your hair.

Rafayel watched his own hands tremble.

That night, after everyone left, he covered the portrait with a sheet and sat in the darkened studio.

Then the grief came.

Not elegantly.

Not poetically. ...

It came ugly and breathless, cracking through his chest until he bent over with his hands in his hair.

He had always believed beauty was something to chase.

But he had been given beauty once.

A living, breathing future.

And he had stood still until someone braver painted himself into it.

Sylus read the wedding invitation once.

Then twice.

Then set it on his desk like it had personally offended him.

Luke found it later.

“Oh,” he said.

Kieran peered over his shoulder. “Oh.”

Sylus looked up. ...

“Finish that thought and I’ll make sure both of you regret developing language.”

Neither twin said anything.

For once.

Sylus attended your wedding like a man attending a negotiation.

Calm.

Composed.

Untouchable.

At least, that was the performance. ...

He attended because not attending would have been cowardice, and Sylus had never tolerated cowardice in himself.

You looked surprised to see him.

That almost made him laugh.

As if he would miss the execution. ...

MC stood beside him, dressed beautifully, her smile sharp enough to suggest she noticed more than she said.

“You’re quiet,” she observed.

“Weddings are dull,” Sylus replied.

“They’re romantic.”

“That explains it.”

MC laughed, but Sylus did not.

His eyes were on Valko.  ...

Valko was everything Sylus should have found irritating. Too bright. Too expressive. Too quick with his grin. The kind of man who turned solemn moments into something warm simply by refusing to let joy behave.

And yet, when Valko saw you, all that playfulness narrowed into devotion.

Pure.

Unhidden.

Dangerous in its honesty. His grin softened. His shoulders dropped. His entire expression opened. Sylus hated him then.

Not because Valko was cruel.

Because he was not.

Because the man looked at you with the exact warmth Sylus had once seen in himself inside the vision. ...

A courtyard of glass and steel.

A little girl with crimson eyes and silver hair.

A small boy toddling after her.

Raven and Ash.

Your ring catching sunlight as you held tea.

His hand finding yours with years of trust between you.

Sylus flexed his bare fingers.

Nothing.

No ring.

No future. ...

Sylus watched him take your hand.

Watched you relax.

Watched you trust him.

That was the first cut.

The vows were the second. At the altar, Valko stumbled over one line of his vows.

You laughed softly.

He groaned, then pressed his forehead against your hand.

“Sorry, sorry. I had this planned. You’re just very distracting.”

The guests laughed.

You smiled at him as if he hung the moon badly but tried his best.

The ring was the third. ...

He had seen that same ring before.

In another life. Another courtyard. Another sunlight.

On your hand.

Beside his.

When Valko kissed you, the room cheered.

Sylus smiled.

Slow. Polished. Perfect.

Inside, something went very still as its coldness settle behind his ribs.

He could have given you the world.

Valko had given you sincerity.

Somehow, that was worse.

When he heard about the pregnancy, Luke and Kieran were arguing in the hallway about what gift to send.

“Boss, do babies like drones?”

“No,” Kieran said. “Babies like soft things.”

“Drones can be soft.”

Sylus stopped walking.

“What baby?”

Both twins froze.

Luke winced. “You didn’t hear?” ...

No.

He had not.

You were pregnant.

Sylus gave no reaction.

“Send something expensive,” he said.

Then he walked into his office, closed the door, and stood there with one hand braced against the desk.

The phantom ring returned.

Smooth. Cool. Cruel.  ...

When his extravagant gift was sent.

It ended up too extravagant.

You called him immediately.

“Sylus, this is too much.”

“For a child? Hardly.”

“It’s a baby, not a royal heir.”

“Debatable.”

Valko’s voice called from the background, “Tell him I accept tribute on behalf of the tiny ruler.”

You laughed.

Sylus closed his eyes.

That laugh stayed with him for the rest of the night. ...

When Lumi was born, Valko sent a video.

He was holding her against his chest, whispering nonsense while she slept. His eyes were red with exhaustion, but his smile was unbearable.

“Look at her,” Valko whispered in the video. “She’s perfect. She’s so perfect.”

You laughed weakly from somewhere off-camera. “You’ve said that twenty times.”

“I’ll say it twenty more.” ...

Sylus closed the video.

Then opened it again.

Then hated himself for watching until the end.

Years later, you brought your family to an Onychinus event. It was formal enough to require appearances, informal enough for children to sneak biscuits from silver trays.

Your daughter spotted Mephisto first.

Her eyes widened.

“Daddy, bird!”

Valko crouched beside her. “That, my darling chaos gremlin, is a very dramatic bird.”

Mephisto cawed, offended.

Sylus should have laughed.

He almost did. ...

Then your son toddled after the crow, clapping.

“Win, win!”

The words hit like a blade.

Raven and Ash.

The courtyard.

The glass canopy.

A little girl with mischief in her eyes.

A toddler echoing laughter.

Only now, they were not his children.

They were Valko’s.

And you stood in the centre of it all, wearing a ring Sylus had once felt against his own hand in a future that had dared to feel real.

Valko looked at you over the children’s heads.

You smiled back.

No hesitation.

No fear.

No guarded distance. ...

Sylus understood then.

You had not settled.

You had chosen.

And worse, you had chosen well.

That night, long after the guests left, Sylus remained alone in his office.

The city glowed beneath him.

Power. Wealth. Influence.

All of it at his feet.

None of it enough.

He flexed his left hand.

The phantom ring returned. ...

This time, he did not curse.

Instead, he laughed.

Low. Bitter. Broken.

It turned into something else before he could stop it.

His head dropped back against the seat, eyes closed, breath uneven.

For once, there was no audience.

No twins.

No MC.

No empire of shadows to command. ...

Only him, alone with the truth.

Because he could not blame Valko.

Could not blame you.

Could not even blame fate. ...

He had seen happiness once and treated it like a threat.

Now it belonged to a man brave enough to make a fool of himself just to make you laugh.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, silence swallowing the room.

For the first time in years, control brought him no comfort.

Caleb kept your wedding invitation tucked inside his desk drawer for three days before replying.

He told himself it was because of scheduling.

Fleet duties.

Travel clearance.

Mission reports.

Anything but the truth.

...

When the day finally came, Skyhaven's skies were impossibly clear.

The ceremony overlooked the upper terraces, where clouds drifted lazily beneath floating platforms and sunlight washed the glass railings in pale gold.

Beautiful.

Of course it was.

You deserved beautiful.

MC stood beside him, quietly commenting on the decorations while guests filtered into their seats.

Caleb heard none of it.

His eyes stayed fixed on the altar.

On the man waiting there.

Valko.

Valko shifted his weight from one foot to the other every few seconds, running a nervous hand through his hair before immediately regretting it.

His tie sat slightly crooked.

He straightened it.

Then crooked it again.

Caleb almost smiled.

Then he watched Valko’s hands.

They were shaking.

Not from fear.

From anticipation.

From excitement.

From loving someone enough that even happiness became overwhelming. ...

The music began.

Everyone stood.

Then...

There you were.

Caleb had seen you in uniforms.

Covered in grease while repairing equipment.

Half asleep after long shifts.

Laughing over burnt coffee.

Smiling despite exhaustion.

He had never seen you like this.

Radiant.

Peaceful.

Walking towards someone who looked at you like you'd hung every star in the sky.

Valko’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

He laughed once under his breath, embarrassed by himself.

Then quietly wiped them away before you reached him.

When you finally stood before him, he whispered something only you could hear.

You burst into soft laughter.

The tension melted from both of you instantly. ...

Caleb looked away.

His chest hurt.

Not because the moment was grand.

Because it wasn't.

It was ordinary.

Comfortable.

The sort of quiet happiness built over years instead of destiny.

...

An open-air deck.

A pale-blue sky.

Children laughing somewhere nearby.

A silver ring catching the afternoon light.

Your hand reaching for his.

Skie.

Orion.

Lyra.

The names echoed through his memory.

Then reality pulled him back.

The officiant smiled.

"You may kiss your bride."

Valko stepped forward.

You met him halfway.

The applause drowned out everything else.

Caleb clapped too.

His hands felt strangely heavy.

Months later, Gideon found him in their usual coffee shop.

The same one overlooking Skyhaven where, years ago, he'd laughed and convinced Caleb to try the Compatibility Vision with you.

The same table.

The same window.

The same city.

Only neither of them were the same people anymore.

Gideon stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

"She called."

Caleb looked up.

"She's pregnant."

Silence.

The words settled between them like snowfall. ...

Gideon waited.

"Say something."

Caleb looked out the window.

The floating transports drifted lazily between the towers.

People hurried through their ordinary mornings.

Life continued.

"What is there to say?"

His voice sounded almost detached.

"...Congratulations."

That was what there was to say.

So that was what he said. ...

When Lumi was born, he visited.

MC had insisted they bring a gift.

A soft hand-knitted blanket.

Practical.

Warm.

The door opened before he knocked twice.

Valko stood there looking utterly exhausted.

Dark circles beneath his eyes.

Hair a complete mess.

Shirt buttoned incorrectly.

And smiling so brightly it almost hurt to look at him.

"Colonel!"

He beamed.

"Come witness my greatest mission failure."

Caleb blinked.

"...Failure?"

"I genuinely believed I was prepared."

He leaned conspiratorially closer.

"I was catastrophically wrong."

From somewhere inside the house, you laughed.

"You've been saying that for three days."

"Because I've been wrong for three days!" ...

You appeared in the living room, the baby sleeping peacefully against your chest.

Everything about you looked softer.

The way you smiled.

The way you held your child.

The way your husband, Valko, instinctively crossed the room the second he noticed the blanket slipping from your shoulder.

He tucked it back into place without interrupting the conversation.

Without thinking.

Without asking.

Just...

because he'd noticed.

Then the baby stirred.

Before you could even adjust your hold, he was already there.

"I've got her."

His voice dropped automatically.

Gentler.

Quieter.

Practised.

He lifted his daughter with impossible care, resting her against his shoulder.

She settled almost immediately.

"There we go, little moon..." ...

Caleb watched the entire exchange without speaking.

There was no performance.

No attempt to impress anyone.

This was simply who Valko had become.

A husband.

A father.

The life Caleb had once watched himself living.

Only someone else had grown into it.

When he finally left that afternoon, he sat inside his car for nearly twenty minutes.

He never started the engine.

Years passed.

The invitation this time was for the holidays.

Everyone was coming.

Friends.

Colleagues.

Family.

When Caleb stepped onto the upper terrace, his heart stopped.

Pale-blue sky.

Glass railings.

Open air.

Sunlight.

He knew this place.

Not exactly.

But enough. ...

The vision returned before anyone even spoke.

Then—

"Daddy!"

Lumi sprinted across the terrace.

Milo, her younger brother, chased after her.

"We're faster this time!"

Tiny footsteps followed behind them.

Kendra, just barely a toddler, clung to your leg, giggling between half-formed words. ...

Caleb couldn't breathe.

Not because the children looked like the ones from the vision.

They didn't.

Not really.

But...

The rhythm was identical.

The feeling.

The laughter.

The life.

His eyes found their father.

Valko. ... Time had changed him gently.

The restless young man Caleb remembered from the wedding had become steadier now.

His hair had grown slightly longer, the first silver strands beginning to appear near his temples.

There were faint lines around his eyes.

The kind earned through laughter instead of hardship.

His smile was different too.

Still playful.

Still bright.

But grounded by years of bedtime stories, scraped knees, midnight fevers, school concerts, and tiny hands reaching for his without hesitation.

He caught Lumi before she collided with him.

"Got you."

She laughed so hard she nearly hiccupped.

"Again!"

"You're trying to wear your old man out."

"You said you have superpowers!"

"I may have exaggerated."

Hunter tugged on his sleeve.

"Daddy... up."

Without missing a beat, Valko lifted him too. ...

You appeared moments later wearing his oversized coat.

Your wedding ring caught the winter sunlight.

"You know," you teased, "they're going to expect aeroplane rides every single time."

"They already do."

"And whose fault is that?"

He looked at you.

Grinned.

"Yours."

You rolled your eyes.

Then, without thinking...

...you reached for his hand.

He met yours automatically.

Neither of you looked down.

Neither of you had to.

Years had taught your hands where to find each other. ...

Caleb felt the world tilt.

In the vision...

it had been his hand.

His coat.

His children.

His future.

Now he stood ten metres away.

Watching Valko live it.

Not as the husband.

Not as the father.

Not even as someone still waiting.

Just...

Uncle Caleb.

The title came moments later.

The little girl waved enthusiastically.

"Uncle Caleb! Come play!"

He smiled.

The lie came easily now.

"I'll be right there."

He stayed until evening.

Helped clean up.

Carried boxes.

Played with the children.

Congratulated you both.

Smiled for photographs.

Then he left. ...

His destination wasn't home.

It was the coffee shop.

The same coffee shop.

The same window.

The same seat Gideon had occupied years ago.

Caleb ordered a coffee.

He never touched it. ...

Outside, Skyhaven shimmered beneath the evening lights.

He remembered Gideon's laugh.

"What harm could one little vision do?"

Caleb had thought the phenomenon showed people what might happen.

He understood now.

It had shown him exactly what happiness looked like.

Just not who it would belong to.

The laughter had been real.

The children had been real.

The home had been real.

The love had been real.

Only his place within it had quietly disappeared.

For a man who had spent his life mastering gravity...

...he had never understood what it meant to truly fall. ...

His elbows rested on the table.

His clasped hands touched his forehead.

For the first time since that second vision...

Caleb stopped fighting it.

No soldiers.

No missions.

No MC.

No Gideon.

No one waiting for him to be strong.

Just a man mourning the family he had once held for a few fleeting moments beneath an impossible sky.

And for one quiet night...

He truly let himself grieve.

By the time each of them understood what they had lost, Non-MC was no longer waiting at the edge of their lives.

She was loved.

Chosen.

Held.

Valko had become the husband they had once seen themselves becoming, playful where they had been guarded, brave where they had hesitated, warm where they had kept their distance.

He did not inherit their future.

He built his own with her.

And that was what made it hurt the most.

Because the life they had once glimpsed had not been impossible.

It had only required courage.

By the time they found theirs, she had already given her heart to someone who had never made her wonder if she was worth choosing.

“you need to bend your knees a little more.”

frozen stiff from the unexpected company, you awkwardly try to bend your knees further, all while staring at the ground. if sae was nice, he’d laugh and joke around with you, asking why you seemed so scared of him. but he’s not, so he only sighs and stands beside you while you try.

after a few more seconds, sae understands you don’t really understand so he moves to push down on your thigh, and by then you really freeze up, falling flat on your ass in front of him.

sae wants to laugh now, really, because it’s amusing how nervous you are. for no good reason too.

the next time sae talks to you, it’s during lunch time when he queues up behind you. on purpose. he doesn’t even usually eat from this stall, but seeing you there makes him want to mess with you a little. he purposely stands a little too close, makes himself prone to an accidental bump.

which does happen. because you’re just like that.

“oh, sor—” you stop midway as if realising it’s sae immediately dissolves you of any obliged apologies. “sorry,” you force out before whipping your attention back in front. the both of you don’t talk in that moment and sae can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

but sae continues to help you during phys ed classes, and you still try to get assigned to be his group mate. nothing groundbreaking happens during sophomore year of high school because nothing is born out of it.

nothing, except maybe a tiny bit of sae’s inexplicable emotions for you.

HIGH SCHOOL: SENIOR YEAR

sae thinks maybe you went to a shrine over the holidays. how else would he explain you finally getting partnered with him on a project? and to top it off, it’s a two-person team for the entire year.

you get him all to yourself.

the moment the teacher calls your name after his, it’s like sae can practically see your tail wagging. you manage to compose yourself when you catch him staring at you though.

it’s a little cute, if he’s being honest.

“so, what do you think our project should be about?” your voice wavers a little when you speak to him. is he that intimidating?

sae wonders what if he tries to be a dick during this project. would you be obedient or would you actually bite back?

he tries to find out.

sae shrugs and acts disinterested, staring out the window of the second floor of the library where you’d both agreed to meet to work on it together. “don’t know, don’t care, think you could handle it for us? i’ve got too many soccer trainings, too tired.”

for a split second, you’re taken aback—he sees you sitting upright a little more, blinking twice at him because surely that’s not what you imagined your crush to behave like. not when he has straight As and is almost the top of your cohort.

and for a while, sae thinks you might actually be the former; obediently listening to him, making sure he’s happy. but then you furrow your brows and clench your fists and go “itoshi sae, who do you think you are” and oh, oh, you’re not the former, you’re the latter and you’d actually kill him if he was a dick. fuck.

somehow his hands instinctively come up in surrender and his mouth opens, “i was just kidding.”

it’s almost comical how your expression softens up immediately and you laugh, and sae keeps staring at you because you actually have a really nice smile. he never really noticed it before. and when the two of you actually get started on the project, sae finds himself observing you more than actually contributing.

yeah, you’re really quite pretty.

“any plans for the summer?”

it’s now almost july and summer break is around the corner, and to be honest sae’s kind of bummed about it. it’s beyond him why not seeing you would make him disappointed, but he’s not going to try and pursue the reason. he has his training camps to worry about.

“soccer. you?”

“mmm, a short trip with my parents.”

usually sae would leave it at that, but he asks about you, and he sees that tail wagging again. “where?”

“just gonna go to hokkaido,” you tell him. and you look like you’re anticipating him to ask more, but sae’s stuck. he doesn’t really know what to ask. he’s not exactly curious as to what you’d be doing there.

so you take matters into your own hand when you swiftly grab his phone from the table, key in your number and call yourself from his phone before putting it right back. sae watches you the whole time, wondering when exactly you’d gotten this bold.

“there, now you can’t escape me even over summer break.”

and he doesn’t. because you text him about your trip when you’re there, you send him pictures of the scenery and of the food you’re eating and you’re really inconsiderate because you send him that shit when he’s stuck in soccer bootcamp with twenty-four sweaty guys who’s none the better than him.

sae can end it by all means, just by not responding to you, but for the first time, talking to someone isn’t really a pain, and he thinks you’re kind of funny and the stickers you send are kind of cute so he’ll let this continue. even if by continue he means sending mediocre, lacklustre responses that just barely manages to keep the conversation going.

(in sae’s mind at eighteen, sending replies like okay and i see are considered acceptable and subjectively considered effort.)

when summer break finally ends and it’s early september, sae finally sees you again while he walks to school. he walks a little faster just to catch up to you before he adjusts his pace, acts like it’s coincidence that he’s right beside you.

and somehow he’s made it a routine; to memorise what bus you get off of and catch you on the way to school. even if he sees you in classes and even after classes in the library.

you’re acting a little less like he’s on a podium and more like normal friends and he kind of likes that. he likes being able to see you unfiltered when you gossip, likes seeing you laugh at stupid lame jokes, likes the way you hang close to him whenever you’re beside him.

okay maybe like is a little stretching it, he doesn’t mind being able to tolerate it. or maybe he’s just in denial, whatever.

winter comes and it’s somehow the time when more girls try to talk to him, mainly because somehow the school decides to hold a winter event this year; it’s going to be held near the edge of the city, where the biggest skating rink is.

by his guess, most girls are looking for a guy to have a skating date with.

in the library during your usual meetup for the school project, sae gets more than a couple visitors trying to get him for that same reason. you eye everyone that approaches the table, and sae can’t help but notice how he actually likes when you’re pouty. maybe it’s his twisted thinking that jealousy means you’re still into him.

“itoshi-kun, i was thinking whether you wanted to go to the winter event together?” another girl from your class, mizuno, asks him, and sae is tired of it, frankly. but he doesn’t show it. he only looks at you, and you look back at him because he doesn’t usually stare for this long.

then, he looks at mizuno and rejects her.

“sorry, can’t, i’m going with y/n.”

(you get home that day being completely flustered and completely happy.)

on the day of the event, sae keeps his word. he goes with you, sticks beside you the entire time. his friends snap pictures of the two of you and you always look so embarrassed. maybe you’re just not used to all of this attention. but that’s fine, it’s cute.

one thing he learns about you is that you can be real clumsy sometimes. like now, when you get so excited over your watermelon slushie that you somehow spill it all over your jacket and clothes.

sae ends up giving you his puffy winter jacket while he braves the cold with whatever he has left. that’s fine, he’s strong. besides, getting to watch you wear his jacket the entire time feels like a bonus somehow.

he thinks by now you should confess already, but you don’t. you’re happy to stay in this bubble with him right now, whichever phase the two of you are at. so is he. it feels kind of nice.

feels especially nice when you hang onto him for dear life in the skating rink even though neither of you are moving. sae’s aware that people are staring holes into both of you but it’s strange how much he doesn’t mind when it’s with you. that’s why he holds his hands out, lets you take them, makes himself pull you along. he finds himself wishing neither of you were wearing gloves so he could feel how soft your hands are.

by the end of the day, everyone takes it that the both of you are together, even though the both of you are too avoidant to talk about it.

“hey, sae? thanks for today,” you say later that night when everything is done and you’d had the giddiest experience with sae. he’s walking you home and he doesn’t even know why; it’s a mystery to him why he keeps himself close whenever he can.

“it’s fine, i was the one who told people i was going with you, so.”

when he gets you to your front porch, you don’t go in immediately, standing right there with your back facing him, and sae wonders what’s going through your head. if only he could see the expression on your face right now, maybe he’d know.

you let him; because you turn around, giving him a big smile before you take a step forward and press a chaste kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on your heel and running into your house.

neither of you say bye, both of you are just a little too stunned to speak. sae stands out there in the cold for a little while longer, his face and ears red—he’s not even sure whether it’s from the weather or from you—but even when he starts to leave, you’re still slumped at your front door, covering your face in embarrassment, knees too weak to stand up.

there’s only one more quarter left until you graduate and sae and you both act like nothing happened that day. you still gossip unfiltered and he still listens but acts like he doesn’t.

except now instead of sitting across from you, he opts to sit directly beside you. sometimes sits a little too close just so your arms will brush against each other. sae also lets you keep his puffy jacket because you said you liked it.

you wear it throughout winter.

when graduation comes around and it’s time for sae to choose his university, he can’t help but take a peek at your screen. a smile comes to his face when he sees your first choice is the same as his. you’re smart too, he doesn’t doubt you’ll get in.

“itoshi sae, you can smile?”

sae immediately turns it into a frown. “guess not.”

you take your words back. “hey, i’m just kidding! it’s just rare… that’s all.”

so you notice him a lot then?

sure, you might not have seen him smile a lot. but that’s fine. from what sae knows, you have the entirety of your university years to possibly catch it.

UNIVERSITY: FRESHMAN YEAR

of course you enter the same university as itoshi sae. it’s not on purpose, but you’re glad you both made it here anyway.

at least knowing one friendly face is better than none.

to be honest, you’re not really sure where you and sae stand. he’s never said anything about that kiss, but he also doesn’t stay away from you. can you take that as a positive thing?

if anything, he’s even closer.

somehow, his dorms and yours are practically next door. when you open your bathroom window, you can look right into his. it happened once, by accident, and you’d caught him, shirtless with just a white towel hanging around his neck, hair damp as he brushes his teeth, the droplets of water on his abs looking very inviting.

but then he caught you staring and you’ve shut your bathroom window ever since. thankfully, he never mentions it.

being in university and staying in campus meant that you were both hanging out much more informally. and you’d think that two people at the age of nineteen who’d known each other for three years would be less awkward than this but it’s you and sae and somehow there’s always an element of awkwardness.

it’s halfway into your freshman year and you’d just watched the first match that sae’s playing for the university team. you’re a little starstruck, honestly. to think that the guy you’ve always had a crush on is this good at soccer.

he’s amazing. you’re feeling like a potato sack.

“hey, you know him right?” hime gushes.

your friends are with you, so it’s natural they ask.

mira on your left sighs, “guess we have no shot with him since he’s with y/n all the time,” she says, nudging you in the elbow.

you’re starting to regret bringing them here with all the teasing. you’re also regretting coming here yourself because you see several girls running to him asking for a picture together. some of which you recognise, some of which are the popular girls.

sae doesn’t stop them from snapping what they can, but he also doesn’t stop for them at all. instead, he saunters over to you, hime and mira wordlessly disappearing to the side.

“gimme that,” sae says, gesturing to the phone in your hand. you obey, of course, and he smirks, then he snaps a selfie with you before tossing your phone back and walking off.

the pairs of eyes on you make you half-embarrassed yet half-proud. even with this many fangirls, sae chooses to come to you.

that night sae asks you to send him the picture.

yeah, maybe you can take that as a positive thing.

freshman year after that is generally uneventful. you and sae are both trying to find your footing, with him preoccupied mostly with soccer trainings while you’re drowning in assignments and projects that have nothing to do with him.

but you still see him in the mornings sometimes, when you walk past your common room and he’s in his, and you wave at him when he’s alone so you’re not so shy, and he nods in acknowledgement before he just walks away.

one night while you’re burning the midnight oil trying to cram some accounting knowledge into your brain, you get a text from sae.

wanna get supper?

both of you end up at one of the supper spots outside of school, a little cosy shop that sells boba and ramen even after midnight.

“why’d you wanna get supper?”

sae shrugs, taking a sip of his plain water. “just bored, couldn’t sleep.”

“isn’t this soccer season? you can’t even eat anything in here, it’s definitely not passable for your diet.”

he sighs, leaning back against his chair. “so? quit whining and start eating your shit already.”

if it was some other guy you’d be rolling your eyes and storming off. but it’s sae and you know him and he thinks he’s talking normally like this. besides, when you catch his eyes flicker up to lock with yours you get a little dizzy inside.

“what’re you up so late for anyway?”

sae’s fingers are drumming lightly against the surface of the metal table, teal eyes diligently observing as you bring the strands of noodle to your lips. “told you, i couldn’t sleep.”

you find that strange; he’s always been able to sleep, no problem. and he’s strict about his eight hour sleep schedule. what could be getting to the great itoshi sae?

(sae’s lying through his teeth; having his bedroom right across from yours means he can see when your lights aren’t out. sue him for being a little concerned.)

“so, heard you and the team are going on a soccer trip somewhere in europe,” you bring up. you’d heard it from your friends, strangely, instead of sae himself.

he nods. “yeah, just a select few,” he tells you, “only if we win the tournament though, then the team’ll officially invite us over.”

so-called team you heard about is real madrid, and you’d be crazy to think that sae couldn’t help your university team win on his own.

“guess i won’t be seeing you around when you go,” you mumble idly, not completely aware of what you’re basically saying.

sae is adept at reading in between the lines, but he doesn’t probe you on it. he’s not sure he wants to. he doesn’t know what this is. do you still like him? does he like you too? all these feelings are new; sae doesn’t know what to do with it.

so he keeps it to himself. for now.

he doesn’t really do a good job at following through with it though, because on the day of the tournament finals, he looks at you and winks right as he orchestrates that winning goal for his team, and you’re left wondering if you’re imagining things.

UNIVERSITY: SOPHOMORE YEAR

the final part of your freshman year went and gone, and it didn’t go exactly how you imagined it to be. you didn’t expect to hear from sae at all when he went on his trip after that tournament.

but you did.

he replied you whenever he had the time. told you anything you asked for. even called you when you had a mini meltdown because of finals.

to be frank, you don’t know what the both of you are anymore. you’re cursing yourself for being too scared to ask.

“hey y/n, have you seen hime anywhere?”

it’s oliver asking, captain of the university’s soccer team and also hime’s current situationship. he’d started hitting her up since that first time sae played and brought attention to you and the people around you.

“yeah, she’s by the pool with mira.”

oliver leaves as soon as you tell him, and you stand awkwardly at the corner of the living room, by the full panel of glass windows, wondering if you should just go home. you’d only came because hime and mira both said you needed to experience a party at least once this year but now you’re surrounded by people making out and drunkards slipping into the pool that it makes you regret giving this a shot at all.

especially since sae’s not going to be back till tomorrow, garnering as much interest as he did during his time in spain. you really have no reason to be here.

“hey there, pretty.”

startled, you find a familiar face up close in your personal space, his finger twirling your hair. you’d recognise that head of blonde and pink anywhere.

“oh, you’re ryusei shido right? you’re on the soccer team with sae,” you think out loud, and he nods, and you can see his blonde lashes so closely it’s making you flustered.

“mhm, fwhat’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a corner? seems like a shame,” he comments, though he doesn’t even give you a chance to answer. the next thing you know, shido drags you into a drinking game with hime and mira (which is why your first instinct wasn’t to run off, if you could trust anyone it’s your best friends). although, shido is getting annoyingly close and you can’t decide if you’re nervous or annoyed.

and the heavens surely love you when they let shido draw the card that corresponds to a dare, and they love testing your boundaries when some guy called otoya dares him to kiss you.

but no, you know that the heavens really do love you when someone yanks shido’s hair back and pulls him away from your face, taking his spot in between the both of you in the bid for proximity that you don’t mind because it’s itoshi sae.

“sae, what’re you doing here? i thought you wouldn’t be back till tomorrow,” you ask, a little shell-shocked but you still notice he’s discerning frown and how there’s barely any space between the two of you.

he looks at you, tilting his head, “what? my girl’s not happy to see me here?”

you don’t respond. half because you think you’re dreaming and fuck—really, did he just call you his girl?

“eh? i don’t recall you having a girlfriend?” shido leers, a hand on the spot of his head where sae had pulled on earlier.

“yeah, besides, shido still has to do the dare.” otoya sounds bored more than anything, but the guy beside him, karasu, if you remember correctly, is smirking.

sae sighs, and you feel like you must’ve crossed the boundary to another dimension when you feel sae’s lips on yours, and you think you’re in limbo when you feel his hand on your neck, pulling you close. his tongue pries your lips apart and people are whistling while shido’s behind him saying get a fucking room or i’ll beat off to this.

when the object of your affection finally pulls away, you’re met with the same pair of unbothered teal eyes, the pair that immediately turns to face otoya. “there, did it for him. now move on.”

you’re beginning to thank alcohol for its existence when almost everyone obeys wordlessly, moving on to some other guy’s turn. you really can’t remember who sits on shido’s right when all you can think of is that itoshi sae, your longtime high school crush, actually kissed you.

that’s enough to warrant the question, right? the question of what sae takes you for?

the inner debate sparks long into the night, even when sae walks you back to your apartment, the both of you side by side in silence.

“sae, what was that?”

he plays coy. “what was what?”

you’re only a little tipsy, so you can still tolerate his avoidance. “you confuse me a lot, you know that?”

sae doesn’t take the bait. “oh, i see.”

“you were jealous.” he was. he really was. you can tell; he was sour to shido the entire night. he stuck close to you too, sometimes your fingers brushed against each other’s.

“so what if i was?”

this one is new. sae’s actually admitting it. and usually you’d chicken out but you can see your apartment coming into view and you don’t want to let this go.

“what am i to you, sae?” you manage to choke it out a few feet away from the door, and sae stops in his tracks, hands in his pocket and teal eyes looking heavenward.

you’re beginning to regret your decision to ask; you’re not sure if his indecision is a good or bad thing. nothing seems to be simple when it comes to itoshi sae.

but he does nothing to appease your confusion when he steps in front of you, his body pressed flush against yours as he presses another kiss to your lips, and you think this one is special because it’s not done in the name of a dare or in front of anyone else. this kiss is for you and you alone and sae is doing this on purpose.

when he pulls back, you see him furrow his brows and you can tell that maybe he’s just as confused as you are.

“when i managed to get an earlier slot for my flight, all i could think about was how excited i was to see you.”

is this… a confession? you’re even more confused now that you don’t even know what to say.

to be honest, so is sae, which is why he swallows the lump in his throat and relegates to his apartment, “goodnight.”

things after that change just a little.

you’d decided to go with the flow, just because you really don’t want to sabotage whatever friendship you and sae had left, although most of the time, sae is the one toeing the line. even though he doesn’t outright tell you anything regarding his feelings.

but you think you figured him out.

sae asks you out whenever you’re both free, and not for shit like studying or errands, but for movies and dinner and he drives you around in his car and looks at you like you’re the only girl he sees. his eyes don’t wander when he’s with you, and he lets you wear even more of his jackets. it’s also evolved to his jerseys and his beloved windbreakers. you have one of each in your own closet and he never seems to ask for them back anymore. he also lets you wear his rings, puts them on your fingers randomly.

both of you still go for parties, especially when it’s one of the soccer guys who are throwing it, because they practically force sae to go and they know you’re the key to convincing him.

most of the time the two of you just laze on the couch, drinking and talking about nothing at all, and he idly plays with your fingers when he’s tipsy, something you never tell him because you like it, because you don’t want him to feel self-conscious and stop. he also smells your hair after he sends you home and hugs you before he retreats to his place, and you wonder if he’s fully sober when he does that.

you resign to getting your answer some other time, because you don’t want anything to ruin this, if this is just an illusion. yeah, you’d talking feelings some other time.

UNIVERSITY: JUNIOR YEAR

you really had no right to be, but you are. try as you might, you can’t stop yourself from feeling the way you do. especially not when she’s sitting so so close to him, when her hand brushes his fingers.

she’s just his project partner, nothing more, but something irks you about the way she can get so close to him so quickly when it took you much longer. but then you hear from shido that kaori is rin and sae’s childhood friend, so maybe that’s why they’re so damn close.

apparently, she’d gotten back to japan after ten years abroad. with great timing too, right when you thought you and sae could amount to something.

“you know, i could help you make him jealous if you wanna,” shido whispers in your ear one time when he catches you staring at them. “we’ll make him feel how you feel, m’kay?”

and while that’s tempting, you shake your head. it’s unreasonable for you to take it out on him that way, not when he hasn’t actually done anything that proves he’s just leading you on.

lately sae’s been so busy around kaori that you’re just thinking too much. you’re wondering if he’s slowly replacing you. he still talks to you over text, but you barely hang out like you did before. you still spot him through the windows, but he’s always too tired to notice you. even his texts are getting slower.

“hey, you okay?”

trust it to hime to notice your personal dilemma. you’re not really surprised though, because she’s been watching you moping for the last few weeks. she now has oliver wrapped fully around her finger, with him sticking around her all the time, which is a surprise considering his reputation.

but hime will take your side, you know this, and maybe that’s why you play it off. you don’t want her to hate sae because of a momentary feeling, so you tell her you’re just sick and you’ll go back home.

the moment you get back to your apartment, you see sae waiting out on the front, car ready while he leans against the hood, waiting.

and you might’ve asked if he was waiting for kaori, but then he looks up and sees you and smirks and that’s all you need to know that he’s not. he was waiting for you, and now he’s opening the passenger side door and telling you to “get in, stupid.”

that’s how sae is with you, impromptu and surprisingly sweet. he drives you to the pier, a cute spot right next to an amusement park where he’d gotten you some candy floss before the both of you just sits on the hood of his car, enjoying the scenery.

“why’d you suddenly bring me here?”

sae lies down, the sun hitting his face in all the right places. he’s gorgeous, you realise for what seems like the thousandth time since you’d known him.

“oliver told me you’d been a little mopey lately,” sae says, and you’re already embarrassed. “sorry if i’ve been busy lately.”

you mirror his position, lying down next to him, and it feels oddly nice like this. you’re not sure if it’s the situation or the person.

“it’s okay, i heard that kaori’s your old friend right? you guys must have a lot to catch up on.” it doesn’t stop you from feeling jealous, but it’ll pass. you hope.

sae chuckles before he turns to you, and you turn to face him too, “you’re jealous.” he smirks, and you’re reminded of the same thing you told him that first night he kissed you.

“shut up, sae.”

he laughs because you’re being pouty, and because maybe it feels a little nice to know you can feel it too. just then, he mirrors what you did way back in high school, reaching across you for your phone. except he doesn’t key in anything—he opens up your camera and takes a picture of the two of you like this, sae looking naturally handsome and better than you because you’re stunned he’s doing this, eyes wide and expression puzzled.

“what’s that for?”

sae’s still fiddling on your phone as you ask, and then he passes it back to you. he’d set it as your phone’s wallpaper.

“to remind you that you’re the one i like, idiot.”

and even though you and sae aren’t physically too close in the wallpaper, you think maybe it’s enough to tide your feelings through for now. he doesn’t ask you for anything else after that, just leaves his confession at that and sends you home before saying he has to finish up his project, aka going to find kaori.

it’s fine by you though, because now you know where sae’s head’s at, even though he never explicitly asked you anything. you’re sure he knows how you feel too, especially since you’d been the one to kiss him first that day a few years back.

but how apt for you to go to sleep early and be woken up by dozens of messages blowing up your phone, the majority of them attaching pictures at a certain party.

still pictures of sae locking lips with kaori, and you feel your heart sinking.

sae’s message comes through just as you’re scrolling through your phone.

meet me at my place? not what it looks like, i promise.

and maybe it’s because you feel like you know sae well enough that you’re not even panicking. you respond within seconds.

sure, see you!

you take the liberty of going next door, entering when one of the other guys who lives there clumsily walks in drunk. it’s easy enough to find sae’s room, you recognise it from across your own room too well. and maybe it’s a slight invasion of privacy but you can’t help but turn your attention to his desk.

his room is all neat with the occasional laundry thrown on the corner of the room, trophies and medals on the bookshelf by the table. but what catches your eye is the little pink heart-shaped post-it note that looks all too familiar.

your handwriting fills the piece of paper.

i think you’re cute and i really really like you

you could cringe right now from how cringe you were being back then. but then you realise, sae kept this? did he keep this knowing it was from you? you hear the door opening downstairs and jump back a little, accidentally pressing on his keyboard while trying to place your note back in its position, and the screensaver that greets you renders you speechless.

it’s the picture sae took of the both of you at the bleachers of his first match.

someone closes the laptop before you can think any more, and you’re greeted with sae right next to you, cheeks flushed—either from alcohol or embarrassment. you can’t really tell, but judging from the lack of alcohol stench, you’d like to bet it’s the latter.

“you have me as your wallpaper?”

sae clicks his tongue, annoyed he didn’t get there in time for you not to see that. “who else would i put there?”

you bite your tongue to stop yourself from instinctively saying kaori out of spite. guess you’re still a little groggy from being woken up in the middle of the night.

“about earlier,” sae begins, not really sure how to continue.

“you mean the pics going around of you and kaori kissing?” you’re not even mad, you’re sure there’s an explanation—that’s how much you feel you know itoshi sae. he’s not the type to bother with leading someone on; if anything, he’s probably the type to immediately cut things off if he wasn’t interested and so far, he’s always been thinking of you.

sae sighs, rubbing his temple before taking a seat on his bed. “that was fucking stupid,” he grumbles, eyes closed. “she was way too tipsy and getting all up in my face and before i knew it she just—” his eyes are open now, briefly looking at you before looking away, hiding behind the sides of his soft locks, “she kissed me. i was stunned for a little so…”

you snicker a little, because sae looks so different from how he usually looks—aloof, ignorant, arrogant. now he looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the side and you can’t help but notice the difference.

“sae… why are you telling me this?”

screw his indecisiveness, if it was in the first place. you want his answer now, up straight. and sae seems to know what you’re thinking because he chuckles, relieved because he can read your tone—you’re not angry, not upset, you trust him somehow and it’s only because despite what you think, you know him better than anyone else.

“fuck off, y/n, you already know,” and he says this affectionately because you can feel the tenderness in the way he says your name, in the way he invites you into his arms—the way he pulls you close and lets you sit facing him on his lap. “you gonna be my girlfriend now or what?”

your lips are so so close and you’re both holding back so so much. “mmm i don’t know, itoshi sae, what if i wanna see you beg me for it?”

“god, i hate you,” he says, without meaning it. it’s the first time you’re actually feeling how strong he is, because he lifts you up from the back of your thighs and throws you on his bed as he hovers over you, a little squeal leaving your lips at the unexpected gesture. “hm, kinda like that sound you make.”

he’s saying it so monotonously that you’re embarrassed. “shut up, sae, before i leave.”

“that’s cute, you think you’d actually leave me,” he teases, and you curse yourself for finding that slight condescending tone of his hot. “but hey, really, be my girlfriend.”

“you asking me that after kissing another girl?” you act shocked, acutely aware of how his fingers are all intertwining with yours, your hands on either side of your head, sae pinning you down. if anyone walked in now, they’d get the wrong idea of what you two are doing. for sure. but you try to act unbothered, you don’t want to boost his ego even more.

sae leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you’re hoping your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest because he’d definitely feel it. “shit timing, i know. but you’re the only one i want, so.”

he’s pretty shit at talking emotions, you realise. and then you realise that this only works because you’re equally good at reading his. despite his reluctance to talk emotions, he shows you how special you are, constantly.

many girls want him, but you’re the one he spends most of his time with. you’re the one with his actual clothes in your closet and his rings on your fingers. you’re the one sae kisses and willingly so, the only one who’s on his wallpaper reminding him of what he’ll have each time he comes home.

“i told kaori i liked you and no one else too,” sae continues explaining, though he really doesn’t need to. you listen anyway. “she got mad and stormed off but shit, i don’t care. only care about you.”

and he’s pretty forthcoming with his feelings when he wants to be and that’s enough for you. you squeeze his fingers lightly and smile at him.

you don’t have to hear any more to know.

“i love you too, itoshi sae.”

the way he marks you that night lets you in on everything you need to know.

UNIVERSITY: SENIOR YEAR

six years.

it’s been six years since you’d first had a crush on itoshi sae. and now you’re his girlfriend, always in the front row for every match and the object of most of his fangirls’ hatred. that’s okay though, none of that matters.

whenever you come back home to your (shared) apartment now, it’s like all your worries melt away into the void, and sae reminds you just how much you mean. even if his pet names are less than swoon-worthy at times.

“you really need to stop posting shit like this,” you deadpan, showing sae your phone screen. it’s a picture of you asleep in the morning, drooling on his bare shoulder.

sae blinks, acting coy like he always does. “what? it’s cute.”

“you’re insufferable, itoshi.”

sae ignores that, switching the subject. “hey, you have any goals for your twenties?”

you hum, pondering. “well, i guess if i could do what i want, i’d travel the world,” you pause, sitting up on the sofa and looking at him. “why?”

it’s the last year of university, and the both of you are finishing your degrees, with the possibility that sae might be getting a contract with one of the overseas clubs. you’re not really sure; there’s a few of them who’ve expressed interest, but you’d always let sae think through it on his own.

does his question have something to do with that?

“was thinking i wanted to take you along if you wanted to come with,” sae half explains, because he’s bad with details like that. he continues when he spots your confusion, “if you wanted to explore wherever i decided to go.”

oh, he means he wants to take you along to wherever he decided to go. you’re flattered, honestly.

“you mean, the itoshi sae wants to bring me wherever he goes, huh?” sae is already turning red, sensing your big head. “you offering to be my sugar daddy too?”

sae sighs. “you’re so stupid, i swear,” he complains, his words lacking any bite because he’s rubbing circles onto your arms. “you said you found some remote jobs right? thought we could make use of that and just go wherever together.”

after six years, you finally see sae trying to plan a future where the both of you are together. he loves soccer, but he loves you too, and you’re not the kind of person who’d make him choose, so you appreciate his compromises instead.

“itoshi sae, i’ll follow you wherever you go.”

he presses a hasty kiss on your lips, “good, ‘cause i plan on keeping you forever.”

you grin, pulling him down to you and kissing him even deeper, “i’ll hold you to your words, then.”

sae smiles against your lips. because he knows he got lucky with you, lucky you were there at the right moment, slipping your love letter into his locker. lucky you continued to like him, lucky you knew how to put him in his place whenever. lucky you’re you and you love him.

maybe he’s always liked you, even back in freshman year of high school when he realised how kind you are, how gentle you could be. you looked pretty in the sun that day, when he first saw you trying out soccer in the yard and falling flat on your ass. you didn’t notice him back then but he noticed you, not that you knew. sae didn’t try anything because he was sure it’d fail. but who knew all it took for his mind to change was a simple nudge from you?

he’s pretty sure that you’re his human manifestation of a forever.

Exactly seven hours keeping you away from Caleb. There, in the future, are you still waiting for him?

Are you even...?

He sighs. The evening pulls on nerves, testing his patience. The hall is bright, bathed in the soft light of hundreds of candles, shining with a dance of too many smiles, voices and viands. Honestly, it's too big for a person not to get lost in, a tad bit too provoking to feel small and unnecessary among fine figures.

Out of habit, he cautiously tries to squeeze his right hand; a familiar resistance greets him, making him sigh once again.

What is even the point of being here?

Because yes, as a Colonel, as a renowned hero he's now highly valued in society, placed to sit near the host, even; but this familiar feeling still creeps up to him, slowly, unnervingly setting somewhere low in his stomach. Once again, Caleb feels like a decoration, an impressive trophy flaunted around. He had always thought that status would free him from the need to feign interest; now he knew that the need grew with the said status accordingly.

Can you even endure seven more hours?

Caleb thinks back to the morning, the letter's sharp corners still crisp in his palm, almost burning.

Were you hurt badly?

What would it cost him to be there then, to be with you? His pride, maybe? He had reveled in his freedom for so many years, stuck to this distance providing the sence of control. The thought suffocates him now, seeps into his heart with slow, heavy drops.

Has the attacker been caught yet?

Looking around, how's this any different from the Lady Monten's ball you mentioned? A business meeting? More like a feast in honor of another victory that none of them had a hand in. Dressed up, self-absorbed pricks.

Were there as many of them at the ball when you were attacked? Were they smiling as someone cornered you in a hall full of people? It wouldn't have mattered if he had been there, though.

How could this have happened? How could someone of your status have been left alone? No, this couldn't be just an attack on a noble lady; it has to be something personal, something between two people.

And oh, Caleb has already heard what society had to say.

It had only been a couple of days, but the gossip was already overwhelming: that a possible suspect, your longtime admirer, was involved in a political scandal, that you must have found out something you shouldn't have known and paid for it in return. Some insisted that you got out of control in your own game, lost yourself in your own circle of intrigues. They painted an image of an insidious woman, proving that you had always been secretive and calculating before— for what else if not to hide your own sinister intentions? Others lamented how unfortunate it was that a tragedy happened to such a kind soul; if not for the rejection, they sighned, there might have been someone to stand up to you.

And sometimes, between laments and sighs, someone would sneer: oh, but you must be alive, and just leading everyone on.

Caleb believed none of it, but he certainly harbored hope for the latter.

Who did you reject, though?

Because if it is who he thinks it is, things are simply not adding up. Because among all of your suitors (and it's not like Caleb is keeping count) there is only one with the needed amount of power and pettiness to commit something alike, and the only one, who happened to attend the said ball too; but Lord Wallies is a man of principle, and of strong beliefs, too, with a short temper long left behind in his youth — very unlikely to act up even due to a sudden rejection.

But he still was prideful though...

And he was a part of opposition.

So what was he even doing there, compromising himself like that on the event almost completely funded by the royal family?

The questions multiply in his head, buzzing like a disturbed swarm. The fact of death has not been officially confirmed, but people definitely saw blood, and a lot, and your estate remained stubbornly silent, suppressing any questions. Some supposed that the county must be quietly preparing for the funeral.

By the time the last toast is raised, it's well past midnight, and Caleb feels the chance of seeing you again fading away as the wine in the cups go.

Why is he still here? Is it worth it? Is this the freedom he ran away from you for?

His mind fogs up suddenly; he doesn't remember getting up from the table, or how someone called out to him as he passed the wide columns at the entrance, out of breath.

Because as his hands tremble on the reins, Caleb still can't think about anything else,

but you.

...

It's already sunrise when the roofs of your estate finally rise above the hills, like silver awakened by the sun itself, covered in soft fog.

Inside, everything is unusually quiet and motionless, as if time had not touched this place at all. This stability always weighed on Caleb; constancy confused him, made him doubt his position, his powers. Here he was always too young and harsh, too inconsiderate in his desires.

And even though he had trully grown up far from these walls, but one glance — and he is eighteen again, and behind the cover of ivy at the far wall your voice is barely audible, but insistent and direct. Your eyes are shiny as you gaze up at him, and on your tongue are the same words: "From now on, you will be truly free, Caleb. Free from your duty in here, from this walls, from..." you avert your eyes for a moment and smile bitterly, "...from me."

And you are on the verge of tears when he struggles to interfere, because during so many years he had never seen you crying, and it unsettles him, feels wrong, and-

And you press on, unknowingly twisting the knife even deeper, "But I want you to know, Caleb. You don't have to return here because it weights on you; because you owe me. You— you don't," your voice betrays you, so the next words come out breathless, almost a whisper, "I just want you to remember. Indulge me, for the last time".

And he never got to ask in what exactly: because as his brows furrow, betraying his confusion, you stop talking at all.

The last thing Caleb remembers is your lips, suddenly warm and soft on his, pressing shyly, but stubbornly. He remembers how you suddenly become so small to him, so delicate in your attempt to reach his height.

He had never understood why you didn't come to see him off; now the purpose lays clear — he did remember, after all.

...

Your room is on the third floor, with a nice view overlooking the garden and a small part of the training grounds.

Caleb knows it well — he's felt your silent gaze on him far more than once.

It's easy for him to slip by the guards, easy to follow the way he knows by heart. But it's one thing to find your room, tucked a little to the left near the staircase in the east wing;

to find it silent and empty is another, however.

The air is still inside, almost weighted, like the window was left closed for days.

No, that just can't be true.

His pulse jumps and an unfamiliar panic rolls over Caleb, heavy, ringing in his ears. It's— it's that the room is too dark, he can't even see properly; yes, the moment he opens the curtain, all will fall right into place. There is no way you are really—

Dim light abruptly fills the bedroom, cold and silent as it falls directly on the canopy of your bed. Desperate, he pulls it aside, too.

It's empty.

No— no, it can't be happening to him-

The war has long ended, and Caleb hoped that he would never experience it again- that feeling, that overwhelming feeling of helplessness before the loss.

He takes a few steps back, taking the room in one last time, hoping he missed something, but to no avail: once so familiarly warm, it feels void now, scraped clean of your existence. There's no books on your bedside table, no dresses hanging from the screen near your wardrobe, no drawings on the walls.

Was everything put away after you— no, no that can't be—

Next step back greets him with something cold by his nake, and Caleb winces, turning around in one swift motion, and freezes, forgetting how to breathe.

Your eyes are as sharp as the blade of your sword by his throat, tired but piercing as you silently gaze up at him.

He gasps, "You —"

"Caleb?" your eyes widen as you take a step back yourself, lowering the blade slightly, still too cautious to put it away completely.

He feels his throat dry up.

You are alive.

"Why? You— You can't be here—" Your voice comes out too quiet, full of hesitance and confusion, and he reaches a hand to soothe your almost instinctively. You don't oblige him, however, and Caleb holds his breath as you raise the sword a little higher once again. It shines as the first rays of sunlight catch on its surface, and his eyes follow down, all the way to your tightly clasped hands. Your knuckles are almost white from the tension, but still, your hands don't shake. Caleb furrows his brows.

You can't be used to the weight, can you?

"What are you doing here, Lord Xia? Don't make me repeat myself." Oh, that hurts. Your voice is weirdly unfamiliar when you talk like that, he notices; the title only adds to the weight, drawing the line clear. You used to talk like that to noisy servants.

He hadn't heard it in years.

"Lord Xia —"

"You... you're alive," he whispers.

"What are you doing here?" your breath comes out uneven, and Caleb stiffens at the way you purse your lips, a telltale sign of your patience slipping away. You look afraid and lost, like his appearance here is something unlikely, wrong, and he feels like he needs to calm you down to stop this.

"Wait, look— I didn't mean to scare you," he forces himself to say something, bracing the ringing in his ears as relief mixed with confusion rolls over him in one strong, overwhelming wave.

"When why are you here, Caleb?" you press on, still on guard and panting, "Why are you in the middle of my room, in my estate, in ungodly hours of the night?! What am I to think?!" You search his eyes, "Tell me!"

It dawns on him that you must be still living off the aftershocks of the accident, torn and restless, because no, there's just no way... you can't be afraid of him.

This time you make a step back, as if slipping away, and the next words that suddenly leave him are rushed, desperate.

"I came to see you."

You pause.

His voice seems too calm for you liking, and Caleb watches as your eyes widen, the realization sinking in. You grin then, cruel and almost mad, something he never saw you doing, and lower your sword slowly.

"Oh, did you, now?" you straighten up, shuddering slightly, and shift your weight to one side, using the sword as a support. It digs slightly into the floor, but you pay it no mind, almost entertained, "And what made you do it, exactly?" you tilt your head slightly. "Am I suddenly too good to loose when my life is at risk?"

He wants to protest, but you continue, tilting your head.

"Don't tell me you pity me, Xia."

It sounds terribly like truth, even though he knows it's not only that that brought him here.

No, it's a lie, for sure. But the real thing feels too scary to confess, even more terrifying in its core; he can't just admit something so overwhelming at once, so he stays silent, only urging you further.

"Oh? You are?" you pick up the sword again, slowly approaching him. A soft rasp fills the room, sharp and unsettling. "But I don't need it. I don't need you checking in on me from time to time. I haven't been a part of your responsibilities for a long time, don't act like I am and please, leave me out of this."

You come even closer, the distance so small he could feel your breath on his skin.

"Why are you here? Why did you come, Caleb?" you whisper.

"I thought you— I just wanted to see you." And everything falls at once. You expression breaks, pure outrage clouding your eyes, and you twist your hand on his collar, yanking him down. Your sword crashes to the floor in one fast, careless motion, as you press a finger to his chest, firm and accusing, too sudden for him to react.

"You wanted to see me?! You? Oh no, Caleb, you wanted to see that everything is still alright, that you still have control under the situation!" you yank him again, even harder. "But the thing is, you don't. Because I'm not your duty anymore, even if you treat me like one."

"I do not treat you like that—" he tries to free your hand from his shirt, agitated.

"But you only ever show up if you feel like you need to! Be it obligation or your wounded dignity, I don't even care!" Tears stream down your cheeks, unwanted and unstoppable, and he feels like he's suddenly drowning, unarmed before them.

Because it must be the tears, the way your eyes are finally full of emotions, how your hair is parted today — all making you seem smaller, more vulnerable than before; you almost remind him of his sister, when she would complain about her loneliness, eyes red as she told him how other girls her age did not want to play with her.

"I almost died, Caleb! I- I almost died and you come here to see me? I waited for you for... for so many years, and it's my supposed death that makes you come here? To check?" you turn away and try to free your hand up, but he squeezes it even harder, moving it from the crumpled colar to his beating heart.

And, just because he can't help himself, because he is used to always having the last word, because he needs to resist you, like it always been before, Caleb doesn't even register the words that slip him in an attempt to justify himself.

"You say that now, but it wasn't my decision to suddenly go away to the other side of the Empire, no?" you take in a sharp breath, and slowly look up at him, stunned. "Or was it me who woke up one day and decided it was enough, because everything become boring overnight? You accuse me of treating you like a duty, but admit it, it was you who drew a clear line between us! You who didn't want to see someone out of noble bearing next to you, so you sent me away to try and acquire it," Caleb feels your pulse quicken ander his palm, restless rhythm matching his heart.

Fighting with you seems like something wrong, inappropriate, but you're alive, and it's too thrilling for him to just accept silently.

"But I'm not your loyal dog anymore and-

The ringing sound of a slap reverberates in the predawn silence, and you both fall silent, equally stunned.

You look at him then, really look, and he feels pinned under the calculating pressure of your gaze. There is something in your eyes once again, this wandering edge, like you are thinking other your next step, but it's gone before he can properly catch it, buried under a new flood of tears.

You take another step back, then another and another, trying to feel the surface of the dressing table with your hand. He watches you wince as soon as you sit down on the settee next to it, pressing a hand to your left side.

Two small bloodstains silently appear on the snow-white nightgown.

For a few moments you just sit there, quietly trying to rein your sobbing. You still do a poor job at that.

"You know, Caleb, there are things that even status can't hide," you are looking away from him now, down and out the window. At the training grounds, it seems.

"Even if you're noble now, there are some things you perhaps... just can't grasp. I should have realized it sooner."

"What do you mean?"

You don't answer directly and just shrug, wincing again.

"Imagine you fall in love with somebody and you really, really want to tell them. But you can't," you lower your eyes as you pick on the settee's velvety trim, "And not even because it is inappropriate, through it surely is, but because you know the answer already and you know that you would only ruin everything."

"So you don't." A small ribbon rips off the ruffles and you clench it into a fist, "You don't and you just pretend nobody knows. You look for excuses, try to buy some time, hope it will pay off."

"But of course, you can't wait forever and you can't torment others forever. So you gather all the strength you have left, grit your teeth and make a deal. A ticket to a new life for a certain someone in exchange for an indefinite service. Debts for a new chance of equality."

"And then you wait again, and some more, and a little bit longer, until there almost none of your time left."

"All that just to find out the person you did it for thinks you just got disposed of him."

And even though he can't see his reflection in your eyes now, when he meets them again, Caleb feels like he is not ready for what comes next. The sound of blood in his ears drowns all else, making it difficult to think straight.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, something in him surely breaks as you wipe away the tears, sobbing softly.

"What do you think is easier, Caleb: to find some unfortunate nobleman who owes you, and, promising to forgive his debt, force him to adopt someone so that you can fake pregnancy and marry him, or,—" you sob again, even harder this time, your body shaking with it, "or, knowing how reckless it is for you, to make a deal for the opportunity to send him to a prestigious academy, from which he may not just not return to you, but as practice has shown, he may not return at all? What would you choose?!"

Your gaze flickers across his face, searching for something only you can get. He doesn't know if he wants you to find it yet, though, and not a word comes to mind to answer you.

He hears and understands every word you say, gets the hint; but putting it all together still feel impossible under the stubborn pounding of his heart.

What exactly did you do to place him in the academy? You were so young, which means that any kind of power would hardly have been available to you. What did you do then, so many years ago, to ensure this for him?

Because yes, you may have been very young, but he was too, so why didn't he ask you about it?

Wearily, you cover your eyes with your palms and turn away, curling into yourself slightly. A thin chain slips from under the collar of your nightgown, shining cautiously with a poisonous-yellow topaz. A gift from the ruling family, forever present on you since your sixteenth birthday.

No, something's definitely wrong; he can't just lose his grip. During all these years, you haven't been able to convince him, so why now...?

Still, he takes a step closer.

"Is that's why you've been attacked? Does it has something to do with me?" He watches as some more tears roll down your hands, and softens, quietly kneeling next to you.

It's not an interrogation.

"Hey, don't hide from me, please," he reaches for your hand and slowly lowers it; you surprisingly let him, eyes following from there he holds you and up to his face, again.

And that look of yours, tired and teary, with eyes slightly red from crying, the way your lips quiver to stop the sobbing, it all surely do something to him. He always has been so weak before women crying, be it his sister or his worried grandmother, but yours feel different, almost make him grow hot.

It's him who you are crying over. He who makes you this emotional, him who you worry about. It feels like it only ever been him, and it both scares and thrills him.

Do you even know how it affects him, he wonders?

"It’s not," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes. "I- I can't blame you for this. You don't have to follow me around, Caleb. I just needed to be smarter."

"Do you know who it was? Is it that Lord? Wallies, or something?" it feels wrong to inquire, but his appearance itself was very suspicious, as much as your reaction, as you slightly stiffen, grasping his hand.

"I don't know... I doubt he is involved, honestly. I know he must be under suspicion since we arrived together, but I don't want to jump to conclusions, Caleb." Something in your world makes him displeased, so he presses on, eager to find out the truth.

"Together? Did he invite you? Or was it you who invited him? Because in that case—"

"Can we not talk about this right now, Caleb?" you beg. "I thought you understood how unpredictable nobles can be, now that you're part of this environment... But that's not the point, right? You are still afraid of me."

"Every time I think things are about to get better, similar things happen. Do you know what it's like to be a woman in charge of a county? When you are seen not as a person, but only as an incredibly profitable match? A stupid girl who just can't survive without a husband?!" You tremble, unable to free yourself from his grasp. More tears roll down your cheeks, and Caleb wolfishly follows each one.

"I just don't understand. What am I doing wrong? I just want someone to understand me. Someone to keep my secrets so I can keep theirs."

You bend over slightly and rest your head on his forearm, gently wrapping your arm around it, cautious, as if testing the waters. You're so careful and warm that it feels like all the heat is gathered right at the the very tips of your fingers. He can almost feel them through his clothes, right on his skin.

But you can't possibly know that this is the arm he was wounded in, can you?

"Is it really that hard to just be on my side?" you whisper, pressing even closer to him.

And Caleb feels that this is the moment when everything has to be decided. His will crumbles, and the answer arises by itself, clear and obvious, as if someone is gently leading him by the hand to this decision. He doesn't feel any doubt, and you, here, very-very close, closer than you ever been before, are clearly not something to be afraid of.

But something still looms over him, a vague sense of a point of no return. Something inside is still stubbornly pulling back.

Caleb tells himself that it must be just wounded pride.

"I'm on your side."

You sigh shakily, unable to control yourself, and Caleb pulls you even closer, head spinning at the thought that you easily allow it to him. Cling even closer even, burying your face in his neck, your breath right at his pulse point.

Caleb takes one last look at you, soaking up the warmth of your body, and closes his eyes.

...

The sun slowly slips through the open curtains, promising the beginning of a new day. One of the rays hits the mirror by the dressing table, and you look up, catching your own gaze.

Despite the tears, the smile on your face is too pleased, so you quietly hide it in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. Your pulse jumps as you press impossibly closer, and it's not just his scent that makes your head spin, almost intoxicating.

You look at you both for the last time and close your eyes, sighing.

Got you.

⋆ 𐙚 a.n. hi guys!!! guess what? ohhh omg I was writing this part for soooo long... been trying so hard to make it interesting for you, so i hope the wait was worth it and you were able to find all the clues to what really happened :) waiting for your comments to discuss!! 💋💋

tags #

“One is in a more stable condition than the other, but I’m certain that they will both make it.” She says, but he nearly tunes the rest of her words out. Alive. You and MC were both alive. He’s finally able to swallow the knot that had been forming at the pit of his throat. “The one who brought the unconscious lady in – was that her partner?”

“She was very brave. Didn’t let go of her the entire time, until she knew she was safe.” Relief hits him so fast and so violently that it nearly hurts. Sudden enough for his knees to nearly give in. The chip is no longer flooding him with a blinding, white-hot pain. You were both safe, and that was all that mattered. That was all that was ever supposed to matter. He swears that the colors that make up his field of vision suddenly became a few shades brighter. The gray lifts at the edges, and it becomes a little easier to breathe.

He knew he fucked up. The realization quietly seeps out from him. There were so many things that he needed to fix. Too many things that he needed to say – words that took nearly losing you for him to finally say out loud. He had so much to apologize for, both to you and MC, but especially you.

He just hoped that you’d forgive him with a little bit of time. Or a lot of it. He didn’t care. Caleb would offer you all the time that it takes, as much as you needed in order to grant him forgiveness.

When he saw MC for the first time after the mission, she was pale, exhausted, yet upright. Her body had been wrapped in countless bandages and gauze, but she was alright. You were alright. She saw it in his face before anything. The relief that tore through her was blissfully immediate, and she’d grabbed his sleeve before he could even utter a single word, trembling with reassurance, at last. “She’s comatose, but…”

“She’s okay,” MC had breathed out, and he nodded. Tears had filled her waterline then, and she let out a choked sob, wrapping his arms around him in relief. Oh, you had nearly given your life to save her. She had warned you not to, but you did, anyway. You fit in so beautifully with every other hunter at the Association, just by being so selflessly… you. “They said she’s okay.”

It takes a few weeks, but they wait.

You’re transferred to Akso on the same day, confined to that godforsaken hospital bed until you wake up. The days quickly blur into one another, but feel excruciatingly slow all at once; still, they make the effort to visit every day. MC brings you things first when she’s finally back on her feet – such as a fresh vase of your favorite flowers, a stack of snacks that you love yet are far from being medically cleared to eat, and little trinkets that Caleb insists you’ll complain about once you wake up. She talks to you, too – rambling about everything, from how her day of recovery went to how stupid the great Colonel of the Farspace Fleet was for nearly letting you go.

“Caleb’s a real dummy, isn’t he?” 

“It’s okay. You can tell him all about it when you wake up. That idiot is long overdue for an apology, anyway.”

Caleb is a little quieter about his visits, but he still shows up every day. On most days, he just observes you. The way the machines at Akso hum softly around you, the way your chest perpetually falls and rises again. It calms him, it reminds him that you’re still here. He memorizes the soft cadence of your breathing and the faint twitch of your fingers that nearly makes him believe that you’re about to wake up. You don’t, though, much to his chagrin.

Sometimes, Caleb talks to you. Sometimes, he just sits there, chair pulled up next to you, thumb brushing absentminded circles against the inside of your wrist, eyes lingering over your visage. He’s careful – always so careful, like you’ll shatter into countless fragments if he presses too hard. Sometimes, he gives you gifts. At one point, he brings you a book from your wishlist every day until he eventually buys out the whole list. He intended to get them for you for your birthday, but he supposes that he can spoil you a little. Eventually, the entire table in your room is filled with gifts from him, MC, and all your friends. The staff at Akso, particularly Zayne, are a little amused.

All his gifts are waiting. Just like he is. This time, though, he refuses to be too late. He’ll never be too late again. He’ll make sure of that.

“I’m here,” he tells you quietly, on more days than he can count. “I always will be.”

You never answer him, until one day, you do.

Caleb is next to you and nearly dozed off. MC had gone home a few hours ago, and visiting hours were nearly over, but he always stays until the last second, because he was so afraid of missing a moment such as this one. Your lashes flutter, and you begin to stir, and it’s almost like he was never even asleep in the first place. Your eyes finally open, slowly and deliberately, trying not to let the fluorescent hospital lights blind you. And your voice – rough and ridden with sleep, but still unmistakably yours – breathes out the one thing that he has been starving to hear for what feels like a lifetime.

“Caleb…”

His chair scrapes sharply against the floor as he surges forward, one hand hovering just shy of your face, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he actually touches you. And then, at that moment, the world finally rights itself again.

But then, your expression twists. You didn’t look relieved. No, you looked… You looked afraid. “...Caleb?”

His heart stutters at how small your voice had gotten, at the realization that something was clearly wrong. The machines are ringing in his ears, and he feels like he’s unwillingly getting dragged back onto shore, when all he wants to do is stay submerged under the water. 

“Caleb!”

Caleb finally jerks awake with a sharp exhale, and the phantom warmth of your hand is still burning against his skin. MC is standing over him, one hand still on his shoulder, where she’d been trying so hard to shake him awake. He wished that she had never done that. “You were dreaming again.”

The room is monotone and grey, so wrongfully dull, and it takes him exactly three seconds to remember why. Right. You had never woken up. Today was the three hundred and sixty-fifth day that has passed since your death. Exactly one year, and they were going to visit your grave, not your hospital room. Because you were dead. You have been for a long while.

Lately, he’s been having these dreams, and they’ve been getting worse. But truthfully, was ‘worse’ the correct word to describe them? Because sometimes, he thinks that they’re the only things keeping him upright. He wonders – a thought that has crossed his head multiple times – if it would just be easier to stay asleep. To live in that perpetual summer afternoon for the rest of his life, where the colors mix so beautifully and finally form something worth looking at. 

Maybe, in a pocket universe out there, there’s a timeline where he had actually saved you. Unfortunately, this was not that timeline. If the poet who was narrating his life had been kinder, Caleb thinks that his life might have been easier to live. But the poets are not kind. They are cruel, and cruelty has been the only thing that they’ve ever known. The only thing he’s ever known.

Unfortunately, the poets are merciless, and that was just the way things were. The way things will continue to be, for as long as he lives. He has no say in the matter, because he’s never had one in the first place.

SOMETIMES I GO TO SLEEP / AND I'M STILL SEVENTEEN / YOU STILL LIVE DOWN MY STREET / YOU'RE NOT MAD AT ME.

the beginning | previous.

Try and mask it all you want, but one of Caleb’s greatest talents is his perceptiveness, especially when it comes to you. He can read you as easily as the morning paper, and as easily as the instruction manuals that come with his model planes. It’s not hard for him to tell how you’re feeling. You blatantly wear your heart on your sleeve, even if you try to cover the way it erratically beats at times. The way you attempt to hide the small bout of hatred that glints beneath your irises when you see the crystallized red necklace on his neck. When you see MC. The way your carefully crafted mask can slip within a split second, only for it to come back the moment after, and you greet her with that sickeningly sweet smile, dripping with superficiality.

He knows himself far too well. Long before you, long before any promises you’ve ever made with him, and long before you even entered his life, he made a promise to Josephine. He swore that he’d spend the rest of his life protecting MC, or die trying to, as long as EVER got him before they’d even get to graze her skin. Josephine’s hands had been frail, yet he still remembers the way her fingers firmly dug into his sleeve when she made him swear. Promise to be a safeguard for MC. And Caleb has never broken any promises. Especially not for Josephine, who died not so long after that.

He didn’t love you any less, but at the end of it all, Caleb was built to protect MC. The agenda was wired within his veins and written in the stars; the calligraphy was crystal clear. You deserve someone who does not hesitate. Someone willing to put you first. And that man – no matter how much he wanted it to be – was not Caleb.

You were never the sun. The sun burns too loudly, too recklessly for its own good, dooming those like Icarus who fall too close within the vicinity of its blazing flames. No, you were the moon – distant, luminous, and quietly tugging at his heartstrings in a way that he pretended not to feel. The lunar celestial body is beautiful and full of grace; it’s precisely why Caleb has always been afraid of touching things that enchant him. You’re too far from his reach, but maybe that’s a good thing. A great thing, even. Because Caleb ruins all things that are good in his life. 

And the last thing he would want to do is hurt you. 

That summer afternoon haunts him. The apparitions of you, the painted shades of azure blue and dazzling red, all plague him in sleep because they gave him a glimpse of how things could have been if Caleb could have everything that he wanted. If the universe showed him a little bit of mercy, and if he weren’t such a coward. You were laughing beneath a sky so bright that it almost hurt to look at, because everything felt so right, and you looked so beautiful. The sun caught in your hair so deliberately that it’d put any muse to shame. He wanted to tuck a stray strand behind your ear. To paint you, even though he had no idea how to. He’d learn, just for you. There was nobody else to paint, because there was you and only you that afternoon, and you were all he ever wanted. 

He remembered thinking, absurdly and helplessly, that the world had crafted you too carefully. You were never meant to be touched. You were the kind of thing people look at the way they look at the night sky – knowing it is vast, knowing it is burning, knowing that they can be rekindled from hopeless ash into fire, but the stars above will never belong to them.

You will never belong to him. And maybe that was for the best.

You had wrapped that crimson bracelet around his wrist earlier that afternoon. His matching half. Your fingers were brushing against his pulse, and he swore the contact lingered longer than it should have. He had tied yours, just so it would be fair, intertwining your fingers against his own as he finally called the ordeal even. 

After it all, you leaned back on your palms and tilted your face towards the sun. And for the first time in a while, Caleb could not tell what you were thinking as you gazed at the clouds. He wanted to ask – ask what you were thinking, get a glimpse inside your brain, a penny (or a couple thousand of them) just to be able to quickly glance at your thoughts. How did you get this bracelet to fit so perfectly around his wrist? Were you aware that he’ll never take his matching half off, for as long as he lives? Why did you make them? 

And why were you so pretty right now?

“Stay,” you finally whispered, soft and speaking your mind at last. It sounded like a perfect harmony, too perfect for a man like him, and he knew he was slipping. He was getting greedy. Dangerously greedy for something that he could not have. The siren’s hymn is far too irresistible now, and he’s getting pulled into the point of no return. “Just like this.”

Caleb finally glanced at you then. He didn’t care about the sky or the apples that were fully in season because of the time of year. No, he was looking directly at you. He had wanted – with a sharp and terrifying clarity – to close the distance. To press his mouth to yours. To see if you would breathe his name the way he imagined you might, your breath hot against his lips.

He wanted to kiss you.

Instead, he did what the poets had always trained him to do. He held your hand, pressing his palm against yours because it was the only thing he was brave enough for. The only thing he was allowed to take from you without taking too much. To clasp your hand against his for a little while, because the poets are cruel to boys like Caleb, and the greatest mark you could leave on him was the bracelet resting on his wrist. Nothing more. He cannot be yours, no matter how much he wants to rewrite his narrative and grab the pen himself. He can only pretend to be for a little while.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.” Just for today, he thought. Let me have this one moment.

Just for today.

When the explosion happened, and the trajectory of his life changed in an instant alongside Josephine’s death, Caleb’s first thought was not about all the pain he felt. He was used to that, especially after all the experiments EVER had subjected on him. He could handle all the torment, but this fear that he felt – this was new. The moment that the toring chip was implanted by the Fleet, his right arm had been reinforced with metal, and your bracelet was lost to the ruin, he knew. 

Alongside that fear came his terrifying realization that things were no longer the same. He was no longer sixteen, and he was never yours, no matter how much he wanted to be. He was bound to her in this lifetime. It was his duty to protect her.

It was always her.

Still, if the thread that had been severed during the tragedy were a curse, Caleb would have worn it all over again. A thousand times over, even if he knew it would kill him one day. He would have offered the other arm, too, if it meant keeping the faint indentation your bracelet left against his skin. If it meant preserving the memory of your fingers brushing against his pulse, as if you could steady it just by your touch alone. Like you could make everything right again with a snap of your fingers. And maybe, in another life, everything would be alright. He would just pray that you’d wait long enough for that life – a life full of silver springs and a perpetual summer oasis – to be granted to both of you.

He never once thought you doomed him. If anything, he now thinks that loving you was the only thing that ever felt deliberate in a life that could barely even call his.

There’s a joint mission with the Association and the Fleet today, which is rare. Typically, Caleb would want you and MC to be as far away from Skyhaven as possible, but some things cannot be helped, especially when it comes to higher orders. At the end of the day, people in the Fleet and the Association are just puppets, players of the game for those above. Unfortunately, none of you were an exception to that.

MC finds him in his office, and when she knocks on the door, she smirks at the way his face deflates – just enough for her to notice. He was probably hoping that it was you. Right now, you were probably with... “You look happy to see me.”

Caleb rolls his eyes at her blatant sarcasm, and she laughs. It brings about a sense of shame that he refuses to acknowledge, because he knows that she can see right through him. “She’s getting ready for the mission debrief. I think she’s having lunch with Xavier right now.”

“Why the long face?” Of course, she doesn’t miss the way his shoulders tighten at the mention of him. That guy from UNICORNS, the same department you’re in, who’s been awfully close to you lately. Xavier. He’s lucky he’s not your actual partner, and Jenna had paired you with MC. If anything, it makes it easier for Caleb to look after both of you, and he has to worry less about him. “If it makes you feel better, I heard them talking about a certaaain someone named ‘Caleb’. She has a surprise for you, you know.”

“I don’t need surprises. We have a mission soon, don’t we?”

He says, his voice flat. MC just hums, clearly unconvinced by his faux stoicism, strolling further into his office without an invitation. She perches on the edge of his desk and gives him an all-knowing smile.

“You’re jealous.” The declaration is blunt, and it hits him like a freight train. He would have laughed, if only he didn’t feel so called out.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, sure. And the sky is green.” He runs a hand through his hair at that. The motion is sharp, filled with a lot more agitation than he initially intended, and her smile softens by just a fraction. He’s too easy to tease. “You’re impossible, Caleb.”

MC studies him for a long moment. Growing up together had made it second nature for them to read each other’s tells like an open book. He taught her several things: how to secretly cheat at Kitty Cards (or not, because he simply turns a blind eye at her antics), how to cook simple dishes, and how to use his EVOL to get any plushie she wanted from the claw machines; but most importantly, Caleb taught her how to hold his secrets. That’s why she can simply lay a statement out that’s so real, he’s unable to counteract it. Something like, “You love her.”

Which is exactly what she says. The words land heavier than a simple accusation, because accusations can be disproven. However, this time, her words were wholly true, and he could only exhale through his nose in response. “That’s not relevant.”

“It’s not relevant?” MC wanted to laugh, but it just comes out as a scoff. “Every day, you look at her as if she hung the moon. Or more like she’s the moon herself. It’s surprising how she hasn’t noticed yet.”

“She deserves someone who’s able to put her first.” If you were the moon, then you were simply an unreachable deity, a figure only meant to be admired from afar. Your beauty was the kind that needed restraint, and restraint was something that he had years of expertise in his belt. He’d give you all the distance if it were for the best, and he’d spent a long time convincing himself that space was truly the best course of action. “Someone who can…”Treat her better.

Caleb’s thoughts flicker to you and Xavier, but he’s quickly interrupted by MC. Her tone is firm, the one she uses when she calls him out. “Well, she doesn’t just want ‘someone’. She wants you.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for her without even giving her a choice in the first place,” she adds, pointing a deliberate finger at his chest. “You’re not protecting her by doing that. That’s called being a coward.”

His hand curls to his side, and for once, she’s reduced him to silence. A heavy tension fills the air. She was right. He was a coward. He’s never been able to think right, to circumnavigate all his feelings when it comes to you, anyway. He brushes his mechanical arm, the metal mostly hidden under his uniform. Once, you’d slipped a handwoven bracelet around that wrist, smiling all prettily at him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like that day was a mere snapshot of a life both of you could have. Once, that day, he almost kissed you, but he had chosen restraint that moment, too. “She’ll be safer if I just keep my distance.”

“Actually, that ‘distance’ is just making you even more miserable,” she counters. “And it’s just leaving her really, really confused. Congrats, Caleb. What a stellar strategy from the great Colonel of the Farspace Fleet! Is this exactly what you wanted? The kind of intellect that lets you survive in the Deepspace Tunnels?”

She nudges his shoulder. “You don’t have to keep protecting me to love her. I’m not twelve anymore, even though you treat me like I still am sometimes.”

“You’re still being hunted by EVER–”

“So are you. And the danger plagues her life, too.” Her eyes soften. “We don’t get to live safe lives, dummy. Some of us chose to be Hunters, and we just keep on fighting anyway, despite knowing the risk.”

“You should tell her,” MC repeats, a little quieter this time. “And that you’re scared. She’ll understand. Just start with the truth – and take advantage of what she’s about to give you later.”

She doesn’t elaborate on what the surprise is, but her gaze flickers to his wrist. He stares at the door, head fleeting, as if you’ll walk into his office at any second. If he tells you, then he risks losing everything, the balance he’s maintained and the distance that he’s spent years convincing himself was the noble thing to do. If he doesn’t tell you, then he just might risk losing you to someone else, someone better, someone like Xavier. And for once, that notion feels more terrifying than anything, because then, he’ll lose everything, and then some. At that point, he’d have to learn to let you go, and someone else would get to be yours.

“...Fine,” he finally mutters.

MC’s eyes light up. “Fine?”

“I’ll tell her.” Even though it’s not a promise.

Still, when he finally says those words, the world feels a little lighter, and something within the universe shifts. For the first time in a long while, Caleb could imagine that bright, summer afternoon once more. The day he had thought about making you his, the day he almost reached for more than your hand, and the day he thought about kissing you. He thought about your saccharine sweet lips and remembered the way you wore your shiny lip gloss. You still wear it, even to this day. He always wanted to know what flavor it was. And what did it taste like, exactly? Cherry, maybe. Or apple, to match the delicious pie you had baked together that summer.

It’s you who has constantly plagued his thoughts. Despite everything, it has always only ever been you. And maybe, at last, Caleb didn’t have to spend another second wondering anymore, because he might just find out the answer to all these questions.

“I thought–” you say quietly, your eyes strictly fixated on the box instead of him, “that maybe we don’t get to keep things forever, but we can try to, anyway.”

His breath catches at the realization that this was the surprise that MC was talking about. You had handed him a remade pair of matching bracelets after the mission debrief. The pattern was the same, and they were still beautifully handwoven by you, but the ends are no longer unraveling, and your handiwork had clearly gotten more skillful with time. For a second, just one split second, all the years between his sixteenth and now had blurred into something raucous yet familiar. A feeling that he knew all too well – the same feeling he had been pushing back all this time, for fear that it would one day eat him alive.

“You made another set,” he says slowly, voice far raspier than he intended. “After I lost mine when…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Caleb never does, a taciturn defense mechanism that came especially handy during conversations that are more difficult to have between the two of you. The explosion was one of them. He briefly wondered once, when his arm had been reinforced, if you would make another pair of those bracelets. Then, he quickly tossed that thought away as fast as it had come, but now it's all painfully crashing back on him. All at once, and he was far from ready.

But you nod anyway, like you understood every single complicated fragment that he couldn’t say out loud, and are able to piece everything together regardless. Damn it, that has always been your worst habit. You knew him too well. You saw through all the fractures that Caleb had tried so desperately to hide, and loved him for all he was anyway, without encouraging him to fill in the margins. 

His jaw hardens at that. Your worst habits are the same ones that can unravel him just as quickly. Your perception was beautiful, yet your biggest danger.

“Put it on me, again. Just like old times.”

He holds out his left wrist, the only one remaining that is still tender, and still human. Caleb hardly misses the way your eyes flicker to his mechanical arm before you quickly look away, like you’re trying not to let your guilt bleed all over the floor. The thought alone makes his chest ache, because none of that had been your fault. You never cursed him. It’d be impossible to do so, even if you tried. He wanted to say those words out loud, but they stayed lodged between his teeth and forever stuck at the tip of his tongue. He might just make things worse if he acknowledges them.

So, when you finish tying his matching half, he declares that he’ll just show the physical manifestation of his love for you, just as you did for him. Caleb reaches for you without hesitation, and your wrist fits into his hand like it always has, and he ties the bracelet with a focus that borders on reverent. His tongue presses lightly to his teeth, brows faintly furrowed as he adjusts the knot. “Do you remember what you said that day? How you predicted that I’d forget you in five years when I’m ‘super popular and cool’ once I was at the DAA?”

You nod, small and sheepish, and it makes him huff softly. His fingers linger across your skin for just a second too long, and it makes him realize just how close you are to him. Like he had been unconsciously pulling you in with his EVOL. The proximity makes his voice dip a little lower. “Well, I think my words still stand. I most certainly never forgot you, you’re still way cooler than me, and definitely way cooler than anyone there.”

Gravity is an amusing thing. It’s the reason everyone stays upright, why the world revolves the way it does, and it's partially why Caleb was able to climb the ranks so quickly at the Fleet, but it also pulls him down. Nobody had warned him about the way gravity could settle somewhere deeper within his bones and nearly crush him. How it could root itself within his chest and make every breath feel heavier, far heavier than it should really be.

Still, his EVOL also makes it seem like you were the epicenter of everything, because that’s how it always seems to Caleb. Sometimes, gravity also makes it so that the entire axis of his world could deliberately tilt towards you, and only you.

And finally, he takes in everything about you, all at once. Your eyes. Your mouth. The way the light reflects off your lip gloss, the same one he had spent so long wondering about. It was intoxicating. Dangerous. You were far too dangerous for someone like him. It was dangerous the way your hand lifts his mechanical one, cradling the metal like he was still able to feel. The phantom touch almost makes him feel something. 

Only you could do this to him.

“You come back to me,” He whispers, breath warm against your lips. It makes his pulse stutter, and the poets begin to sing once more, and Caleb knows that he’s in trouble. Because the hymns are getting too angelic now, too tempting. “You promise.”

He thinks back to MC’s declarative words. “You love her.” 

No matter how much he refused to admit it, everything she had said earlier was right. He loves you. Even after all this time, he loves you. So much that it hurts. Sometimes, between the margins of all his internalized turmoil, Caleb dreams that he could just be with you. To live a life with you without having to worry about the Fleet, or the Hunter’s Association, or the toring chip that silently puppeteers his every move and thought. That he could perpetually relive that summer day, over and over again, to be sixteen and utterly clueless about the future with you, forever.

Caleb loves you. And when his gaze finally drops to your lips, he decides that he’s going to prove that he does, once and for all. To stop wondering about everything, and to start knowing. “I–”

“Caleb!”

The moment ends as quickly as it came, and you break away from him before he even realizes what happened. He sees MC standing in the doorway, mid-breath and fully geared up. You’re looking at her, and you refuse to look at him now, standing a considerable distance away. It makes his chest ache all over again. She cluelessly asks, “They’re calling us in. Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. And if Caleb could hear the poets, they were probably laughing up a storm. Maybe this was just a part of their cruel nature. Their grand plan of mercilessly dangling everything that he wants in front of his face, of toying with his cake and eating it. It makes him realize that even though MC had been right, and he did love you, Caleb had also been right in his own way. She was right, but so awfully naive. You’ll be safer if you just keep your distance from him. “I’m coming.”

Because, after all this time, maybe Caleb had been the cursed one all along.

MC’s expression quickly shifts when she senses your meek tone and the dirty look that he had given her the second she walked in. She had been so caught up with preparing for the mission that she completely forgot to read the room. She just had a conversation with Caleb about this! Her eyes flicker to your wrist, and then to his, and the realization of what she just interrupted finally dawns on her. “Shit, I’m so sorry–”

“I really shouldn’t be here right now, should I?” she stammers, already quickly backing out the door. “I’ll–I’ll leave you two to it.”

When she leaves, you still refuse to meet his gaze. He tries to call out your name, to maybe make you understand, but to no avail. “Please, just look at me–”

“Don’t.” 

Your tone was so cold, it completely reduced him to silence. Watching you leave felt like a slap to the face, because at that moment, you had finally slipped through his fingers. And it hurt a little more knowing that he didn’t let you go in the end, but you had left on your own accord.

Caleb’s life is full of almosts. For a brief instance, he almost got to call himself yours. He almost sealed that promise with you. He almost chose you over her. He almost called you beautiful that bright blue summer afternoon (it was at the tip of his tongue. What if he had just said it then? Would everything have changed? Would gravity have reoriented itself to be less suffocating? Would the dull, monotone colors of his life finally have mixed to form something worth gazing at?)

He almost chose differently, and now… these ‘almosts’ will continue to be almosts. Now, he’ll just never know, because MC was right. In the end, Caleb was just a coward. A coward who curses everyone around him, including her.

And including you.

“Caleb, I need evac. Now.”

Your voice cuts through the comms, from MC’s watch – and he feels his heart drop. He should have known something was wrong the moment your own Hunter’s watch had lost signal. Everything must have gone awry, and he curses, checking your location amidst all the static. Damn it. Why did you two have to be so far away? “Status.”

Of course, he had his own respective mission to attend to while you were with MC. His mission site wasn’t too far, but far enough that it’d take him some time to get to your location, a real disadvantage when things become a shitshow. Such as right now. Caleb never really cared about abandoning his post if it meant saving you two. Today was one of the times that his title could be used as leverage. 

But then you say it. Something that he wasn’t ready for. “MC’s down, and–”

For half a second, the world goes horribly quiet. Everything else tunes out into a plethora of fuzzy static, and then he feels it – the pain practically detonating at the back of his neck. The chip. Fuck. He was losing control. Caleb chokes on a breath as the toring chip flares white-hot beneath his skin, a violent, searing pulse that shoots straight down his spine. His hand slams against the console to steady himself, knuckles blanching. No. No, no, no–

“She took a hit from a wanderer– I’m trying to take us… safe zone… I’m five minutes out–”

Get a grip, you motherfucker. He manages to force a few words out, his voice tight and strained against the edges as he fights against the godforsaken implant. Your voice is cutting in and out of the comms. Or maybe that was all in his own head? He must be going mad. “What the hell happened?”

You’re breathing hard on the other end. He can hear it, clear as day. You were huffing, breath uneven and ragged, like you’ve been running this entire time. “It’s a shitshow out here, Caleb. I don’t have my sword, and she took a hit when I wasn’t looking–”

“When you weren’t looking?” Another spike of heat lances through his neck, and he’s nearly keeling, vision blurring at the edges. “You’re supposed to cover for her.”

“I was,” you snap, and if he were just a little more attentive, maybe he could’ve heard the way your voice wavered for a fraction of a second. “I was there, Caleb, I tried–”

“Then why the hell is she bleeding out?”

Static overcomes the comms again, and he’s certain that the chip might just detonate on its own at any moment. The only thing ringing in his head, over and over, are your words. She’s hurt. MC is hurt, and he might be too far to do anything about it. She’s hurt, and it’s his fault. The words failure and coward slam into him so hard that they nearly knock all of the remaining air out of his lungs. The red apples, the ones that used to be so sweet, are now rotting, and the worms have found refuge in them. The sky is too blue, and the smoke is too thick. That old, familiar guilt claws up his throat before he can do anything to stop it.

He’d promised Josephine that he’d protect her–

Another pulse from the chip makes Caleb’s hands shake over the controls. The pulse was sharper and meaner, a haunting reminder that he’d doom all three of you if he didn’t move. Right now, he needed to get his plane to your location, even if the back of his neck might kill him before he does.

It hurts. Fuck, it hurts.

Some distant part of him knows that he should ask – Are you hurt? Were you safe? What was your status? Because you never told him. The questions weakly claw at the ivory crevices between his ribs, but they never make it out of his lips. The only thing he could do was stabilize himself and make his way to where you both were, and silently pray to whatever deity was out there that you were okay. “Damn it. I’ll be waiting at the safe zone near you – I’m about ten minutes away. Can you make it there?”

On the other end, you manage to say, “Yeah. I think.”

You were okay, right?

Caleb doesn’t let himself think about why your voice sounded so thin. Or why it sounded like you were barely stifling a sob through your gritted teeth. Or why you eventually end the call, and the line suddenly goes so eerily– 

Quiet.

It was too quiet.

You were dead.

There should’ve been some type of catastrophe, some cataclysm that shook the earth and rendered it a lifeless husk by the end of it all. Some divine, merciless confirmation that the universe understood what it had just done. And yet, the sky was still present up above, and the bracelet on his wrist stood as a hot, stinging reminder of everything. In reality, the sky should be closing in on itself, swallowing the world into a vortex – not the dull, monotonous shade of gray that it was right now. No, there was something wrong. Where was the prophesied Armageddon? The sky is still here. The world has not ended. Skyhaven hasn’t turned into a pit of ash, Linkon hasn’t erupted into flames.

And yet, you were no longer here. You were dead. You had died saving MC, and yet nobody could even save you. Caleb couldn’t save you.

Nothing is making sense. Around him, the medics are moving, helping the other Hunters who are also injured. Someone is crying, he distantly registers that, but it all sounds warped – like Caleb was hearing the entire world from underwater. His gaze stays locked forward, unmoving and unblinking, because someone had just told him that you were dead on arrival, and that there was nothing they could have done. Nothing he could have done.

Because you were dead.

Every day, people make plans for tomorrow. The day after tomorrow. The vacation they swear they’ll finally take in a few weeks. You had plans. There’s probably still an unwashed basket of laundry sitting somewhere in your quarters, half-forgotten, but it was something that you promised to deal with over the weekend – when you finally had the time to. There’s still a grocery store checklist in your notes, full of all the things you meant to buy. There were books you wanted to read. You had a whole wishlist of them, and he was planning to buy them all for you for your next birthday.

There were things that you meant to finish. But in just a snap of a finger, the elegist cruelly declares that your poem will end in the middle of an ordinary verse. The laundry does not need to be washed anymore. The checklist will never be completed. Your books will begin to collect dust, and Caleb’s world has completely stopped alongside your death. Perhaps it's ironic, the way he thought that some world-ending catastrophe would occur the second they laid down the news, that the back of his neck would finally implode, but everything was just stagnant. Terrifyingly still as he’s forced to stand in the midst of a world that had the audacity to keep moving after your death.

How was this fair? How was any of it fair?

Still, even in the midst of all the clamor, nobody dares to answer him.

Caleb comes to MC the moment they notify him that she’s awake.

It took her a few hours to come to her senses, especially since she sustained injuries that any regular person couldn’t walk off. His vision is swirling. He needed to see her – the past few hours felt like a blur. The quiet, gnawing need to see with his own eyes that at least MC was okay was all encompassing, because the thought that he couldn’t save you plagues his every waking moment.

He couldn’t save you.

The walk to the med bay feels longer than it should. He tries to pinch his skin because part of him is still convinced that this was all a nightmare, a final test that the poets have subjected him to before they end all his misery at last. Maybe it’d just be better for all this to end, anyway. Caleb’s boots sound too loud against the flooring; every step felt like his EVOL was deliberately dragging him down. It was less to do with gravity itself, but more of the way his chest feels like it's been carved hollow. The bracelet on his wrist burns. It felt like another toring chip, in a sense, except it had willfully been implanted by you. But he’d be a fool to take it off. He never will. 

When he steps into the room, MC is already sitting up, and her eyes snap to him immediately. The first thing he senses is relief. Relief flashes all across her face, and she nearly smiles. “Caleb–”

But it falters as quickly as it came when she realizes the expression on his face. He’s never been good at hiding anything from her. Not when they grew up together, side by side. She could tell whenever he was upset, even though he tried to hide it from her every time. “Where is she?”

“Please, Caleb. I want to see her.” Her voice wobbles, and she’s practically pleading at this point. No. “She’s okay, right? Let me see her. Because she said–”

She said she’d be right behind me. That she’d think about herself, too. “I’m sorry.”

“Caleb.” Her eyes widen in horror, tears flooding her waterline at the realization that you died saving her. Even though she had begged you to worry about yourself, too – especially because there were far too many things that you needed to sort out. She was going to convince you to confess to Caleb if the bastard didn’t want to do it himself. To convince you that it was worth it to love him, even after everything. Even after…

Smack!

Even after it all, was he really worth loving?

The slap reverberates across the room, an instinctual move from MC before she even had a second chance to really think about it. Caleb’s head snaps to the side with the force of it, but he doesn’t move to retaliate. He doesn’t move at all, actually. Truthfully, he just stands there, cheek stinging, taking it all in while her hands are trembling. She was shaking in a way that he had never seen before. He was used to seeing her irritated, especially during their petty fights.

But this anger, this was new.

“You–” her voice breaks, nearly turning into a sob as she jabs a finger to his chest, “You idiot! You were supposed to–”

He was supposed to do a lot of things. He was supposed to protect MC. He was supposed to tell you that he loved you, a chance to finally chase after a fragment of that summer afternoon that he constantly longed for. He was supposed to not let you down, to not let MC down, to quit shattering all these baseless promises that he makes.

But that’s all he ever does. He lets people down. Over and over. MC never finishes her words, but he understands. He was a coward. Through and through. 

“I hate you.”

She’s said those words to him a thousand times. She’s said it to him over stupid arguments, over arguing about who has to eat the cilantro, over who gets the last word in. It’s always been over mindless things. Caleb, you’re a dummy. Caleb, I hate you. Caleb, say you’re sorry. It was easy to make up with her. She’d shove him, but come back hours later apologizing, because at the end of the day, MC never really means it. 

But this time, she does mean it. He can hear it in her voice. He could feel it in the way she refused to look at him anymore, the sting on his cheek now serving as a painful reminder of how she felt. And for once in his life, Caleb, the jack of all trades, a star athlete, and the great valedictorian of the Aerospace Academy, had nothing to say. 

The only thing he could find it in himself to do was nod, because he completely understood. And at that moment, something fragile finally fractures beyond repair. Because the three of you had grown up together, but that day – that day, something had died alongside you. And after that, things have never been the same since. 

After your death, Caleb quickly learns that surviving and living are two very distinct things. He often does the first (albeit barely), but is particularly bad at doing the latter. Something in him had calcified in the depths of his bones, the moment that the realization that you were dead had fully settled within him. No amount of time seemed to ever undo the plethora of guilt, emptiness, or blame that he felt. On the outside, he’s still the superficial Colonel of the Farspace Fleet – the mask that he’s used to wearing, prior to even losing you.

However, it’s easier to see that Caleb had retained less of his humanity after, like his mechanical arm had spread to other parts of his body, and the toring chip no longer affected just his neck. There’s a quiet wrongness to it all that nobody acknowledges. His laughter never seems to reach his eyes anymore (but even then, he seldom laughs now), and his office light stays on far too late into the night. Still, the bracelet never leaves his wrist. It wasn’t out of obligation, or maybe even penance. It just made it a little easier to keep going, with that bracelet on. Because it reminds him of everything that he Caleb could’ve had, and a little more.

His relationship with MC never quite recovers. At the end of the day, he knew he still had an obligation to fulfill, and they still fall into the same old habits sometimes – but it’s never quite the same. A keystone, something fundamental, was missing at the apex, but there’s no way to get it back. There’s no way for you to ever come back. They never talk about the argument they had that fateful day, for better or for worse. Sometimes, he catches her looking at his wrist – at the faded threads of your bracelet – before she quickly looks away. Sometimes, MC opens her mouth as if she wants to say something.

But at the end of it all, she says nothing.

Caleb visits you on a quiet afternoon, a day when the sky is the wrong color. 

(Honestly, there’s never been a “correct” color – there hasn’t been one, ever since your death. The clouds have always been a mix of muddy grays and dull, monotone shades. Nothing was paint-worthy anymore. The only scenery that had ever been worth painting was that bright summer afternoon, where all the colors perfectly aligned, and you were so, so pretty.)

There’s a small basket between his fingers, carried by his left hand, the one with your bracelet wrapped around it. He sets it down beside your grave with a careful steadiness that took him months to relearn. It was a basket of red apples, the same kind that had been in season that day. Josephine’s special. He started growing them himself after you died, even though they don’t taste the same. 

They probably never will. But they’re close – close enough that he hopes you’ll like them. Close enough that when he bites into one, he can almost pretend – just for a second – that he’s blissfully sixteen again and unaware. Almosts. He was used to almosts. These almosts were never quite enough. “The texture is a little weird. I’m sorry. I tried to pick the best ones for you.”

Every time he visits, he hopes that the wind will one day answer for him. It never does. For a long moment, he says nothing. He stays there, over your grave, gaze dropped to the bracelet on his wrist. The crimson dye is slowly fading and blending with the ivory. Then, softly, like he’s afraid that the poets would hear this vow and take it away from him too, Caleb makes a promise that he knows he has no right to make. “If you ever grace me with your presence in my next life… If I’m even a worthy enough man to be granted that–”

“Then, for once, I’ll get it right.” His breath hitches, and he inhales, deep and shaky. “I promise on every fiber of my being, that I will always choose you. Over anything.”

“You can always count on that.” His thumb brushes over the bracelet, sealing the promise. 

“I love you.” Caleb finally whispers, and he fails to notice the way the wind stills. He fails to notice that somewhere, far beyond the fragile limits of mortals and their grief, one of the poets lifts their head, in newfound interest. Because vows like that… vows carved from years of regret, desperation, and longing… have always been the most dangerous kind for inspiration.

— LINKON CITY, SOME TIME IN THE DISTANT FUTURE, WHERE THE POETS HAVE GRANTED YOU BOTH A SECOND CHANCE AT LIFE. WILL HE SAVOR THIS OPPORTUNITY, OR LET IT ALL BURN?

Time moves the way it always does. It only moves forward, in a merciless manner, and it is far from forgiving. Still, maybe – just maybe – the poets had finally listened to him.

Because in this life, Caleb and MC do not know each other. 

Truthfully, he still knows of her, because he just needed to know that she was doing okay. He knows that she goes to Linkon University, getting that degree that she’s always wanted because hunters and wanderers are now just a fragment of history – a distant past. She’s happy, probably way happier than when she was ever with Caleb, and maybe that was for the best. They’ve passed each other, maybe once or twice, in the wide sprawl between Linkon and Skyhaven, but as nothing more than strangers, not as people who once grew up under the same roof.

Perhaps that really was for the better.

And you… Caleb remembers everything about you. He particularly remembers that faraway, summer memory – of every distinct feature on your face, the weight of your hand in his, the red apples, and the way that you died. His memory, turns out, is far crueler than anything that EVER had ever inflicted onto him. The pain of losing you does not flare or fade like the pain of that toring chip. It doesn’t grant him any mercy. It just stays the way that it is.

So, Caleb spends the rest of his newfound life searching for a girl that he’s never even met before. All to fulfill that bygone vow that he promised, all those years ago. Sometimes, he wonders if you were just an awfully vivid figment of his imagination – like he had gone mad in his previous life, and you were the only thing he could conjure to keep himself sane. Sometimes, part of him just wants to move on, because he doesn’t even know if you’re here; perhaps you’ve found refuge somewhere far away from Linkon. Somewhere far away from someone like him. And yet, he’s been trying his entire life to find you, because a distant version of himself promised that he would.

Until, one day, all his prayers are answered, in a place so painfully ordinary. 

It was a craft store within Linkon City, a smaller establishment tucked in between two brighter buildings. There was soft music playing overhead, and he caught a faint scent of paper and thread and everything made carefully by hand, and Caleb does not even remember why he entered this place to begin with.

And then there was you.

You, standing behind the register counter, like you had always belonged in this place, somewhere so gentle and forgiving and so rightfully… you. You look up at your phone when he comes in, and you flash him a smile so bright that it makes his chest ache.

Because you looked so happy, and that’s when he realizes everything. No, you were never a figment of his imagination, and nothing had been a dream. They were all memories. Caleb has lived a completely different life before this one, and this second life was one granted to him from whatever deity or poet had been listening to his pleas. All he ever wanted was to live a life with you in the epicenter of it.

Was this the one? Maybe the poets had finally shown him the slightest bit of mercy. Or was this their cruelest joke yet?

But then his gaze flickers to your wrist, and he stops. Wrapped around it was that crimson and ivory bracelet, in the same exact pattern that he remembers, and his entire world freezes. He remembers the careful way you threaded the colors, and the exact shade of red that you favored, and—

Fuck. 

You were real. You were always real. You had just been here this entire time. He thinks back to that beautiful summer afternoon, and he feels like he’s sixteen all over again, sun-warmed and stupid and hopelessly, helplessly, yours. Before he can help it, your name slips from Caleb’s mouth. The two of you have finally crossed paths once more – but wait, there’s something terribly, terribly wrong.

“That’s my name, yeah!” You say, still smiling so beautifully, and he finally feels something in his chest settle into place. Ah, so this was the penance that he had to pay in this life. It was fitting. Definitely more than fitting, especially for someone like him. Still, Caleb would never ask for a redo, no matter what. He’d look for you in every lifetime, and willingly serve this punishment in every single timeline. He’s willing to love you all over again, even if from afar. Even if in this life, you are already bound to someone else. A penance he had to serve for never putting you first in his last life. 

The poet who was writing his story had always been cruel to the touch. But for a man like Caleb, he thinks he deserves nothing less. He almost didn’t want to hear you say it, but he knows that the words are about to leave your lips, anyway. You offer him a small, apologetic smile. Nevertheless, after everything that has happened, Caleb still thinks that you are the most gorgeous woman to grace this wretched world, and in the depths of all his most beautiful memories, he will find you in every single one of them. No matter what happens.

“I’m sorry,” you say gently. “But do I know you?”

WAS I JUST A FOOL? / I’LL FOLLOW YOU DOWN ‘TIL THE SOUND OF MY VOICE WILL HAUNT YOU / GIVE ME JUST A CHANCE / YOU’LL NEVER GET AWAY FROM THE SOUND OF THE WOMAN THAT LOVES YOU.

previous | next (the finale).

end note: hello :D reader’s life post reincarnation is intentionally left ambiguous for you to decide the rest of her story and is NOT answered in the next part. in her new life, she could be matching bracelets with another person. another LI, maybe. hence why she was still wearing it even though she didn’t know who caleb was in her new life. it’s really up to your interpretation. however, in my perspective, i made her wear that bracelet in her next life to silently perpetuate the notion that caleb and reader are still tied to each other in every lifetime, while simultaneously being doomed in every single lifetime as well (i’m sorry…). the aftermath of the ending is for your imagination. does reader get together with another LI? does caleb spend the rest of his reincarnated life loving her from afar? do caleb and reader finally get together, and he spends his entire lifetime getting to know her all over again? its your decision. but just know, that caleb will always love the reader, no matter what happens <3

"Is this the life you desire?" She asks. "Alone, just to be with her for these short moments?"

"Yes, she is all I will ever desire," He says, and a sad, disapproving look graces her graceful features. Rafayel isn't bothered by her disbelief.

She tugs him into a tight embrace, their last embrace, one that he burns this into his memory.

"Don't do anything rash for these next few nights. Give me some time, dear."

Rafayel shakes his head, "I won't risk discovery, but I must see her."

"Rafayel!" She begs.

"We've done this hundreds of times. Hiding is our best skill. Trust me, mother." And her grip tights on his arms.

"First my sister, now my son." She weeps. 

"Now, that's not fair, mother. We brought Auntie back weeks ago."

Leo paces around. Your father called for an emergency family counsel. Genevieve stones her face. The young siblings whisper and gossip amongst themselves.

"Father," Leo announces, "Where is our sister? She's been missing for weeks."

"Children, I have grave news." He walks with urgency.

"Are you alright?" Leo asks, lying out of his teeth, feigning concern.

"Fine, my son." He walks to the center of the room. "Your sister has been compromised by a foreign nation."

"She's... sold off precious resources and hid the money away. Her conspirator is likely linked to your mother's death."

"It is sickening to think we have a betrayal within the family, but we will tell the public she's been afflicted by the same condition as your mother. Understand?"

Genevieve plays her part as the skeptic. "What resources? We export minerals and wheat and wine. Should we not be aware of this other resource if I am to take over our political and economic relations?"

"Silence, child." The king lashes, his words sharp. "It was a private collection that belonged to your mother and I. We collected precious gems mined throughout decades. Do not accuse me."

"I'd like to see these so we can secure them further then, father." Leo reasons. "I can help."

"I shall handle the relocation. You will inherit when the time is right." Leo nods, a fire burns inside his stomach at the immediate loss.

"Let me see my sister, at least. I can speak reason to her, father." Leo tries again, "This doesn't sound like her."

He thinks, "You're right. It doesn't. Convince her to lure out the conspirator. She's always unyielding when I try to talk sense into her."

Leo nods, "Alright, father, please bring me to her."

"The head of staff will escort you. I have business to attend to." Leo bows. Dear gods, he thinks, not that bastard again.

"Let me change out of my night attire. I'll be back in five minutes."

The head of staff remains in the hall, and the king departs.

Leo grabs a quill and a scroll. Ideally, you two carry two conversations at once.

The headmaster escorts him down into a small vault, choosing a nondescript key from his waist. Leo memorizes the path and remembers, fifth clockwise from the hinge.

The headmaster stays back, believing his missing presence will open you up.

Your knees burn on the rocks. When you look up, your brother wraps you up in his arms. He slips the roll of parchment into your hand when you separate, hoping to retrieve any information from you.

"Father is unhappy. He'll let you off as long as you bring in the captor. Think, sister, this price isn't worth it." You both understand that the headmaster is listening.

"They won't meet me now that I'm compromised. It's useless. Father's bent on the idea that this is connected to mother. I don't know how to prove it otherwise. The timing is just a coincidence."

As you say this, you quietly scribble Father and mother trafficked people, not jewels. West chamber. My room on shift nights: Tabitha. Jerome. My partner. Tell him to never come back. I'll handle it. You hand it to him.

Leo says, "We'll need to testify to both culprits then." He bites his lip in disgust at the message. "Or just yours. You know what to do, sister. Until then. I can't help you. Take some time to see reason." He mock- scolds you, and you don't reply.

Leo nods, before stomping away. "Maybe your mind will change tomorrow."

Leo morphs his expression into an agitated one to trick the headmaster. "Unreasonable," he murmurs, shaking his head, just loud enough for the headmaster to hear.

Leo waits in your chamber that night.

Rafayel's bond is drawn to magical residue reinforced over time, so he always visits your room first, yet he's been feeling gentle pulls elsewhere, from different locations every night. Do they have a magician of their own, disrupting the energy, working against him? Are they moving you?

When he slips through your windowsill, a forearm shoves him against the wall. "Who are you?" Leo seethes.

"My sister is on trial for treason unless you reveal yourself," he tells this stranger, and he shoves your note in his face.

Tell him to never come back. I'll handle it.

Rafayel feels a pit in his stomach. He's forming a disdain for your self sacrificing tendencies. Your plans are never so grossly under-detailed, either, so he knows you have no plan.

"You have her wrapped around your finger, under some sick spell." Leo accuses her.

"I'm here because I can't abandon her." Rafayel struggles to speak. Leo doesn't loosen his chokehold. As a show of peace, Rafayel opts not to gut your brother.

"Then testify and reveal your identity." Leo forces.

"I come from no kingdom. Your parents massacred my kin. I wanted the remains of my people back. I sought vengeance on your Queen."

Leo strangles Rafayel again when he hears about the Queen.

"Not to me-!"

He grits his teeth. Disbelief drains the color from his blood. If he heard right, the supposed conspirator is a victim.

"My sister said she was making a profit off some beneficiary from another kingdom." Leo loosens up.

"The beneficiary," Rafayel rubs his neck, "is a cover story."

"You're lying." Leo backtracks, "Why would you cover your story instead of spreading it and taking us down?

"See for yourself," Rafayel smooths out his gear. He can already sense that Leo is feeling for the right side to fight for. Rafayel wagers he's closer to your sensibilities than your father's.

"Show me, then." Leo demands, and Rafayel grabs his forearm, teleporting him away.

An hour later, Leo heaves immediately, half from the phasing magick and the other half the sheer amount of deceased remains that lay crumpled.

They return to your chambers to escape, using alternate paths.

Leo shakily sits on your bed, processing.

"My sister wrote about trafficking people, not mermaids." Leo loosens up.

"She lied," Rafayel rubs his neck, "Out of charity to protect my people. She helped me return my people home."

"I'm sorry," He turns to Rafayel. "But in this world, those who retaliate only suffer, no matter how sick the crime is."

"I will meet with the King then, on the condition you release her." Rafayel says, impatient. He could gut him, but then what?

Leo grits his teeth, "It is not I who makes the decision to keep her captive or release her."

"If you present to my father. His ideas sprawl like wildfire. He may keep you for... a new genesis, reproduction."

"Release her and hire someone else to act as the beneficiary then. Don't you have debts to pay?"

"No man will sign his life away to imprisonment."

Rafayel huffs in agitation, hiding his shudder. He thinks about taking you away, dropping you off in a town far, far away.

You'd have to start from scratch, without any friends or family. There's no chance, he thinks, that you'd abandon your life.

"I find it hard to believe my sister acts out of pure charity. She's selfish and acts in accordance with her desires." Leo thinks out loud. Rafayel operates with little patience at this tangential conversation.

"Maybe, her desires are selfless this time." Leo shakes his head. Rafayel throws his hands up, leaves the gears turning in Leo's mind. He's not quite sure where your brother is leading with this.

"But I think I understand my sister. When you have someone whose side you cannot bear to leave, you'll do anything." Rafayel narrows his eyes.

Trepidation causes Leo to clear his throat.

"I do not trust my father to rule with my sister. He's a sick man with antiquated ideals. I've handled many of his business relations, and his partners share the same disposition."

"There are many young-blooded people with new ideas daring to take over. I will take my father's throne and rule with my sister."

"Will you help me?"

Displeasure settles deep in Rafayel's bones. His bloodlust is long gone. But a pit of anger rises again. When murder is proposed to restore peace, it's only rational when proposed by those in positions of power.

Yet when he acts out of justice, he's branded a criminal.

Leo is right, those who retaliate only suffer.

Rafayel stalks toward Leo, "Kill him yourself."

Leo stutters, fumbling to recuperate while lost in his grandeur visions. Reality grays his image of glory, but the luster of his shared crown shines even with blood.

He clears his throat and lamely responds, "Of course. That is the proper thing to do."

Rafayel rolls his eyes. Did the man in front of him really assume he wanted to dirty his hands for someone else?

"How do you plan to hire me, then," his voice carries no friendliness.

Leo thinks, and he compromises by simplifying the task. "Retrieve my sister. Keep her safe, I'm afraid my father will send someone to fetch and take care of her once the wheel turns."

He takes some time to evaluate the offer, twirling conjured fire like a toy.

"In return, I will deliver the rest of my people back home, safely. Under sanction by the new king." He narrows his eyes, "Consider it a long, overdue debt from your family to mine."

"I swear. On my children," Leo says, serious.

"Let us draft it right here," and he grabs some parchment. Once the royal signature is marked in ink, a weight lifts itself from Rafaye's shoulders.

Leo hands Rafayel a copy. He tucks it inside his vest, feeling its weight.

"If this falls through, I expect the new king understands that lost souls do haunt in their afterlife."

Leo nods, "I will do anything to prevent harm to my siblings."

Rafayel grips him on the shoulder, squeezes it once. "You may turn out well enough."

"It's the least I can do," Leo offers, sincere in the only way he knows how, business and law.

"I'd like to see your sister now," Rafayel materializes from an unknown emotion, "I have something important she must hear."

At this, Leo grins. "I think I understand you better now." It's also a strategic opportunity for Rafayel to learn the route beforehand as well.

"She'll be happy to see you, then." Leo remembers how urgent you moved. Now, the picture is clear.

Leo trades details with Rafayel and tells him to meet him again tomorrow. He needs time to rendezvous with Genevieve and recruit her to take care of Wesmont.

Rafayel nods and leaps from the window, wasting no breath.

Little did Rafayel know you would not be happy to see him.

You're on the twelfth cot. Your hair is wet from the daily bathwater a maid brings you. Two guards visit thrice a day for meals, surveillance, and transportation.

They move you every night. And you just discovered something else. The chambers' staircases repeat by design to confuse trespassers. There's no way you can escape.

Tonight, Tabitha and Jerome are on shift. You think about how they'll question your sudden absence, if you even get to see them again.

Leo crosses your mind. He is a capable young man, your instructions were easy enough, and he should have met Rafayel by now. 

You curl your palm, the other pauses as you build a tower of stone. Once your father runs out of patience, he'll find a lesser punishment.

You'll have to find where he's hidden the rest of Rafayel's family again, this time without him. The ocean is so vast, can you just... send them off?

The mark on your chest burns.

You close your eyes to search the depths of its feelings. There's hope, eagerness, relief.

Rafayel almost certainly lied to you about the specificity of the bond's effects. It's invisible most of the time and requires great focus, but you can sense faint emotions when they're calm.

He must be hundreds of miles away by now with his kin, and you can only assume that he's relieved to be with his family.

A hand covers your mouth, another hand wraps around your waist, restricting arm movement.

There's no opportunity to yell, fear dunks you in cold sweat, your breathing quickens, panicked, erratic-

"Shhhh," a familiar voice gently whispers by your ear.

Impossible.

The weight around you takes some time to register, to morph from dangerous to neutral.

His embrace becomes tighter, stays like that for ten, fifteen seconds.

She's thinner than a month ago. He notices before he can stop himself.

You would have felt blood and a searing pain by now if this were an attempt on your life.

When your breathing calms, you reach up and tug his forearm away. You wriggle but he doesn't budge.

He unwraps you with ease. Slowly, you turn around and level with him. It's enough time for an angry, malicious heat to flare across your chest.

"Are you mad," you whisper, seething.

You turn around and push him. Rafayel barely budges from what you call a sorry excuse of a push. Physical strength holds no advantage for you, and that realization only feeds into your anger.

Everything you two worked for, he could lose instantly if the guards or a maid discover him. Especially now that your father's on edge.

You dart your head, angle your ear to listen intently for any footsteps nearing your stall, afraid that someone might have overheard your beating just now. When all is silent, you face him again.

He is supposed to leave.

Yet here he is, looking at you with narrowed, agitated eyes. He loosens his mask, and beneath it is a deep frown highlighted by the moon's light.

"Didn't you hear me? Go away, while you still have time."

You use both your hands to push him again, this time feeling mean and desperate, blindly lashing out.

Yet again, his frame is heavy and stubborn, barely moving.

"Leave-"

You can't move.

You tug backwards uselessly, only to feel that Rafayel's captured you in a deafening bind, cuffing both your wrists together with just one of his own.

You blink a few times to recover from the sudden trap. Something in his glare weakens your resistance. His brows furrow, and you watch the calm storm waters brew in his eyes.

"When did you become so intent on getting rid of me?" Rafayel whispers. There's something in his voice, it's tinged with vulnerability and despair.

You breathe heavily, attempting to restore some bloodflow. His line of questioning isn't that of logical nature, given the circumstance.

Yet in your search for clarity, you're left without answers, just an endless gaze into his eyes and forlorn expression.

Yes, the beach and the campfire revealed something deeper between you two, but nothing had been named.

That means you were on equal footing. But while you've chosen obscurity, he arrived at clarity some time ago. If he were honest, that one night confirmed everything.

He tightens the grip on your wrists, nearly pushing the limits of your strength. Your wince is what snaps Rafayel out of his thoughts.

He loosens your wrists apologetically. While you could move away and tend to your sore spots, you slump your head on his shoulder.

A fatigue creeps in, beckoning honesty from you.

"I'm not getting rid of you. We failed. You being here could send my father on a heretic search."

"There is real danger now, you idiot. There's no time for silly goodbyes."

You shakily inhale, allowing yourself a quiet sniffle, guilt forming into a confession.

"I'm sorry we couldn't deliver everyone, Rafayel." Your voice cracks even in a whisper.

You feel his hand through your hair.

His fingers are longer than average, and the motion reminds you of a long forgotten time ago when he was your seamstress, brushing your unruly hair into neat braids.

Seeing your receptiveness, he tries again, then, softer this time.

"My people are safe, I sent them away when I felt your panic." He whispers, "Does that ease your mind?"

You exhale, and despite it checking half of one box in the sea of many others, a weight does lighten.

Their faces from the first night flash in your mind. You nod, the scratch of fabric and faint heat comforting on your forehead.

"Yes, a bit."

"My chances at exposure are negligible. My people will be fine, if everything goes right."

At this, you look up, abandoning his soothing ministrations.

"I don't like that if. How is that possible?"

He wipes your cheek. "Your brother will ascend the crown. He acts at breakfast. Call this a rehearsal to retrieve when the chaos ensues."

At this, you purse your lips. It was bold timing for Leo, yet he always did have an eye for opportune, if not heroic timing.

"It's not guaranteed then," you conclude.

"All he needs is one private moment," Rafayel whispers, leaving their interaction to your imagination. "I've watched you father for years. His disposition has weakened. It's doable, and by force if necessary."

You chew your lips, and Rafayel gossips unexpectedly.

"He sounded very intent on ruling with your sister."

You peer up at Rafayel, shocked. An ungraceful string of words tumble out.

"They're, uh, um, very important to each other. Yes." you manage, the truth foreign on your tongue.

A skeptical smile flashes on his face, so softly and quietly that you etch it into your memory. Rafayel's explanations satisfy your checklist.

"You still shouldn't be here for too long," you say, anxiously.

"Listen," and you tilt your head to hear only crickets, a little bit of magic floats across the floor, "I'm fortifying our bond. It allows me to find you."

"The oath can do that?"

Rafayel nods, "It strengthens over time."

"When do they move you?" He asks.

"Typically at night."

"I have an idea, then." Rafayel whispers. "Let me stay here with you." The words hang in the air.

Gods, it's warm here.

"Not like that," He would never claim you in such a cell. You deserved only the best. "I've driven myself mad not finding you, not seeing you."

"I just miss you." You look up. Judging by how high the sun is the maid tends to you, you reason your family eats first. So he can stay. It's not the smart or right move but you want him to stay.

It's so easy for Rafayel to say his feelings now, without decorum. You're spoiled, yes, but this is new.

You nod, ears burning.

You undo the straps and belts on his top. You unknot leather ties, slowly unlooping their intricate patterns. Rafayel watches you, calmly.

The gear slips off leaving him in an undershirt and trousers. You do nothing. He takes the leap and guides you into a sleeping position.

Rafayel pulls the blanket over your shoulders, separating your wet hair. You two face one another. His arm is currently your pillow.

It's a cuddle.

"Sleep," he says, "I'll wake you at sunrise."

You delay a nod. Eventually, you find a natural feeling position, tucked into his chest, arms clinging around his torso. A sigh escapes one of you. You kneed solid, wire muscle. He matches you, pulling you in until you suffocate, securing you within his arms.

You wake to Rafayel tracing a knuckle down your cheek, memorizing your features. The morning light is faint, the magic flowing like water on the floor.

He is thick, and warm, and alive. Rafayel pays  his desire no mind, "Are you ready?" Is all he asks, the utmost image of a gentleman, and you can't help but feel drowned in flattery.

You grip his shoulders, desperate in that morning bleariness for something more, something to return his affections. His desire is heavy, mirroring yours.

A shriek rings throughout the kingdom. It's chilling, and it brings you back to the morning you and Rafayel met once more. He pulls you in tighter, an involuntary reaction. To him, the shriek sounded like that of a horn, before battle broke.

"Come, looks like we're late."

In the grand room where your family just finished breakfast, the scene is frozen. Only a steady drip can be heard from the shattered wine. The liquid responsible for staining the tablecloth, velvet chair, and rug comes from the mouth and neck of the King.

Leo was just in the middle of delivering a report about their younger sister. He had leaned in, his father eager to hear the successful persuasion of his son.

No one knew what Leo last whispered into his ear, but the expression frozen on his father's head was enough to read.

Genevieve, who isn't as shocked as she should appear, rises from her seat.

A maid shrieks, and the rest of the staff attempt to leave. The headmaster, who was about to leave, locks the door.

"Guards," Leo ordered, his voice tinged with an eerie calm. "Take the king away. Send a scribe, and I will show him proof of his crimes. Ones that he's hid away from us, you," he looks at them, "and the people."

Genevieve gets up, puts a concerned hand on her brother's shoulder, "Leo, is this not too soon? We cannot afford a hastily done job."

He turns around and rests his own hand on hers. Leo continues delivering orders, but his gaze never leaves Genevieve's. The staff have no choice but to witness the act play out before them.

"Tell the public the King died from the same illness, as he could hide it no longer. Send emissaries from these neighboring kingdoms. We have many meetings to settle. Arrange a public funeral and my crowning. And keep watch over our youngest siblings. If you harm them, you're dead."

When the headmaster doesn't respond, Leo walks over to the older man and swiftly stabs him in the chest. He falls to the ground, taking his key. "Until we find a new headmaster, you follow my orders."

He unlocks the door. The click spurs them into action, refueled by their simple desire to earn a simple wage and share countless sunrises and sunsets with their loved ones.

When all is quiet, Leo walks over to Genevieve.

She whispers, "It's truly done."

Leo nods, relief flooding his system. "Are you ready to rule together, sister?"

She nods. "We should fetch our sister."

He shakes his head, and she delivers him an absurd look. He flicks his head, and "She's taken care of. Look."

In the doorway, Genevieve sees you out of breath. Hand perched on the door. Towering behind you is a tall man she shuffles through her memory to remember. Ah, the seamstress.

"Gen," you breathe, "Leo." You take in the blood on the floor, a familiar scene that no longer strikes fear but only twisted relief and hope into your blood.

"Come here," she says, and you leap into her arms, "I'm sorry we didn't consult you beforehand." You shake your head, "It's fine. I didn't think you two would be so bold." She looks at you, "Father taking you away was the last of his sanity."

She flicks her chin at Rafayel, "Leo didn't have time to fill me in. But you were aiding your old seamstress?" She gives you a knowing look, and you grimace. "It's a long story...."

In the midst of your reunion, Rafayel walks over to Leo. He feels the weight of parchment in his chest. "It's best I operate without your men. You've no trustworthy hands yet."

Leo faces him, advises earnestly, "My sister makes a rather fine emissary, no?"

"It's official then."

The picture before you is one you'll remember forever. You were meant to see this. Three carriages trot slowly, carrying the rest of Rafayel's deceased. You two left in the early morning under the new King's sanction. Birdsong accompanies you while you are on land.

The crashing of waves and that familiar siren hum greets you in the sea. Shallow water laps at you as you watch Rafayel and a few of his family members deliver their loved ones home.

If you close your eyes and listen closely, by the time the last carriage is emptied, you hear an otherworldly horn blow once. It bleeds into the rest of the symphony of waves, tallgrass, sirensong, birdsong.

Rafayel doesn't return for some time. But you search your chest, and it's warm. You can only imagine the reunion is powerful.

The sun is still high when he emerges from the water. Typically, he'd be on land by now, yet he is still in his sea form. You take it that this will be your final meeting.

Your grip on his trousers tighten, the only physical reaction you'll allow.

Rafayel has those same beautiful markings on his face. His hair is no longer ink black, as he has no need to hide the vibrant purple. He looks as otherworldly as the orchestra sounds.

He calls you over, and you brace yourself. You drop his trousers, wading into the shallow waters, sitting with him. The water is warm and cold in alternating rhythms.

"How is the reception?" You ask.

"They're overjoyed. My uncle is flustered, furious, yet emotional."

"I'm glad," you say, looking at the bright sea.

It's glimmer causes your eyes to burn. That's what you tell yourself, at least, when the first tear slips out. Rafayel hears you sniffle, turns your chin toward him immediately.

It's a beautiful day.

"Hmmm, you don't look happy at all." He smiles, and wow, he is gorgeous in this form. You try to look away, but his tendency to be mean comes back, holding you in place.

"What's wrong? Sad you're missing out on the fun?" He asks, waiting for you to tell him what's wrong.

"Yes, actually," you admit. You think back your conversations about Lemuria. If only you could breathe underwater.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye, either" you whisper.

He softens his eyes, "You're silly."

Rafayel climbs over you, much larger now. He blocks out the sun, replacing its warmth with his own. Water is everywhere. You're soaked to the bone. The edges of your hair melt into your body. Droplets kiss your cheek, your shoulders.

You are an enchanting picture, he thinks.

"I am utterly consumed by you. We are bound to each other. Do you really want to push me away?" He presses his weight into you, trapping you until you answer. "Tell me the truth," he whispers.

You brush his bangs away, and he leans into your hand, "I don't want you to leave me, Rafayel. Not now. Not ever." you say, the words feeling right, even if the past that underscores your relationship is tainted.

"I want to be with you," you say, acknowledging firm and solid and grounding.

"How long do you want to be with me?" He repeats, playfully seeking more sweet words from you. He craves to hear your affection. It's too obvious, and you're honored that this is the Rafayel you get to see.

"Forever," You reply.

Rafayel hums, eyes closed, sounding extremely pleased. His gills expand and contract, and his tail splashes the water with excitement, yet his expression remains calm.

"My forever started already, a long time ago." Rafayel says. "Time for you to catch up, my pearl," he teases.

"Help me then," you assert.

He rests one hand on your hip for support, the other covers the expanse of your back, caging you in. He leans in, pressing a deep confession into your lips. The softness of his kiss is the first of many surprises, putting you in a trance until the sky burns orange.

You learn, shortly after, that his kiss also comes with a searing pain that lets you accept saltwater.

When you return to the kingdom a week later, you both glow, thoroughly sated. Rafayel is inseparable from your side from then on.

Genevieve doesn't question your extended trip, but she arranges a new room for you two.

Epilogue Thousands of years later

"Up late, Rafayel?" Your descendent sits down next to her lover, wrapping a blanket around him.

"Yeah. I'm almost done sketching these ruins. You didn't have to wake up, cutie." He presses a chaste kiss to greet her. They settle on the beach.

Another protocore fluctuation, another spatial anomaly. This time, a relic from the past appeared directly in Whitesand Bay.

"I'm fine." She leans on his shoulder. "Oh, there are a ton of symbols. Is it talking about Lemuria?"

"Yeah, but who knows how true these Legends are." He shifts, "Buuut, this one is kind of interesting. A little dark. I can tell you, but I'm not sure it'll help you fall asleep."

Tell me, she agrees eagerly, I won't get scared. Give me a kiss first then, that's the price. And she plants another kiss, satisfying his requirements.

This one is called, 'Tales of Second Sea God'...

You can picture the way the elegist holds the pen, etching away and gradually crafting your star-crossed narrative: they’ve scrawled all the words with bloodied ink. Ripped the edges with laughter, left the paper to yellow with age. A Romanticist’s dark fantasy – a traditional ending that belonged in one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, a cruel fate subjected to you, a side character left to eventually rot away beneath the blinking moonlight. 

Unfortunately, you love Caleb. Fortunately, you love Caleb. You love him because he’s Caleb. You hate him because he’s Caleb. You love him the way Sydney Carton loved Lucie Manette, when he clawed out his own pulsating heart from his dying ribs and willingly served it to her on a silver platter. All without asking for a single thing in return, because she saved him from a life of disgrace. He was already withering, and she rekindled him from ashes into a blazing heap of fire, and that salvation was more than enough to grant her his beautiful devotion.

You think that if Caleb asked for your heart, you’d plate it within seconds – savoring whatever he chose to grow in its place. You’d let him plant asiatic apples – his favorite – inside your ribcage, and let him caramelize them and feed them to you without a second thought. If you struggled to breathe and cough up the bloodied seeds, you think that’s even better. Because it’s Caleb, and you hate him, but worst of all, you love him. And they go hand in hand, your love and hatred, so much so that it hurts. 

MC is a real sweetheart. A pretty thing who brought a noble reason for becoming a UNICORNS Hunter to the Association. You tried so hard to loathe her, you really did, but all your efforts came back futile. Because in reality, why would you hate MC? Because of Caleb? It’s not like she forces him to do anything – he willingly dotes on her. Sometimes she even gets upset because he gets a little too overbearing. Everything Caleb does for her is of his own accord. You are never the first person to be called when things go wrong. Never the first to be worried for. Not the first to be protected the second everything goes awry.

That place has always belonged to her, but Caleb granted her that place of his own free will. MC had never meant any malice towards you, because it was hardly her fault that Caleb chose her. Any hint of animosity was all but a carefully constructed illusion in your own head, because there was none. She had been nothing but kind to you. A real sweetheart.

The necklace around Caleb’s throat is proof of her place; a thin chain, dull silver, worn over by years of being grasped at without a second thought. The crystallized red apple and those dog tags that glint under the sunlight: a constant, unintentional reminder of her ownership and everything that you’re not. You’ve watched him reach for it whenever he’s anxious, fingers curled around it when orders from the Fleet are too heavy, and when his fear slips through the cracks of his carefully crafted composure.

Maybe that’s something you can hate her for, because that necklace serves as a painful admonition and a physical manifestation of all your hurt. You were there before that necklace. That damned necklace. Before any ranks. Before MC became your partner in the Association, another mocking reminder of where you stood within your twisted narrative. Before all your obligations grew teeth and knew how to bite, and sooner or later would swallow you whole.

You remember it now. The memory comes to you, unbidden and sharp and warm all at once, a wilted daffodil resting within the depths of your thoughts that refuses to leave.

It was summer that day, late summer. You remember the season because the apples were in full bloom and Caleb had been counting the days down until he could harvest the fruits that one of Josephine’s trees bore. He promised you that he’d make apple pie just like how she makes it, and you just giggled and told him not to set the fire alarm off again. He said that he never recalled doing such a thing.

The sky was blue, and the apples were a perfect shade of red, and you wished they would respectively stay blue and red forever. For those colors to never darken or fade, and hoping that one day, they would merge and settle under Caleb’s eyes. An almost impossible shade of ultraviolet that you constantly yearned for. 

MC wasn’t there. You don’t remember why, and frankly, you don’t care. All that mattered, for once, was that day belonged entirely to you. Out of all the afternoons that you spent as a trio, it had only been the two of you that day. Yes, this was a summer memory that was only yours and his to keep, for you to fondly keep in a locket deep within your ribcage for all eternity. 

That day, you were younger – too young to know how things would end – and sitting cross-legged on the dewy grass of his backyard, the blades damp against your palms. Caleb sits across from you, knees pulled up, and sleeves rolled to his elbows, eagerly waiting. The air smelled like sun-warmed leaves and fruits, like Caleb, and the poets were feeling creative, basking in the cooling wind the summer brought.

You had brought him a gift, you said, and he watched you with an expectant shade of curiosity as you reached into your pocket and pulled out two thin lengths of braided cord, a perfect mix of ivory and crimson. The bracelets were uneven, dyed by your shaky hands, and lightly fraying at the ends. You’d made them the night before, fingers clumsy and hands shaking as you followed the step-by-step tutorial playing on your phone. “Oh? What do you have for me here?”

“They’re matching bracelets. One for you, and one for me,” you mutter sheepishly, like explaining might’ve lessened the embarrassment tinting your cheeks. “I know they’re kind of stupid, but–”

Caleb leans forward at that. “Hey, they’re not stupid.”

You look up at him, surprised. “You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he grins, and your throat tightens, his words like music to your ears, crescendoing into a harmonious choir the moment that Caleb willingly holds out his wrist for you. The way your heart thumped as your fingers brushed against his skin made you fear that he could hear its erratic beating, and the blood rushing in your eardrums. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and chose not to say anything. He’s always been able to read you like an open book.

“There, done.” The bracelet rested just beneath the bone of his right wrist, the color vivid against his skin. When you finished, you leaned back to admire your work, pride blooming and heart full with his words, despite yourself. “Now, when you inevitably forget me in five years when you’re suuuper popular and cool at the DAA, you won’t be able to pretend like you didn’t know me.”

He laughs at that, bright and unguarded, and you wish that this day would never end. That Caleb and his bracelet and everything about him would just settle somewhere deep within your chest, finding shelter within the crevices of your ribcage. Or maybe you can find a home within his own body. You didn’t mind either outcome. “I don’t think that’s possible. Besides, you’re already way cooler than me.”

Then, without another word, he reaches for your hand. “Wait–”

Too late. He fumbles with the second bracelet, your matching half, and knots it around your wrist. It sits a little too tight, and you’re certain you’ll get rope burn once you begin to outgrow it, but you could hardly care less. He puts his palm against your own and intertwines your fingers against his, and your mind sings at the contact. “There. Now we’re even.”

You look down at your hand clasped against his own and mutter, “You’re never taking this off.” 

He smiles, saluting you with his free hand, and your eyes soften. You’ve marked each other with these bracelets. His hand is so, so warm, and Caleb is still so beautiful, like how everything should be. “Copy that.”

That day was an anomaly. 

You were matching bracelets with Caleb. Not him and MC. You and Caleb. He’d let you leave a permanent mark on him in a way that MC hadn’t, even though she ended up giving him that necklace years later. The sky shouldn’t have been such a beautiful shade of blue, and the apples shouldn’t have been so red, but they were. Caleb shouldn’t have been so boyishly pretty that day, looking over your visage so beautifully with those violet eyes, but he was. Everything was so perfectly aligned that day that you sometimes wondered if you had just imagined it all, as if he were but a mere phantasm in the breeze. A trick of the light to convince yourself that he was once yours.

Oh, but that moment was as real as it got. MC’s necklace may have come later, but those bracelets were yours first. Caleb was real, and that moment with him had been the one thing that you could call yours. Undeniably, indisputably yours.

But that was before the explosion. 

Like everything that you once could call your own, Caleb kept true to his word and never took the bracelet off, until it had been cruelly ripped from your grasp by the laughing elegist and the hands of fate. The facts were clearly written: Caleb survived the tragedy, Josephine did not. Caleb was now the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and his right arm had been reinforced with a metallic prosthetic. His veins became wires tangled red, green, and blue, and the bracelet was lost with the debris. 

His right arm was no longer yours. A part of Caleb’s heart was no longer yours.

The arm you had fastened the bracelet around could no longer feel. The hand you held with both hands that summer afternoon can no longer experience your warmth, now cold with the false promise of permanence. The arm that had worn your mark so easily until it hadn’t, under the blink of an eye. You never said it out loud, because acknowledging the thought felt monstrous, almost sacrilegious, but sometimes, you truly wondered if you cursed him. 

Like the marks you leave on the things you loved most were meant to waste away with time, and eventually vanish.

The sky isn’t blue anymore. It’s a dull shade of grey today, actually. That summer day no longer smells sweet but more like something decaying. The apples are long gone and rotten right to the core, but Caleb’s eyes are still that haunting shade of amethyst and still everything you love. 

Because some things, apparently, endure.

You’re partnered with MC on an Association mission today, but this particular mission has ties with Skyhaven. Skyhaven meant the Farspace Fleet. And of course, the Fleet meant seeing Caleb before the Association sent you to take care of the next bout of wanderers or whatever they were ready to throw at you today. It was rare for Linkon and Skyhaven’s affairs to intertwine, even though they ultimately shared similar end goals. At the end of the day, they were still interconnected pillars that wanted to get rid of wanderers. Hence why you were here.

You feel inside your pocket, making sure the box is intact. The mission briefing ran much longer than it should’ve, and people from the Fleet filed out in pairs and clusters, none of them sparing the members of the Hunters Association a second glance. Boots echo across the floors, and you linger inside the room, looking for the familiar set of violet eyes, a ghost of a smile forming on your face once they meet yours.

Caleb. 

“Hey,” he says, and you know that if you were MC, that greeting would’ve been followed with his endearing nickname for her, ‘pips’. Unfortunately, you weren’t MC, and you weren’t his pipsqueak. What exactly were you to him? You didn’t know. You were just… you. 

Was that enough for him?

“It’s rare seeing you in the Fleet. I wish you weren’t here at all, though. It gets real crazy here sometimes,” He ruffles your hair, and you couldn’t even return the action because of his big, stupid Colonel hat. “D’ya need something before the mission? My good luck charm, maybe?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Is your charm really all that good?” You smile up at him, his pretty eyes gazing into yours, and suddenly, the banter almost makes everything flicker with normalcy. Caleb was here again. You were here with him, and the stars are almost aligning, because the world, inexplicably, hasn’t taken everything from you yet. “I have a gift for you, actually.”

“A gift? What’s the occasion?” He asks as you slowly reach into your pocket, fingers brushing the fabric and metal. It makes you hesitate, like you were sixteen all over again that summer day and were afraid of Caleb’s reaction towards your handmade, woven bracelets. The soft beam on his face this time around made it easier on your nerves, though. “My birthday’s stiiill pretty far away, you know.” 

You exhale slowly, pulling out the box under his watchful gaze. “Something I made,” you murmur, “Again.”

The box opens, and your gift is finally on full display beneath the blinking fluorescent lights of the Fleet. There are two bracelets inside, woven crimson and ivory, just like before. Anyone could still tell that it’s handmade, but the handiwork is neater, and the thread is no longer fraying. You got rid of your matching half after the explosion, vowing to only wear it if Caleb had his part of the pair. The expression on his face is unreadable, and it makes your heart thump with apprehension all over again. 

“I thought–” you continue, staring at the box instead of at him, “that maybe we don’t get to keep things forever, but we can try to, anyway.”

“You made another set, after I lost mine when…” He trails off, and you nod. It’s the closest thing you’ve gotten to talking about the explosion, and Caleb’s jaw tightens. You knew he was no longer sixteen, and you don’t even know if he’s still entirely Caleb, the same one who held your hand that late summer afternoon, but that mark you left on him was still yours. Even as the dog tags beneath his uniform serve as a painful reminder that he will never be truly yours entirely. “Put it on me, again. Just like old times.”

He wordlessly holds out his wrist for you – the left one this time – and he doesn’t miss your painful gaze towards his bionic arm. You fasten it around his left wrist, the only arm that can feel anything anymore, and the mark is seared once again, even though the sky is still gray and the apples are long spoiled.

Despite all that time, Caleb is still beautiful, and that has never changed.

Then, he reaches for you, taking your wrist and gently tying the second bracelet there. If you squint, you could probably still see the marks left behind by the previous one. His fingers brush against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch, and his tongue is pressed lightly to his teeth, like he’s afraid of making the knot too tight like before. “Do you remember what you said that day? How you predicted that I’d forget you in five years when I’m ‘super popular and cool’ once I was at the DAA?”

You meekly nod as he finishes the knot. It’s a perfect one this time. Not too tight to give you any rope burns, and not too loose that it would fall off. “Well, I think my words still stand. I most certainly never forgot you, you’re still way cooler than me, and definitely way cooler than anyone there.”

With that, his eyes softly whisper against your own. You look at each other – really look at each other this time – and his damned violet eyes catch the light, familiar and unbearable and intoxicating, all at once. You think of all those blue summer skies and Josephine’s red apples and all the ways those colors can merge into something sadder, yet far more alluring. A mixture that rests under Caleb’s eyes.

Your foreheads are nearly touching, and his breath stutters as you take his mechanical hand into your own, caressing the metal that took away your mark and a part of Caleb’s humanity. He pulls you closer with his free hand – the one with your newly made mark – almost like he was luring you in with his Gravity EVOL. But Caleb didn’t need to utilize his EVOL to pull you in; he did it all naturally. Him and his stupid good luck charm.

“You come back to me,” he quietly whispers, his breath hot against your own. If you listened closely enough, you could hear his erratically beating heart. You weren’t Caleb’s pipsqueak, but you could do all of this to him. You had this effect on him. This moment was yours, and you were going to selfishly savor it. Replay this scene until it one day swallows you whole. “You promise.”

For a single moment, the world finally narrows to just the two of you. The Fleet and the Hunter’s Association were just background noise. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes. You could feel the heat of your words just before you speak, just before he leans in and finally closes the gap. “I–”

“Caleb!”

MC’s voice cuts through the tension like a carefully positioned blade, and you immediately step back. Caleb withdraws his hand from the back of your neck like it stung, as if it never belonged there in the first place. The bracelet resting against your wrist feels hot to the touch. You wonder if it feels the same for Caleb, or if he’d eventually take it off sooner or later. MC’s looking at you expectantly, eyes bright and unaware of what just happened. “They’re calling us in. Are you ready?”

 “Yeah,” you declare weakly, breath still stuck in your throat, something you’re unable to swallow. “I’m coming.”

The realization dawns on you faster than anything when MC offers you a big smile. You were right – from the very beginning, you didn’t hate MC. You never did. She’s kind, sweet, and constantly has your back during missions. No, you were angry at her presence. How it was practically impossible to hang out with just Caleb. It was always you, Caleb, and her. How the duo could never stay as a duo, no matter what. How your moments with Caleb can be so easily ripped from your grasp by MC because she was here first. Of course, it was always her first. 

Caleb needs to keep her safe first. To protect her first. She was his priority first. This was the status quo, and you had no say in changing the rules that were already set in stone a long time ago. Still, as you catch a glimpse of Caleb’s wrist before you leave, you make a silent vow to yourself, to the crimson and ivory resting on your own wrist. 

If you cursed Caleb with your first present, you silently pray that this time around, it will curse you instead of him.

The mission turned into a shitshow faster than you had initially anticipated.

You were so outnumbered from the very beginning that you wondered what the hell the Association was thinking when sending you two on this mission. Was this a fucking death trap specifically designed for you and MC? For everyone else dispatched here? There’s so much blood on the floor you could hardly distinguish your own from any wanderer that you had defeated.

Another wanderer goes down, collapsing onto the debris with a sound that rattles your bones and shoots directly to your ringing eardrums. Your sword is immediately knocked away from your hands by the next target, and it falls onto the ground with a deafening clatter. You need backup, and you need it now. You think about who to call – you would have called Xavier, but your Hunter’s watch is long broken, and he’s probably just as preoccupied as you two. 

The entire situation was so pitiful that you could have laughed if it weren’t for how fucked over you both were.

You look towards MC, and your eyes widen as she stumbles, her breath staggering and legs shaking. You’re already moving, just before she hits the ground. “MC!”

“Hey, hey, stay with me–” you scream out, dropping to your knees beside her. You use all your strength and bring the two of you to a nearby tree, praying that all the shrubs and bushes cover you from the wanderer’s sight. She’s breathing, shallow but steady, eyes unfocused as she tries her hardest to meet your gaze. You prop her against the trunk and cup her face, trying to keep her awake. “Please, fuck–”

She’s injured, but she’s alive. Good. That’s good. You just need to keep her alive long enough to get to a safe zone, or until help comes. Something warm spreads beneath your hunter’s uniform when you shift your weight, but you ignore the excruciating agony in your abdomen and focus on MC. A stab wound in your core. You don’t even know where it came from, and the adrenaline had masked the pain until now. Still, you’ve felt worse. Way worse than this. Right now, you just need to keep her alive, because–

Because of Caleb. Because Caleb needs her alive.

“You come back to me,” His words briefly echo in your ears, and it makes your eyes sting with tears. You don’t know if you can. “You promise.”

You’ve never broken any promises when it comes to Caleb, and he’s never broken any, either. But, technically, this time around, you didn’t promise him anything because MC had interrupted you before you could utter any words out. So, you didn’t exactly owe him anything. Your life was second to hers right now.

Sorry, Caleb.

“We need to move,” you say, hauling her arm over your shoulder. This spot was not going to be safe for long, and you didn’t have your sword. If any wanderer spots you, that’d be the end of your narrative. And you can’t have it end yet, not when MC isn’t safe. “Can you stand?”

She groans, teetering between a fine line of consciousness and unconsciousness. “You’re – you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically, even though you’re surprised that she noticed the wet blood staining the abdomen of your uniform. MC is a real sweetheart. Always thinking about other people when she’s equally as fucked over as you. That’s why you never truly hated her. How could you have the heart to do so?

She blinks up at you, trying to focus. “No, you’re not. I can see right through you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” you grit your teeth and force yourself upright despite your core screaming out in a horrid bout of pain. You bite your lip so hard that it draws blood, bringing MC up with you and ignoring her protests. You remember during the mission briefing that a safe zone was about… half a mile up north. Every staggering step sends a sharp reminder throughout your body, but you stubbornly don’t slow. “Caleb needs you out.”

MC shakes her head weakly. “What about you?”

You don’t answer, and she continues, a huff of air almost sounding like a laugh. “He loves you, you know.”

Her words make you freeze, and you turn to look at her. “Cares about you… a lot. Don’t just think about me.”

It’s hard not to, you want to say, but the words never leave your tongue. If Caleb had to choose, in a life-or-death situation, whether to save me or you, I think we all know the answer to that a little too well.

You make it to a clearing in the forest, and her grip on you suddenly tightens, enough to make you stop in your tracks, despite yourself. “Stop,” she says, practically pleading, panic creeping into her voice. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“Oh,” she looks down, really takes a second to see your condition, and her expression crumples, muttering your name. “You’re hurt. You’re really hurt.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeat, but your voice cracks, and your composure is breaking. 

She tries to pull away from you. “Put me down, this isn’t worth it–”

“No,” you say sharply. “If we wait–”

“You could pass out,” she says, tears welling in her eyes and fingers digging into your sleeve. “You’re not okay, please, you don’t have to do this–”

You don’t say what you’re thinking, but your answer is already written all over your face. You do have to do this, actually. This was never a question. The bracelet on your wrist feels even warmer than before. MC reaches for you, fumbling with her gear with her remaining strength. Her Hunter’s watch and her gun. The watch’s screen was still lit, and her gun had a few rounds inside.

“Here, use my watch. I can’t… hold on for much longer,” her eyes are glazing over, on the brink of passing out, and you place her gun in your holster and the watch around your wrist, trying to keep the both of you upright. “Call for help, but promise that you… think about yourself, too.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and meekly nod, taking her watch. Don’t say I promise to her, because you’re certain that you’ll break it. And you don’t make promises that you can’t keep. “Yeah. Sure.”

She smiles at that and goes limp in your arms. You suck in a breath, eyes flitting all over the screen as you thought about who to call. You try Xavier’s line and give up after a few rings. You just hope that he’s alright. Finally, your finger hovers over Caleb’s line. You know damn well that he’d respond, especially since this was MC’s watch, and not yours. The speaker rings once before the line opens. “Caleb, I need evac. Now.”

“Status.” His voice comes back sharp and controlled, and you realize that this wasn’t Caleb right now, but Colonel Caleb. 

“MC’s down, and–” I took a hit, and I’m bleeding out too. You’re unable to force those words out in between your labored breaths. “–she took a hit from a wanderer, and… I’m trying to take us to the nearby safe zone. I’m five minutes out.”

The world tilts as you haul MC’s weight higher against your shoulder. Your vision blurs at the edges, but you lock your jaw and keep moving. “What the hell happened?”

“It’s a shitshow out here, Caleb. I don’t have my sword, and she took a hit when I wasn’t looking–”

“When you weren’t looking?” His voice cuts through the line, tone hardening. You can hear him moving, probably running to his plane. “You’re supposed to cover for her.”

“I was,” you snap, the words tearing out of you like the flesh from your abdomen when the wanderer had stabbed you. “I was there, Caleb, I tried–”

“Then why the hell is she bleeding out?”

This was exactly what you expected. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him at all. His words hit harder than any wound you’ve sustained, and you stagger, barely managing to keep your footing – barely managing to keep MC upright with you. The pain is blooming, sharp and practically blinding, white-hot and so fucking unforgiving, and for a moment, you nearly cry out.

But you don’t. You tighten your grip on her instead.

“Damn it. The safe zone near you – I’m about ten minutes away from it. Can you make it there?”

You can hear it even through the static. The fear in his voice was raw, frantic, and all-consuming. The fear of losing MC eclipses everything else, swallowing whole whatever concern might have been meant for you. If MC was right – and Caleb really did love you – then his love was not enough to overcome the instinct carved into him long before you ever even entered his life.

Because she was here first. And you were not. And that’s just the way things were.

The thought makes something hysterical bubble in your chest. You laugh, or at least try to, but it breaks apart into an ugly cough, and more crimson stains your uniform.

“Yeah,” you manage out. “I think.”

You don’t know how you conjured up the strength to make it to the evac zone, but you do. The world narrows after your call began with Caleb, and the lights blur together into a pale white smear. Her weight grows heavier in your arms as she stirs, like she knew something was wrong with your staggering footsteps.

“You come back to me,”

“Promise that you… think about yourself, too.”

I’m sorry. To both of you.

Everyone finally notices you and MC, and your senses finally dull as your fingers slip from MC’s sleeve, letting someone else take her. Throughout all the clamor, someone begins assisting you, but you can’t feel anything. Trembling, your hand falls against your wrist, and the bracelet is still there. You think of Caleb’s left wrist and how it matched your own, and how that was the greatest salvation you could’ve asked for. You think about his right arm and how he never got to wear that first bracelet again after it got destroyed in the explosion. You wonder, briefly, if he’ll notice that this time, he’s going to be the one without the matching pair.

Caleb never once asks if you were alright.

His voice is still coming through MC’s watch – urgent and relieved that your location says that you’ve made it to the evac zone. Even though someone took her away already, you hear him telling her to hold on, and that he’s just a few minutes away with his plane. You smile faintly at that. Of course he is. He always makes it in time for her.

The poets and elegists from every era are calling out to you as they draft the final line of your narrative, and their hymns and elegies are beautiful. Your vision finally gives in, and the sky above is still a flat, unremarkable gray, nothing like that impossibly blue summer afternoon all those years ago. You suppose that’s fitting. Things were never meant to stay beautiful forever. The apples are no longer red. They’ve rotted a long time ago. Maybe Caleb’s eyes are no longer that same shade of ultraviolet, too. You wish you looked a little longer into his eyes, one last time, just to make sure.

The poet writing out your life taught you very early on that you were never first when it comes to Caleb. Maybe, in another life, Caleb would have chosen you over her. But this was not that life.

And even then, you think, loving him – loving him the way you did – was still worth it.

Even now.

Especially now.

I FEEL TOO YOUNG TO HOLD ON / AND MUCH TOO OLD TO BREAK FREE AND RUN / TOO DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND TO SEE THE DAMAGE I’VE DONE / SWEET LOVER, YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER.

end note: i’ve seen a lot of caleb x non!mc reader fics that try and vilify mc or caleb and i just wanna emphasize how that was NEVER my intention with this fic! i tried my best to portray caleb’s turmoil over his entire existence revolving around protecting mc and the way he tries to make room for the reader, too — even though in the end, his innate instinct to save mc was what got the reader killed. his irrational fear of losing mc after years of protecting her was the reason why he overlooked the reader’s condition, but i promiseee that he mostly didn’t do it on purpose (even tho ik he was a bit of a dick in the ending its ok the reader’s ghost haunts him after she dies). his love for non!mc IS requited, but unfortunately was overshadowed by his devotion to mc, which was what ultimately doomed her in the end. so plz lmk ur thoughts on this!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫