akijoo 𐙚

Zayne slowly flipped through the pages of a textbook far too advanced for children his age. Most of the books in his room had already been read front to back, and whenever he ran out, he would wander into his parents’ study to find more waiting for him on the shelves. The house was quiet save for the occasional turning of paper — at least until something lightly tapped against his window. A quick clink.

Zayne barely looked up, assuming it was just the wind brushing against the glass, before returning his attention to the page. Then it came again – another pebble, and another right after that. 

He already knew who it was. 

With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up from his chair and walked toward the window. Below it stood Caleb with the widest grin imaginable, waving both arms dramatically the second he was spotted. He didn’t even bother asking how he managed to sneak into the backyard again. 

Ever since Caleb Xia – the kid next door – decided Zayne was going to be his friend, there had been little room for disagreement after that. He always wanted a brother to wrestle with, race against, and drag into every reckless idea that crossed his mind, and for reasons Zayne still didn’t understand, Caleb had apparently chosen him to fulfill that role. 

It didn’t matter how different they were. Nearly every afternoon, Caleb would still appear outside Zayne’s house asking him to come out and play. Whether it was climbing fences, racing bicycles downhill, or getting into trouble they definitely weren’t supposed to be involved in, Caleb always insisted things were more fun with Zayne around, even if Zayne spent most of the time looking unimpressed by everything happening. 

“Zayne!” Caleb called loudly. “Come down, let’s play!”

He rested a hand against the window frame, shaking his head. “I’m studying.”

Caleb looked horrified by the idea. “That’s so boring,” he complained immediately before pointing toward the gate behind them. “If you’re gonna be boring, at least come be boring somewhere else with us!”

“Us?” Zayne asked, raising an eyebrow.

Only then did someone slowly peek out from behind Caleb. A girl around their age stood there, hands tucked behind her back.

“I brought Alodia with me!” Caleb announced proudly. “You’ve never met her before, right?”

Alodia Celestine. The other adopted child Josephine had taken in years ago — unrelated to Caleb by blood, yet raised beside him long enough to memorize each other’s habits, moods, and every little thing.

“She said I never let her join my games,” Caleb continued, sounding deeply offended by the accusation. “So now she’s here to prove she can. Come on, meet her already! ”

She looked nothing like the kind of person Caleb usually dragged into his reckless plans. Standing quietly behind him with that small smile still on her face, she looked oddly gentle compared to all the enthusiasm Caleb carried around everywhere. Pretty, too — though Zayne didn’t quite know why that was the first thing he noticed. 

Alodia leaned forward slightly from behind Caleb and gave him a small wave, her smile softening even more when their eyes met. 

And for some strange reason, his heart skipped. The feeling startled him enough that warmth immediately crept up the tips of his ears, turning them faintly pink. He quickly looked away before the thought could settle properly in his head. A moment later, he turned from the window and reached for his jacket without another word, already heading downstairs. 

Their friendship only flourished from there. 

Sylus was great at everything he did. 

Except, he wasn’t sure if he could be a good father. 

A year of marriage hadn’t really prepared either of you for whatever this was. 

It was the morning of July 24th when you woke up with strange queasiness curling in your stomach. This feeling had come and gone in waves throughout the entire week, easy enough to dismiss it as a passing illness, or something mild that you didn’t need to worry about. Sylus, however, thought otherwise. Medicine always seemed to find its way to you, thanks to Mephisto, whom he had tasked with delivering and keeping an eye on you.

You sat up slowly, pressing a hand to your head as the nausea crept up slowly to the lines of your neck to the frontal lobe together with a sickening twist in your stomach.  Sylus was still asleep at your side. The past week had kept him tied to the N109 Zone, leaving you with little more than brief messages. So mornings like this were rare – the kind you only got twice a week, if you’re lucky. Which is why you wanted to make the most of it while he’s still here with you – Breakfast, maybe, something the both of you can hold onto until the world gives you both time again.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, moving slowly so you wouldn’t wake Sylus beside you. The second your feet touched the floor, your stomach twisted again. Your hand instinctively pressed against your abdomen, brows furrowing as you tried to steady yourself. You wanted to convince yourself it was just the usual dizziness from standing up too fast—but it didn’t feel like that. It felt different. Wrong in a way you couldn’t quite explain, it was like your body was resisting movement itself.

You tried to breathe through it, waiting for it to pass. For a moment, it did.

But when you tried to stand up, it suddenly built up all at once. You had to lean forward, gripping the edge of the mattress as your vision blurred at the edges. Your stomach clenched violently. You gagged, but forced yourself to swallow it back down, jaw tightening as you fought against your own body.

You were so caught up with what you’re going through that you didn’t notice Sylus shift behind you. His arms slipped around you, pulling you gently back from the bed. “...You’re up early,” He murmured, voice rough and drowsy. “Did I overdo it?”

You shook your head quickly. Sylus raised an eyebrow, noticing how you’re not responding like how you usually do when he teases you. “No?” He repeated, a little slower this time. You nodded, still not facing him. Your fingers tightened against the edge of the mattress as another wave started to creep your stomach up to your throat. Sylus noticed the change in your posture immediately. 

 “...Honey,” He called, moving closer. Before you could respond, he moved to sit beside you on the edge of the bed, one hand still lightly near your back. “What’s going on with–”

You didn’t hear the rest. The nausea spiked suddenly, cutting off whatever you were about to say. Your body reacted before your mind could as you pushed yourself up fast. You stumbled toward the bathroom on instinct, one hand covering your mouth as you moved quickly across the room, your other hand dragging against the wall for support as your balance threatened to give out.

You barely made it. The bathroom door hit the wall with a dull thud as you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet bowl, gripping the porcelain edge just as your body gave in.  The nausea you’d been holding back all morning finally caught up to you. 

Behind you, you heard hurried footsteps.  Sylus was there almost instantly.

“Hey, Sweetie, I’m here. I’ve got you.” His hand found your hair first, pulling it back from your face, the other pressing firmly—but gently—against your back. He didn’t say much after that.

Just quiet murmurs under his breath, the kind that weren’t really meant to be heard—soft reassurances, the gentle way he says your name. His hand moved in slow circles against your back as your body worked through it.

When it finally eased, it didn’t go away completely—but it loosened its grip enough for you to breathe again. Your arms trembled as you held yourself up, forehead nearly resting against the cool surface of the tiled wall.

“Easy,” Sylus says softly, his voice much clearer now.  He pulled away briefly, leaving you alone for a couple seconds before returning just as quickly. You were too dazed with the withdrawal that you barely had the time to register what was happening. Damp cloth brushed gently against your lips as he wiped them clean. 

“Here, drink a little. It’ll help.”  A glass of cold water pressed gently into your hand, his fingers brushing against yours just enough to steady your grip. His other hand hovered near your back again. 

The room fell quiet for a moment. Even without words, you could feel the heaviness linger. In the silence, it became obvious – he was worried – especially in the way he stayed right there beside you and didn’t trust himself to leave. Though, he didn’t overwhelm you with questions you couldn’t answer. Instead, his hand slid from your back to your shoulder, gently turning you slightly to face him. His gaze held on your face, assessing – as if looking for answers in the smallest signs you might not realize yourself. 

“You’ve been like this all week.” Sylus said, his brows faintly furrowed and jaw set a little tighter than usual. His eyes fixed on you with a look that didn’t quite hide the concern behind it. “Are we sure you’re okay?”

You swallowed, your throat still tight. “...It’s nothing. I just probably got a bad case of flu, It’ll pass.”

His expression didn’t change. If anything, it sharpened. “And if it isn’t?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, fingers curling weakly against your lap. The same strange twist in your stomach tugged at you again, making it harder to focus on anything else. 

“Sylus, It would pass, I know it would,” you admitted, your voice coming out weak. “It’s not that bad most of the time.”

Sylus exhaled slowly through his nose. That was never the right thing to say to him. “That’s not your call to make alone.” 

His hair was still slightly disheveled from sleep, eyes still a bit swollen – it’s as if he hadn’t fully taken the time to wake before following you – but the eyes never lie – it was clear how deeply worried he was. 

“…We’re going to the med bay,” he said, already deciding. You barely had time to react before he was already moving. Sylus stepped away from you and back into the bedroom. You could hear the quiet rustle of the fabric and drawers opening. You leaned weakly against the doorframe, watching as he pulled on his trousers, fastening them in one smooth motion. 

“Sylus—wait,” you called, following him weakly to the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. “I said I’m fine. We don’t need to spend our day off in a med bay.”

He didn’t slow down nor bother to look back at you. “You’re not fine.” He said simply, making it clear that it wasn’t up for debate. 

“It’s probably just acid reflux or some stomach bug,” you muttered, forcing yourself upright despite the nausea clawing at you. “It’ll go away on its own.” 

That finally made him glance at you. There was a moment of silence, before he went back to reach for his shirt. “You’ve been saying that all week.”

“Because it keeps going away,” you shot back with a frustrated exhale. “See? Temporary.” 

Sylus let out a low, unimpressed hum as he rolled the sleeves to his elbows. “Temporary doesn’t usually involve you nearly passing out in the bathroom every morning for three days straight.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. He has a point. 

“But Sylus,” you whined again, lower this time, “I really feel fine now.”

Sylus didn’t even look up from where he was fastening his watch. “That sentence has lost all meaning to me.”

Your pout deepened immediately. “You’re so mean!”

That earned you a glance.

“We’re going.” He said again with finality, like that was the only conclusion this conversation was ever going to reach.

FIRST TRIMESTER

You were already on the bed before you could fully process how you got there, a thick blanket pulled over your lap while you sat slightly slouched against the raised backrest. The necessary tests had already been taken earlier, leaving you nothing to do but wait for the results.

Sylus sat beside you, his posture relaxed in the way only he could manage – though you notice how he was constantly checking you without making it obvious. A nurse moved around the room, clipboard in hand. 

“Ms.Qin?” She called, glancing between the chart and the two of you. Sylus answered without missing a second. “

“That’s us.”

The nurse gave a small nod, stepping closer to the bedside table as she adjusted her clipboard. “Alright,” She said in a calm tone. “I just need additional information for the admission form.” 

Her eyes moved briefly to you, then to Sylus, pen already hovering over the board. “We have gone through the name, birth date… Ah, attending guardian?”  The nurse’s gaze shifted from the chart to Sylus. 

“Skye.  Skye Qin.” He says, sounding the least bothered by his lie. 

You blinked, slowly turning your head toward him. “...Skye?” You repeated under your breath. He didn’t look at you; didn’t hesitate either. He  just leaned back slightly in the chair, composed.  “It works for paperworks.” 

“Alright… Mr. Skye,” She said, not questioning further. “Relationship to the patient.” 

Sylus glanced at you briefly before returning his gaze to the nurse. He raised his hand in a relaxed motion, resting his fingers near his temple—just enough to reveal the wedding ring on his finger. 

“Husband.” He answered simply. 

The nurse made a small note on her clipboard. She flipped the page, scanning the remaining details before giving a brief nod. “Mr. and Mrs. Qin, the doctor will be with you shortly to discuss the results of the tests,” She continued. “If you need anything while you wait, just press the call button on the bedside table. We’ll assist you right away.”

With that, she capped her pen, offered a polite smile, and stepped back toward the door before quietly leaving the room, the soft click of it closing behind her. 

You turned your head slowly toward Sylus. “...Skye.” You repeated, deadpan. Then your eyes narrowed slightly, voice flat in disbelief. “Really? Skye?” Am I supposed to believe I’m married to Skye Qin now?”

Sylus didn’t look even slightly disturbed by your reaction. If anything, the corner of his mouth lifted faintly – as though he’d already anticipated it down to the exact tone you used.

“Kitten,” he said, voice low. “I do need to remind you – I’m still a wanted man in Linkon City.”

His gaze drifted to you, though there was a hint of amusement underneath.

“Now tell me,” he continued, tilting his head slightly, “Are you planning to hand me over for the bounty on my head?”

There was a subtle pause, though it wasn’t a room for you to retaliate. Then, the faintest curve of a smirk plastered on his face. “You know I can offer more.”

You immediately rolled your eyes. “Please,” you said flatly, leaning back against the pillow. “I’d have to be stupid to trade you in for a bounty when your net worth probably outweighs half of Linkon City.”

The silence that followed lasted only a second.

Then Sylus chuckled – the kind that slipped out of him naturally. He tilted his head back slightly, amusement clear in the ease of his expression. 

“You’re still sharp as ever,” he said, glancing back at you, voice softened just a little. “I was beginning to think the hospital air would dull your sense of humor.” 

You hummed under your breath, still looking unimpressed. “I’m not even trying,” you replied dryly. “Give it a few more hours.”

Sylus’s smiled, already preparing a response in his mind – But then the door clicked open.

Both of you paused as a woman stepped inside, her presence immediately more formal than the nurse who had left earlier. She held a tablet in one hand.

“Good afternoon,” she began smoothly. “I’m Dr. Xie, your attending physician.”

She gave a small nod of acknowledgment as she moved further into the room, glancing briefly at the chart on her tablet.

“I specialize in Obstetrics and Gynecology, with subspecialty training in maternal-fetal medicine,” she continued, tone steady and practiced. “I’ll be the one reviewing and discussing your results with you today.”

Her eyes moved between the two of you. “Is this a good time to proceed?”

“Yes, doctor,” you answered softly, adjusting slightly against the pillows.

She gave a small nod, preparing to continue. But internally, your thoughts stalled. 

Obstetrics and gynecology?

Your brows tightened just a fraction, confusion flickering in your expression even as you stayed quiet. Why an OB-GYN?

You glanced subtly toward Sylus beside you, as if checking whether he shared the same thought. He, however, was looking straight ahead. You had no idea what he was thinking at that moment.

She gave a small nod and opened her tablet.

“We’ve gone through your vitals and the initial tests,” she began. “Everything came back normal—no signs of viral infection, and no inflammation markers that would suggest a gastrointestinal infection.”

She scrolled briefly, reviewing the next set of results.

“Electrolytes are within range. Bloodwork is stable overall. There’s no immediate indication of anything acute or life-threatening.”

You felt Sylus take your hand under the blanket. His thumb moved slowly over your skin—small, repetitive circles meant to calm you down. He didn’t look at you, but the gesture was enough. He knew you were worried too. 

“The findings don’t point to any urgent medical condition,” she added. “But we’ll still recommend observation, just to monitor symptoms and ensure nothing develops over the next few hours.”

Beside you, Sylus didn’t react immediately—but the subtle shift in his posture said enough. The tension in his shoulders eased almost imperceptibly. A quiet breath of relief left him.

The doctor glanced down at her tablet again, scrolling once more as she confirmed the last set of results. 

“However,” she added, tone unchanged but a little more precise, “there is one finding we need to address separately.”

You barely noticed your own grip on Sylus’s hand instinctively firming. The doctor continued calmly.

“Your hCG levels are elevated,” she said. “And based on the ultrasound and lab correlation, this is consistent with an early pregnancy.”

“Pregnancy?” you repeated, the word coming out slower than intended. 

The doctor gave a calm, confirming nod.

“Yes,” she said, turning her tablet slightly so you could see the summarized results. “Based on your serum hCG levels and the transvaginal ultrasound findings, the results are consistent with an early pregnancy.”

She tapped the screen once. “Lab values and imaging both align. No abnormalities were seen in the uterus or surrounding structures.”

A brief pause followed as she scrolled further. “As for gestational age,” she continued, “it appears to be approximately five to six weeks along.”

The doctor’s tone remained steady as she added, “We’ll schedule a follow-up scan in about two weeks to confirm development and ensure everything is progressing normally.” 

For a moment, none of you moved.

Five to six weeks? 

You started mentally counting backward — and then wished you hadn’t.

Your entire face went hot as flashes of memories from that night surfaced one after another in the worst possible order

Going home from that wonderful night you spent riding his motorcycle, only for that to somehow turn into making out against the bedroom door thirty minutes later.

Even he looked caught between seconds.

The doctor, sensing the shift in the room, closed her tablet gently. 

“I’ll give you both a moment to discuss this privately,” she said, voice softer now but still professional. “I’ll just be outside. Press the call button if you need anything.”

She offered a small nod, then turned and stepped out, the door clicking shut behind her.

And just like that, the room was quiet again—except this time, both of you were taken aback from the news.

Your hands were trembling before you even realized it. You stared down at them, then at him, then somewhere in between, because looking directly at any of this felt too much.

“Sylus… I… We’re…” Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat didn’t budge. “We’re gonna be… You’re gonna be…” 

You couldn’t push yourself to finish. Sylus didn’t move, but you saw the faintest shift in his expression. His eyes dropped to your stomach for  a fraction of a second, then lifted it back to your face – those red eyes dimmed, then slowly, the right eye began to glow.

“I’m gonna be a father.”  The words left him quietly, testing how saying it out loud felt in his tongue – if it feels wrong rather than right. You swallowed your throat still tight, but this time your voice came out soft and calm. “Yeah,” You breathed. “We’re going to have a baby.”

The glow in his right eye grew undeniably stronger. For a moment, he just looked at you – then he stood. He quickly  closed the distance between the both of you – and before you could think to say anything else, Sylus pulled you into him – arms wrapping around you with a firm, grounding hold. His hand settled at the back of your head.

“…A baby,” he whispered, almost to himself. He couldn’t quite believe it. His hand shifted slightly at the back of your head, thumb brushing gently as though he was grounding himself through you.  “We’re gonna have a baby.”

The two months that followed blurred together like a fever dream. The Hunter’s Association reassigned you almost immediately upon hearing that you’re carrying – no more dangerous deployments and fieldwork for you. Instead, they kept you behind a desk handling reports, logistics, and routine tasks that felt awfully dull compared to the life you were used to. 

You hated it – every slow, uneventful hour of it. 

One time, your pen tapped idly against the desk as your eyes glazed over another stack of paperwork – then your phone buzzed, cutting through the monotony.

Sylus: Just got to West N109 Zone. Closed a deal with the upper lot here. Interested in a three-hectare rest house?

You smiled faintly, already knowing where this was coming from. Lately, he’d been set on finding a bigger place than your current home on the outskirts of Linkon City. According to him, it wasn’t enough – not with a baby on the way. One room and a living space that doubled as everything else didn’t meet his standards. 

You: What would we even do with three hectares? I’m fine in Linkon.

He replied almost immediately.

Sylus: A lot of things, kitten. Farming, gardening… I might even live up to my second identity as Skye the fruit vendor.  

You laughed at this message. 

Sylus: I’d build an outdoor play area. A proper one, not something cramped. They’d have space to run. Climb.  Be a child. 

You felt a small flutter in your chest despite yourself. He was serious. 

You: I know. But three hectares is excessive, Sylus. What kind of fun would our child have if they don’t even have neighbors to play with? 

This time, the reply didn’t come right away. It took him a moment.

Sylus: Luke, Kieran… and Mephisto can keep them busy.  Sylus: Speaking of Mephisto. He’s at your window right now. He brought you soup. Sylus: They said it’s good for pregnant women, so try to tolerate the taste. 

You froze, then immediately turned toward the windows lining the office

You: What? Where is he? This is the 45th floor, why would you send him here? 

There was a long pause – it was longer than usual. The typing indicator flickered on… then off… then on again.

Sylus: I’m kidding. Luke and Kieran are on the way. They’ve got your food. Eat and don’t overwork. Sylus: I’ll see you at home. 

During the First Trimester of your pregnancy, Sylus spent the rest of his free time doing something completely uncharacteristic of the man everyone else knew – reading. 

He’s not reading reports, strategy briefs, or anything tied to the business he has in the N109 Zone. He was reading Parenting books - more specifically, books about how to take care of babies. 

How to hold a newborn properly without causing harm, how to tell the difference between crying out of discomfort, hunger, or fatigue. How often a baby needed to be fed, changed, soothed, or what to do when they wouldn’t stop crying at all. 

In the middle of the night, he’d sit for long stretches in silence, flipping pages, while laying next to you in the bed. This was not driven by curiosity alone, but on responsibility – on the weight of doing something right for the first time in a life that had never really allowed room for “trial and error.” 

One night, you woke to the faint glow of a bedside lamp cutting through the dark. Sylus was sat propped against the headboard and the wall behind him, one leg bent slightly. The book rested in his hands, its pages catching the soft lamp light as he read in silence.

You were beside him, tucked under the covers. The only movement in the room was the slow turn of pages, until he noticed the change in your breathing. 

“Lamp’s too bright?” He asked, lowering the book to his lap. 

“...No,” You mumbled, still half-asleep. “Why are you still up? It’s 1am…”

He didn’t answer right away. He just marked the page, and closed the book partway. “I’m just reading a material.” 

You squinted, trying to focus. “What material?” 

You shifted slightly, attempting to peek at the cover – but before you could, his hand moved first.

“It’s nothing,” He says, setting the book aside.  Then redirecting the entire moment away from himself, his attention turned fully to you instead. Sylus shifted from sitting upright to lowering himself beside you properly on the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he turned toward you, one arm instinctively sliding behind your shoulders. 

“How’s my wife feeling?” He asked with a soft voice. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled you closer. His arm curved around you, guiding you in until your body was pressed gently against his chest. You let out a small breath, relaxing to him. 

“I’m okay…” you murmured sleepily. “I just woke up feeling a bit hungry.” 

Sylus glanced down at you, a quiet huff of amusement slipping out before he gently flicked your forehead. “Luke told me you ate all the donuts in the fridge during dinner and left them to fend for themselves.”

“I did not finish all of them! Kieran took one and ran away…”  Sylus tilted his head slightly, gaze narrowing with mild disbelief – though the corner of his mouth gave him away. “Oh, so we should reprimand Kieran for getting one of your dozen donuts?”

“Yes.” Your answer came far too quickly. He exhaled a quiet laugh, arms tightening just slightly around you. 

He shifted a little, settling you more comfortably against his chest, his hand moving in slow, absent circles at your shoulder. “Do you want anything?” 

You took a moment, then shook your head. “I think I’m okay.”

There was a brief pause. Then, as if your brain had just fully caught up with itself – “Though vanilla ice cream would be nice… Ah! Potatoes too.”

Sylus stared at you for a second. Then he let out a low breath through his nose, something between a sigh and a quiet laugh. It usually meant he was already three steps ahead of whatever situation he was in.

“I’ll get them for you, Sweetie.” he said, already shifting to stand. 

But the moment he moved, your arms slipped around his waist, holding him in place. “No, don’t go.” 

He stopped immediately. Just looking down at you now, faint amusement softening his expression as his hand rested lightly against your back. “How exactly do you expect me to bring you food while I’m being held?” 

You hesitated, thinking it through with full seriousness. Then, very quietly, you whispered. “Let Mephisto do it.” 

From the window perch, Mephisto reacted instantly.

“Caw! Caw Caw!”

A very offended protest echoed through the room, feathers flapping dramatically. Sylus glanced toward the bird, then back at you.

“…I guess that’s a no,” you said flatly.

Then, despite himself, he exhaled a quiet laugh, his hand gently patting your back once before easing your arms away from his waist with careful patience.

“You’re going to negotiate me into outsourcing my entire life at this rate,” he murmured. But he didn’t sound upset – he could never be. 

And as he finally stepped back, he still reached down—fingers brushing your cheek, kissing you in the forehead before fully letting go. 

“I’ll be back soon.”

SECOND TRIMESTER

By your Fourth month, you finally notice it clearly. 

It greets you the moment you face the mirror. You turn slightly sideways – a small, soft bump beginning to show. Your hands move to it without thinking, resting there. 

Your breath slows as your fingers trace it gently, a faint smile tugged at your lips without you even realizing. It’s a product of the love you and Sylus share with each other, and is now beginning to show itself in the most real way possible. 

And now, it’s growing – softly, slowly – right there within you. 

Your gaze drifts across the room. The house is quieter now, larger than the one you first moved into together, with better space, better amenities – everything he insisted on “for comfort” though you knew it was never really just about that – he wanted bigger space for the family you’re building together. 

And there, right in the center of the room, hangs your wedding portrait. Frozen in a moment that now feels strangely distant, like it belongs to another version of you – that one who’s yet to know how deeply life could change in such a short period of time. 

Just like that, your chest tightens. Suddenly, you feel overwhelmed in whichever simplicity life has to offer. In this exact moment, you knew what you wanted – you wanted him here with you. His presence, voice, and the way he makes you feel at ease. 

Press your hand lightly over your stomach again, your eyes still on the portrait, and the thought settles fully in your mind – you don’t want to feel this alone right now. 

I need Sylus.

“I don’t repeat myself,” Sylus said calmly, the click of his lighter breaking the silence as he flicked it shut again. “So I’ll give you one final chance to answer correctly.” 

The man tied to the chair spat blood onto the concrete floor and laughed weakly through split lips. “Go to hell, Sylus.” 

A faint sigh escaped Sylus, more disappointed than angry. 

Sylus adjusted the black gloves covering his hands before taking a slow step forward. His polished shoes echoed softly against the concrete. 

“Very Well,” he mused, almost conversationally, “Though I had high hopes that this would end quickly.” His gaze lowered to the bruised man in front of him. “You could’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble.” 

The captive strained uselessly against the restraints. “You think killing me changes anything?”

“Hm….No,” Sylus replied smoothly. “But it does make a point.”

One of his men stepped forward, placing a handgun into Sylus’ waiting hand.

The man in the chair visibly paled now, bravado cracking at the edges as Sylus checked the weight of the weapon.

“You’re insane,” he hissed.

“I hear that a lot.”

Sylus raised the gun lazily, aiming it directly between the man’s eyes. 

The captive went still, squeezing his eyes shut in pure terror, breathing turning sharp and uneven as he braced for the shot.

And then his phone buzzed.

Sylus’ expression darkened slightly at the interruption. He lowered the gun just enough to glance toward the screen sitting atop a nearby crate. 

Your name lit up the display. 

The captive let out a shaky laugh. “What, your girlfriend calling?”

Sylus ignored him completely. Instead, he stared at the phone for a moment longer before exhaling softly through his nose. 

“…Don’t move,” he said absently to the restrained man.

The warehouse fell silent. He reached for his phone, unlocking it with one hand, his expression still composed.

You: Sylus… can you come home early? You: I miss you. You: I feel so alone in this big house you bought. You: [image attached] You: And I feel so overwhelmed with this growing big. You: Sylus, I’m anxious. You: Come home. 

His eyes lingered on the image a second longer than the rest. The slight curve is visible already from the angle where you took it. He didn’t say anything at first, nor react outwardly – that’s not like him. 

Then, without a change in expression, Sylus slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

“We’re done here.” He handed the gun back without even glancing at it. “I’m going home.” 

The captive stared at him in disbelief, breathing uneven through swollen lips. “What…?” A strained laugh escaped him. “That’s it? You’re just leaving?” 

He simply adjusted the sleeve of his coat, before reaching for the glass he’d abandoned earlier. The wine swirled once between his fingers as though this were nothing more than a mildly delayed business meeting. 

“You had several opportunities to be useful,” Sylus set the untouched glass down in front of the captive man. “You chose not to be.”

Then, as if the matter bored him already, he picked up his gloves from the table.

“I don’t particularly care what happens after that.”

The restrained man jerked violently against the chair. “WAIT—! I can still talk—”

“Mm.” Sylus slid one glove on smoothly. He didn’t stay to hear the desperate bargaining that followed.

His footsteps echoed steadily through the warehouse as he made his way toward the exit, long coat shifting slightly with each movement. One of his men hurried ahead to pull the heavy doors open for him.

BANG!

A few birds scattered from the warehouse roof instantly

Sylus only lowered his gaze slightly before starting the engine, the motorcycle rumbling to life beneath him. 

He drove the motorcycle at full speed on the way home, the city lights blurring past him. By the time he arrived, the house was quiet. 

The lights were still on, casting a soft glow through the large space he insisted on getting. 

“I’m home.” Sylus said as he stepped inside, pulling the helmet off his head. His gaze was already moving – scanning the space, expecting to find you immediately.

He set the helmet aside, barely giving it a second thought as he stepped further in, eyes sweeping across the room  – until he saw you curled up on the couch, wrapped in his jacket. 

Sylus smiled faintly, before walking over and knelt in front of you, one hand already reaching out. “Kitten, I’m here now,” he said, voice low. 

You frowned immediately, your brows pulling together as you looked at him. “What took you so long?”

Sylus let out a quiet breath. “…I know,” he murmured, a hand coming up to rest gently against your arm. “I’m sorry.” 

But you didn’t stop. You kept going – small complaints, whining –  the kind that didn’t really carry weight. It was just you yearning, wanting him here more than ever.

And Sylus didn’t interrupt. He stayed where he was, lowered slightly in front of you, listening without a single correction or rebuttal. 

When your words finally slowed, that’s when he made his move. His hand slid into yours, fingers curling loosely around your palm. 

“Sylus is sorry,” he said, a faint hint of something softer in his tone – almost teasing, but not quite. “Can you forgive me?”

You stared at him, still wrapped in his jacket, still clearly upset – but the way he was looking at you was all calm and patient. 

Your shoulders dropped, thinking the man you married just knows how to handle your little tantrums – and that made you more emotional than you already are.

“…You’re so annoying,” you mumbled, but it didn’t have any bite. His hand squeezed yours gently.

“I know,” he says, smiling. You huffed. Then slowly leaned forward, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder. “…Don’t do it again.”

A faint exhale left him – something relieved, almost fond.

“Mm,” he hummed softly, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. “I won’t.”

Hours passed slowly after that. Just you tucked against Sylus, cradled safely in his arms on the couch. One of his hands stayed at your back, and the other rested lower in your stomach. His palm eventually settled over your belly, fingers moving in slow, absent circles through the fabric of his jacket still wrapped around you. 

“It’s bigger than what I saw in the books,” He murmured after a while. You shifted against him, slightly hitting his chest. “Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Both of you shared faint chuckles, as you dug your head deeper into the crevices of his neck. 

“We have a check up with the doctor next week.”  A faint hum left him, his hand still resting there. 

“Right,” He says quietly. “Are we able to determine the gender by then?” 

You blinked slightly, shifting a little against his chest. “I think so,” you murmured. “If the doctor can see it clearly.”

His fingers moved again, slower this time, tracing a gentle circle over the faint curve. 

“Why?” you asked softly, tilting your head slightly against his chest. “Are you excited to know whether it’s a mini me or a mini you?” 

He chuckled, a faint breath leaving him. 

“If it’s a mini you,” he said slowly, “I’m going to have problems.”

You blinked, rather offended. “…Excuse me?”

“They’ll get away with everything.” he added, like it was already a confirmed fact. His fingers pressed a little more firmly against your stomach, then his gaze lifted back to you.

“And if it's a mini me,” he continued. “Then I’ll have even bigger problems – because I already know what I’m like,” he said simply.

You laugh lightly at his remarks.  

“So yes.” A slight shift in his expression. “I am curious.”

His arm tightened around you just a little, pulling you closer against him.

“Boy or girl,” Sylus continued quietly, “It doesn’t matter.”

A pause settled between you both. His hand, still resting over your stomach, almost protective in the way he held you. “…As long as they take after you a little more than me.” 

The next week came faster than it felt like it should. You’re sitting in the waiting room, hands folded over your stomach. The space was quiet, soft chairs in muted colors, and the occasional shuffle of papers or distant call of a nurse’s voice. 

Next to you, Sylus sat  still – though he seemed a bit more tense than usual.  His hand  rested over your hands, fingers loosely intertwined, while his other arm rested along the back of your chair. 

“You’re quiet.” You murmured, glancing at him. 

“I’m listening.” He replied shortly. 

“To what?”

Before he could even answer, the door opened. A nurse stepped in with a clipboard.

“Mr. and Mrs. Qin?” You straightened slightly. You stood a little slower this time.

Sylus moved immediately beside you. His hand came to your shoulder first, but gentle enough not to rush you. Then, after a brief pause, it slid down, taking your hand instead. Fingers interlacing like it was instinct. “Let’s go?” he said quietly. 

The nurse guided you into the room, and Sylus stayed close the entire time. When you reached the examination room, he didn’t let go immediately.

Only when you sat down did his grip loosen—but even then, his hand stayed near yours.

The doctor entered shortly after, smiling warmly.

“Good morning,” She said gently as she settled into the chair. “How have you both been doing?”

You moved slightly, letting out a small breath. “It’s been okay. Just tired sometimes, and hungry at weird hours.”

The doctor nodded with a soft chuckle. “Very normal at this stage.”

Their eyes moved to Sylus next. “And dad-to-be? How are you handling everything?”

Sylus paused. Then, calm as ever – “She doesn’t sleep properly when I’m not around.”

You immediately turned your head. “…That’s not what the doctor asked, Sylus.”

The doctor smiled, clearly entertained. She flipped a page on the file. “Any morning sickness? Mood changes? Anything that’s been concerning you lately?” 

You thought for a moment. “Not really concerning… just emotional sometimes. And I cry at random things.” 

The doctor nodded again. “That’s very common too.”

A short pause settled before the doctor’s expression softened. “Alright,” they said gently, setting the clipboard aside. “Let’s take a look at your baby today, shall we?”

You nodded slowly.

Sylus didn’t say anything – but his hand tightened around yours just a little before letting go so you could adjust your position at the examination bed.

“Just lie back for me,”  She instructed gently.

The doctor applied a cool gel to your lower stomach. You flinched slightly.

“Cold,” you muttered. Sylus leaned in a fraction, playing with the ends of your hair. 

She gave a small smile. “Just a little cold gel. Now I’m going to use the probe, okay?”

You nodded again.

The probe pressed gently against your skin. For a few seconds, there was nothing but the faint static hum of the machine. After a few moments, a soft flicker appeared on the screen. The doctor adjusted the angle slightly. “There we go…” 

It was small, barely defined, but it was there. Your chest tightened at the sight of it. “That’s your baby,” The doctor said gently. 

You blinked, trying to process what you were seeing. “That’s…”

The doctor nodded. “Mh-hm. Still very early, but everything looks right on track.” Beside you, Sylus hadn’t said a word. You turned your head slightly to check on him, but he was staring at the screen, and you could see the faint glow in his right eye. 

“And here,” the doctor tapped lightly on the monitor. It shows the heartbeat. “That’s a healthy heart beat.” 

“Oh, Thank God.” Your hand instinctively moves toward your stomach, even though you couldn’t feel anything yet. You didn’t realize your eyes had started to sting until you blinked and your vision blurred. 

“...Beautiful.” He said in a low voice. You glanced at him, only to find out that he hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen. His thumb brushed once over your hand – absent mindedly,  almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it. 

“It’s small,” You murmured, letting out a soft, shaky laugh. “It looks like a little bean.”  

“It is, for now,” The doctor smiled. “But the baby is growing exactly as it should–”

She paused mid-sentence. Her brows knit together slightly as she adjusted the probe again, pressing just a little more carefully against your stomach. The screen shifts with grainy shapes moving and reforming. 

“Doctor, what is it?” You asked as your heart skipped a beat. “Is something the matter?” 

She didn’t answer right away. She tilts the probe again, and the image sharpened and split. There not one, but two – two shapes and two heartbeats. 

The doctor let out a soft breath, something between a smile and a surprise. “...Well,” She said, glancing at you both. “That explains a few things.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?”

“Here’s one.” She looked back at the screen, then gently pointed. “And here’s the other.”

Your brain stalled for a mere minute. “I’m sorry,” You blinked, trying to process. “Other… what?”

The doctor smiled. “It’s twins. You’re gonna have twins.”

Your chest rose sharply, breath catching somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Oh my–” You turned your head so fast it almost made you dizzy. “Sylus, we’re–”

He looked stunned. His gaze snapped from the screen to you, it’s as if he needed to see you to make sense of what he just heard. And his right eye– God, it was glowing, brighter than you’d ever seen it, almost giving him away completely. “Twins?” He repeated. You nodded, tears building up in your eyes.

His lips parted slightly, a breath escaping him. Whatever shock was still in him softened into something warmer. His thumb brushed over your knuckles again. “That’s… That’s incredible, Sweetie.” 

Sylus learned closer, close enough that his forehead nearly touched yours. You could feel the faint tremor in his breath. 

“Alright,” Doctor Xie says. “Since we have a clear view, we might be able to check something else.” 

You and Sylus shared a glance, then looked back at her. “Would you like to know the sexes?”

Your heart jumped again. “Already?”

“Well, it depends on positioning and how cooperative they are,”  She explained. “But with twins, sometimes we get lucky.” 

You turned your head towards Sylus instinctively. He looked at you, smiling. “If you want to know, we’ll know.”

You swallowed, then nodded. “...Okay.”

“Let’s see… this one here…”  The doctor angled the probe again, focusing on one side of the screen.  “Well, this one’s not shy.”

Your grip on Sylus’ hand tightened. “It’s a boy.”

“A boy?” You repeated softly, staring at the tiny shape on the screen. “Oh my god, we’re gonna have a mini you!”  A genuine smile spread across Sylus’ face – in a way most people rarely got to see. 

“And this one right here…” She shifted it slightly to the other side. “There we go. It’s a girl.”

Silence hit you all over again, though this time it went down almost instantly. 

“A–both?!” You blurted out, voice caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. “We’re having both?!”

Doctor Xie chuckled softly. “One of each.”

You turned to Sylus so quickly it almost made you dizzy again. “Sylus–!”

He was already looking at you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. You watched the subtle change in his expression, the slight widening of his eyes, the way his brows lifted just barely before it settled again.

The corners of his mouth parted like he wanted to say something – anything – but no words came out. You could practically see the realization settling into him. His jaw loosened faintly, and a small exhale escaped him through a breath of a laugh, almost soundless.

He lifted your hand to his lips, his finger curled around yours almost reverently, as he pressed a soft kiss against your knuckles. When he looked at you again, he was smiling so softly it made your chest ache.

“A son and a daughter,” he shuffled a quiet laugh. “What are the odds of that?” 

And despite how composed he was, you could tell the news had genuinely shaken him in the best way possible. 

Ever since finding out you were carrying twins, Sylus had become almost unbearably attentive with you. The thought of two tiny lives growing inside you shifted something inside him. 

The Hunter’s Association had even insisted you take an early maternal leave. Knowing you wouldn’t take being completely pulled away from work very well, they went as far as assigning your duties to missions and office work that could be handled from home whenever possible.

Still, Jenna made it very clear that the association wanted you to spend the next few months resting instead of actively working – either in the office or the field. 

So while Sylus is away attending a business meeting (or whatever errands he has in the N109 Zone), you stay up in the living room with a blanket draped over your legs, watching through the tall glass windows as Luke and Kieran work in the background.

The two of them were building a playground – or, at least, attempting to.

The project had been entirely Sylus’ idea. Apparently, finding out he was going to have two children immediately made him decide they needed a massive outdoor playground in the backyard. It wasn’t the normal “big playground.” It was a ridiculously massive one. 

You were pretty sure the blueprint included swings, five slides with varying heights, climbing structures, monkey bars, a small castle playhouse, and – for some reason – a miniature zipline. 

The babies aren’t even born yet.

You watched Luke hold up a piece of wood with confusion while Kieran argued back at him with the instruction manual upside down in his hands. The occasional sound of power tools, bickering, and offensive yelling drifted through the slightly open window. 

Then they noticed you watching. Luke immediately waved enthusiastically. Kieran followed a second later, lifting a hand while still holding the upside-down manual. 

You laughed softly and waved back. 

For a moment, you stayed there, chin resting against your palm as you watched them continue working on the oversized playground Sylus insisted the twins needed. 

Your gaze drifted toward the half-built swing set in the backyard, and your mind started filling in the empty spaces around it. Tiny footsteps running across the grass, a little version of your husband climbing higher than he was supposed to. 

Imagining Sylus pretending to be stern while secretly spoiling them rotten anyway. You could imagine how good of a father he would be – and that made your heart warm. The thought alone made you smile. 

You wondered whose eyes they’d inherit. Whether they’d be as reckless like you or as strong as their father. Your hand rested unconsciously over your stomach, thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. 

Then your phone vibrated beside you against the couch cushion. The screen lit up – it was Sylus calling.  A small smile tugged at your lips as you picked up the Video call. 

Sylus appeared on the screen, his eyes flickering over your face first. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes, mother,” you teased lightly.

Sylus ignored that completely. “And the twins?”

You looked down at your stomach, tilting your head. “Hm. They’re doing alright. I don’t feel them kicking yet.” 

“Hm.” His gaze lingered for a moment. “They’re well-behaved.”

You snorted quietly. “They probably take after me.”

Sylus raised a brow immediately. “Confident assumption.”

“Excuse you?” You gasped softly. 

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth before his attention shifted past the screen slightly, catching the loud banging noises coming from outside.

“...How’s the playground?” Sylus asked. You turned the phone slightly toward the backyard windows. Luke was trying to hold up a wooden beam while Kieran knelt nearby, aggressively hammering something into place.

Sylus was silent for a second. 

“Why is it leaning?” He asked slowly.

You pressed your lips together, already trying not to laugh. “Well, structurally speaking, I think it’s trying its best.”

Outside, Luke noticed the phone pointed at them and proudly gave a thumbs up. Unfortunately, the movement caused the wooden beam he was holding to wobble dangerously to the side. Kieran yelped and grabbed it at the last second.

“We got it under control!” He shouted confidently. 

Sylus closed his eyes briefly, as if he was developing a headache in real time. You watched him sigh softly before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve hired professionals.”

“You’re the one who assigned them,” you reminded him between soft laughs. 

“Clearly a mistake I’m currently paying for.” 

Outside, something clattered loudly to the ground. A moment of silence passed. “Was that the slide?” Sylus asked calmly.

“Yes.” You simply answered. He sighed again – Before he could say anything else, someone from his side called out quietly, “Boss, they’re waiting for you.” 

His attention shifted briefly offscreen before returning to you almost immediately.

“I have to go,” he said, smiling lightly. “I’ll see you later, Kitten.” 

Your chest warmed embarrassingly fast at that. “Mhm. See you later,” you murmured softly.

He didn’t hang up right away. He just looked at you quietly through the screen, expression softened in a way only you can see.

Then the call ended.

A second of quiet settled over the living room; soft, brief, almost peaceful.

Then— CLANG!

Something loud and unmistakably heavy hit the ground outside. The kind of sound that made your soul leave your body for half a second. You slowly turned your head toward the window.

Outside, there was a short, panicked shuffle, followed by Luke’s voice ringing out far too brightly for the situation. “We’re okay!”

“…God forbid they finish the playground before it finishes them,” you said flatly, mostly to yourself, as you sank back into the couch.

It was late by the time Sylus got home. 

The house was silent, deep into the night. The moment he stepped into the living room, his exhaustion eased slightly at the sight of you. You were asleep on the couch. 

One of the lamps near the corner was still on, casting a warm golden glow across the room. A blanket had slipped halfway down your legs at some point, and curled loosely against your chest was a children’s bedtime story book. 

Sylus slowed to a stop, looking at you with a soft gaze.

The book in your hands was still open, one finger tucked between the pages like you slept in the middle of telling a story. A quiet breath left him as he loosened his tie slowly. There was something so soft about the scene in front of him that it made the weight from the entire day feel like it was nothing. 

Sylus moved closer, careful not to wake you. The couch dipped slightly under his weight as he crouched beside you. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, finger lingering against your cheek for a second. His expression softened almost immediately afterwards. 

“Were you listening to your mother?” he murmured quietly as he placed his palm over your belly. “You should. She’s the smartest person in this house.” 

You stirred faintly in your sleep. 

“And try not to make her suffer too much, alright?” he continued, smiling lightly. “She already puts up with enough because of me.”

A faint huff of amusement escaped him after that. 

“No making her too nauseous in the mornings, or kicking her awake at unreasonable hours,” His gaze lingered on your for a moment, before his thumb brushed slightly against your stomach. “She’s carrying the both of you every second of the day. Be gentle to your mother, alright?”

“And when you finally get here…” His eyes flickered briefly towards the half-finished playground outside the window. “Please pretend to enjoy the playground. Your uncles nearly died building it.”

His expression shifted into something almost helplessly tender. 

“Daddy loves you both so much,” He whispers. “Just as much as he loves mommy.” 

He slipped off his coat, draping it over the back of the couch. He then shifted closer and eased himself onto the couch beside you. It was absolutely not big enough space for him – but he made it work anyway.

“Goodnight,” He murmured softly — whether to you, the twins, or all three of you at once. “My love, my life.”

THIRD TRIMESTER

Carrying twins by the third trimester is no joke at all.

Every movement becomes something you have to think about first. Sometimes, you wake up already exhausted because there’s no position that’s comfortable anymore. One baby wedges beneath your ribs while the other sits painfully low against your hips, and it feels like your body is being stretched in opposite directions.

Your pregnancy bump is so big now that you can’t even see your own feet properly. Your balance starts to feel off – bumping into doorframes and counters by a minimum of five times a day. If something falls on the floor, you have to stare at it and contemplate whether it’s worth the struggle of bending down. Usually, it isn’t. 

Your back aches constantly –  a deep, dull pain that lingers at your spine. Your ankles start to swell by evening, even your fingers feel stiff. Sitting too long hurts, but standing hurts too, and somehow lying down hurts most of all because you can’t breathe properly – unless you prop yourself up with pillows. 

And the twins? They never let you forget that they’re there.

You feel everything all at once. One would kick sharply against your ribs, and one would drag their tiny feet across the inside of your stomach. At one point, you could tell if they’re arguing over space inside you. There’s barely room left inside you anymore.

You’re hungry constantly, but your stomach’s compressed so tightly you get full after a few bites. Having to pee every twenty minutes because two babies are crushing your bladder. And this is what makes you cry mostly during your vulnerable nights when you feel uncomfortable, overwhelmed, and tired. 

Somehow, none of it ever feels too unbearable as it should – because through it all, there’s your husband – Sylus. 

Before bed, he stacks pillows behind your back so you can breathe easier when lying down. He keeps snacks you like beside the bed because you might wake up hungry at three in the morning, and he wouldn’t want you to walk to the kitchen by yourself. And when your swollen feet ache after a long day, he kneels in front of the couch without a word, carefully lifting your legs into his lap. 

And on nights where everything becomes too much – Sylus gathers you into his arms as best as he can. His hand always finds your belly, thumb stroking softly over the stretched skin while he murmurs reassuring things against your hair. 

“You’re doing so well, Sweetie," he whispers. “So damn well.”

Sometimes he talks to the twins too, especially when they kick hard enough to make you wince.

“Behave,” he mutters against your stomach with a small frown. “Your mother’s already suffering enough.”

The third trimester is what would push you to the edge the most – but Sylus somehow makes it easier to carry; not because he can take the pain away, no, but because he never lets you carry it all alone. 

One morning, you shifted in bed and woke up. It is not because of the babies this time – though one of them immediately stirred – but because the other side of the bed is cold. 

You blink blearily into the darkness, hand instinctively reaching beside you. For a moment, confusion cuts through your sleepiness. Sylus never leaves the bed without telling you, especially not this late into your pregnancy where you struggle to get up on your own. 

You push yourself upright with a quiet groan, one hand supporting the underside of your stomach. The twins immediately protest with their sluggish little movements, and you pause to catch your breath before carefully swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. 

The room is dim, lit only by the lampshade on the bed side table. 

“Sylus?” You called softly, though he didn’t answer. 

You slowly stepped out into the hallway, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. The house was quiet, until you noticed a shifting of papers and plastic crinkling softly into the room at the far end of the hallway. There was a sliver of warm light spilling from beneath its door. 

The nursery? 

Curious now, you shuffle closer before carefully peeking inside – and immediately have to bite down on a laugh.

Sylus was sitting in the rocking chair near the corner of the room, sleeves rolled up past his forearms, looking absurdly serious while holding a baby doll.

The nursery around him was only half-finished. Instructions manuals were scattered across the table then the floor, and a pack of diapers laid open beside him. 

“...No, that doesn’t feel right,” He murmured to himself. With tenderness, he adjusted the doll slightly against his chest, one large hand supporting its head after. His movements were overly careful – as though he was afraid one wrong hold would somehow hurt it despite the fact that it was literally a plastic doll.

You leaned quietly against the doorway, watching him attempt to reposition the doll again. Sylus glanced toward the open parenting book beside him before trying once more. 

Your chest tightened painfully at the sight – he was practicing, not because anyone told him to – because he wanted to. 

Sylus had moved onto the table, grabbing a fresh pack of diapers.

You watched in stunned silence as one of the most dangerous men you knew carefully unfold a diaper with laser focus.

“How does this have tabs,” He muttered under his breath. “Why are there so many folds?”

One side ended up too loose, and the other somehow folded inward awkwardly. He stared at it for a long moment, then tried fixing it – which somehow made it worse than it already was.

The diaper now sat crooked at a bad angle. A quiet rustle sounded above him before Mephisto swooped down onto the back of the rocking chair, tilting its head towards the baby doll with an askew diaper. 

“...Caw caw.”

“I know it’s ugly,” He said flatly. “You don’t have to say it.”

You couldn’t hold your laughter this time. He immediately looked behind, and his eyes landed on you standing there in the doorway. His expression softened instantly, though there was also the faintest hint of being caught.

“You’re awake,” He says, setting the plastic doll aside before standing to walk towards you. “Something the matter? Does it hurt? Do you need water?”

The questions came one after another so quickly it almost made you smile. By the time he reached you, one hand was already resting carefully against your waist. His eyes moved over your face with concern, searching for any signs that maybe something’s wrong.

“I’m okay,” You reassured softly, reaching up to touch his arm. “I just noticed you weren’t next to me so I came out looking for you.”

Sylus visibly relaxed at that thought. 

“...Why are you doing this now? It’s three in the morning.”

His eyes flickered briefly towards the nursery before returning to you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted quietly. “They’re coming soon, I should know how to do these things.”

“Sylus…” Your chest tightened painfully at the sincerity of his voice.

“You’ve been carrying them for months. The least thing I can do is make sure I know how to take care of them properly when they’re finally here.” 

For a moment, you could only stare at him. The man standing at the nursery at three in the morning, exhausted from work yet makes time to teach himself how to change diapers and carry babies because he wanted to make things easier for you. 

And suddenly, your chest felt so unbearably full it almost hurt. Because everything he did lately—every reaching hand to help you stand up, every glass of water waiting beside the bed, every quiet effort made before you even asked—it all carried the same thing beneath it.

Love.

Not the loud kind. Not the kind written in grand gestures or spoken endlessly into the air. But the kind that lived in devotion. The kind that settled itself into every small action until caring for you became as natural as breathing to him.

So this is love – this is what makes love divine. 

This overwhelming feeling of being cherished so completely that even your exhaustion felt lighter when he touched you.  This quiet certainty that someone would meet your struggles with both hands and say, Let me carry this with you.

You had never felt more loved than you did in this moment. 

That realization alone was enough to make your vision blur. Your lips parted slightly as you looked away, one hand coming up instinctively to wipe beneath your eyes before the tears could trickle down your cheeks. 

His entire expression softened at the sight of you. “Oh, Sweetie…”  Sylus stepped forward and carefully pulled you against him, one arm wrapping securely around your back while the other cradled the side of your head against his chest.

You let out a shaky breath against him, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt as he held you close.

“I hate that I’m crying this much lately,” you admitted weakly between embarrassed laughs. He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss against your hair.

“You’re carrying two human beings,” He said quietly. “You are allowed to cry over whatever you want.” 

Another tear slipped free despite yourself. God – he was making it worse the best way possible. 

“I love you, Sylus.” The words came out quieter than you intended, muffled slightly against his chest, but he still felt the way they trembled out of you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. God, you looked exhausted and emotional.

Sylus’ thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, catching another tear before it could fall. “I love you most.”

Sylus disliked conducting business in public spaces. It’s too unpredictable, and there are many variables he couldn’t fully control. 

Which was exactly why the location he’d been given today irritated him the most – A children’s park. 

Not like it was life threatening. Apparently, the custom crib Sylus ordered for the twins could only be received personally due to “special handling requirements,” and unfortunately for him, he previously sent Luke and Kieran out to handle another business matter several cities away. 

By the time he stepped out of the house that afternoon, displeasure was still faintly visible in the tightness of his expression. 

But the moment he turned to look back at you, he felt a little eased. You stood by the doorway in one of his oversized shirts, one hand resting beneath the heavy curve of your stomach. The third trimester clearly settled into your body by now, visible even in the way you leaned lightly against the frame for support. 

And still, somehow, you managed to smile at him the second your eyes met – it hit him in the chest every single time. 

Sylus stepped closer, hand instinctively sliding around your waist the moment he reached you.  “Call me if anything feels wrong.”

You snorted softly. “You said that ten minutes ago,”

“And I’m reminding you again.” 

The corner of your mouth lifted faintly. “Yes, Sylus.”

His gazed dropped briefly toward your stomach. “And you two,” He murmured, pointing at them. “Behave while I’m gone.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead, then another on your lips. You felt his hand tighten faintly at your waist before leaning back to look at you again. 

“Get some rest while I’m gone,” He murmured softly. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“I will.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he raised an eyebrow at you.

“I actually will this time!”

“Hm.” Clearly unconvinced, he brushed his thumb once against your cheek before finally stepping away.

He turned toward the car waiting outside and drove off.

…

He arrived at the park early. It was late when he saw the message that the pick up was moved thirty minutes later than the time they agreed upon. Sylus didn’t like waiting – but then again, what choice does he have? 

He stood beneath the shade of a tree at the edge of the park, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding his phone. Sylus looked completely out of place among the noises of children laughing and running all around. 

Not far from him, a woman with a stroller slowed to a stop near one of the benches. She looked mildly flustered, glancing back the way she came. 

“Oh no… I left the bag at the cafe,” She muttered under her breath. “I knew I was forgetting something.” 

She turned in a small circle, visibly debating something before her eyes landed on Sylus. For a second, she hesitated – he was tall, sharp-eyed, dressed in leather and all black for a children’s park – but she needed help. 

"Excuse me,” She called out, carefully adjusting her grip on her stroller. “Could you help me for just a moment?”

Sylus looked  over. “Yes?”

The woman exhaled in relief. “I forgot my baby’s bag in the cafe nearby. I just need to run back and grab it – it’ll only take a minute! Could you… watch over her while I go?”

Sylus pauses, gaze shifting briefly to the stroller. The child blinked up at him, swinging their small feet lightly. 

“Go ahead,” He nodded once. “I’ll watch her.”

“Thank you so much!” She hurried off, glancing back once before disappearing down the path. 

Sylus stood there for a moment longer before finally stepping closer to the stroller. The baby looked up and stared at him again – So did he.

For a moment, there was nothing but observation between them. Then Sylus smiled. 

The baby blinked at him once, then twice…and immediately burst into loud crying.

“Oh,” he said calmly, though his tone dipped slightly with confusion. “I’m sorry. I won’t smile again. Don’t cry.” 

The crying only intensified.  For the first time in a long while, Sylus genuinely didn’t know what to do. Though he recalled—somewhere in the parenting books he had been reading at three in the morning—that distraction techniques were recommended.

So he leaned slightly forward. 

“…Peek-a-boo,” he said, lifting one hand slowly in front of his face.

The baby only cried louder. A nearby passerby shot him a very confused look, and another person visibly judged him from a distance.

“That was supposed to work,” he muttered under his breath.  The crying only continued. 

Then, with the kind of quiet resignation he only ever showed in extremely rare situations, Sylus exhaled softly and rested one hand on the edge of the stroller, crouching down to negotiate. 

“…I’m not here to hurt you,” he said quietly, voice gentler than he intended. “It’s alright. Don’t cry.” 

But the baby only cried harder. For a moment, he simply watched—listening to the crying, watching the tiny face scrunch up in distress. It was something he couldn’t negotiate with. 

He’s good at a lot of things – negotiating, calculating – But none of that mattered here. None of it reached a crying child who didn’t understand any of those things. 

Sylus stayed crouched beside the stroller, shoulders tense in a way they rarely were. The baby’s cries echoed through the quiet path, a small face scrunched up with distress no matter how calmly he spoke to her.

“…Your mother’s coming back.” His voice came out lower this time, almost uncertain. “She just stepped away for a minute.”

The crying didn’t stop. He exhaled slowly through his nose, glancing away for half a second like he was searching for an answer somewhere in the empty park around them. Killing someone came easier to him than this.

The stroller shifted slightly as the baby kicked her tiny legs, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

Sylus hesitated before awkwardly reaching over to adjust the little blanket that had slipped down near her side.

For once in his life, Sylus had absolutely no idea what to do. Then footsteps hurried back down the path.

“Sorry for the long wait—thank you again!” the mother called out breathlessly as she approached, immediate relief washing over her face the second she saw the stroller still there.

The baby reacted instantly at the sound of her voice, crying softening into little hiccuping sobs.

Sylus straightened to his feet as the mother took hold of the stroller again, gently checking on her child.

“She didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?” she asked with an apologetic smile.

Sylus looked at the baby for a brief second before answering. “…She hates me.”

The mother let out an embarrassed laugh. “Aw, I’m pretty sure that’s not the case!”

His gaze lingered on the child a moment longer –now already calming down the second her mother was back beside her.

“…I sure hope so.”

“Well, thank you again. Really.” She offered him one last grateful nod before wheeling the stroller away down the path.

Sylus watched them disappear into the distance, silent the entire time.

….

When Sylus finally got home, it was already late enough that the house had settled into silence. He stepped inside carrying the crib boxes himself – Lies. He used his Evol for the rest. 

You were already waiting for him in the living room. 

“Sylus,” you called gently, pushing yourself up with effort from the couch. “You’re back.” 

He didn’t answer right away. It was unusual enough to make you pause, brows knitting slightly as you watched him set the boxes down on the floor one after another. Then he turned toward you, and without a word, walked straight to you. 

“Sy—” 

Your words cut off in a soft breath as he pulled you into his arms. His arms came around you firmly – one settling across your upper back, the other sliding lower with instinctive care to support your waist, mindful of the weight you were carrying. 

You blinked, caught off guard. “Hey… are you alright?” 

He didn’t respond yet. His forehead rested briefly against your shoulder, his grip tightening just slightly.

“…Sylus?” you tried again, softer this time. That finally made him pull back a little. For a moment, he just looked at you. Then, quieter than usual, he spoke.

“...I don’t know if I can be a good father.” 

You frowned immediately, searching his face like you were trying to understand where that came from. “Why would you say that?” 

His gaze shifted slightly away. 

“I’m not a good person,” He admitted with a low voice. “I’m the leader of the Onychinus. I’m highly notorious, and I’ve done things most people would fear.”

His gaze lowered, thoughtful rather than ashamed. There was no guilt in him for what he was – Sylus never cared about being seen as cruel, notorious, or cold. He knew exactly who he was. 

His jaw tightened faintly, forcing himself to say the next part out loud. “How am I supposed to be a good father?”

“Sylus,” you said softly. “You don’t get to decide you’re not good enough just because the world only knows one version of you.” 

For a moment, his expression tightened. He was frustrated with himself for even standing uncertain.

“If there was something I wanted, I got it. If there was a problem, I handled it.” A faint breath left him. “I was always certain I could do anything if I decided to.” 

His eyes lifted back to yours then, and for the first time in a long while, there was something close to vulnerability beneath all that composure. 

“But becoming a father…” The words lingered heavily in the air between you. “That’s the first thing that’s ever made me stop and think – what if I’m not cut out for it?”

You softened immediately at that – not because he looked weak, but because he looked so painfully honest. 

Earlier today, he had probably stood in that park realizing for the first time that there were things in this world he couldn’t command into place. Things that didn’t respond to intelligence, nor power.

And it terrified him more than he wanted to admit. 

Sylus exhaled quietly, his arms tightening around you just slightly.

“I don’t know what makes someone a good father,” he admitted. “And I hate that I can’t be certain about this the way I’m certain about everything else.”

His eyes searched yours for a moment before lowering again, softer now.

“…I don’t fail,” he said confidently. “But for the first time, I’m afraid I might.”

….

That night, Sylus fell asleep holding you. One arm wrapped around your waist while his head rested against your chest, you could feel the slow warmth of his breathing through the fabric of your shirt. 

Even asleep, his brows remained faintly furrowed. It’s as if some part of him was still caught in those thoughts he couldn’t quite put down.

You laid there quietly, one hand slowly combing through his hair as you stared at the ceiling. 

You didn’t know exactly what happened today – what kind of thoughts followed him home so heavily that the first thing he did upon seeing you was to embrace you.

But you understood one thing clearly – Tonight, he was vulnerable.

Sylus is a man terrified of loving something so deeply that the thought of failing them frightened him for the very first time in his life – and that made your chest ache even more fondly for him. 

Your fingers brushed gently through his hair again. 

“You’re going to be a good father,” You whispered as you planted a kiss on top of his head, though he was asleep. “I just know you will be.”  

It was one of those cold, breezy nights that you snuggled closely to Sylus for the warmth of his body.  You were asleep, though lightly, as heavy sleep rarely came for you especially now that you’re nearing your due date. Beside you, Sylus was fast asleep too. 

You woke up to the usual discomfort that comes with being pregnant to two kids. A dull pressure low in your abdomen, making you shift slightly under the blanket. It was nothing unusual – it was a reminder of how far along you were with how little space there seemed to be left inside your own body.

You exhaled slowly through your nose with your eyes still closed. It’ll pass, you thought. 

Spoiler Alert: It didn’t.

Your eyes open now, blinking into the dark bedroom as you try to make sense of it. Another wave rolls through your body, tighter this time, pulling a quiet sound from your throat before you can stop it.

“Sylus…” you called. The name barely leaves your lips before you feel the pressure on your stomach, it is unmistakably different from anything you’ve felt before.

Your hand tightens on the sheets. “Sylus.”

The next second, the sheet rustled beside you. He turned towards you, reaching for you instinctively. 

“What is it, Sweetie?” He asked, voice low and rough with drowsiness. 

Another contraction hits before you could answer him. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you curled slightly. Sylus was wide awake quickly after that. 

One hand moved to steady you, the other already reaching for the bedside lamp. Warm light floods the room as his gaze locks onto your face, scanning you in an instant.

“Is it happening?” he asks.

You tried to answer, but another wave cut you off. All you managed was a strained nod as you gripped his arm tighter. Sylus exhaled once through his nose, then he leaned down quickly and pressed a kiss against your forehead. 

“Okay, Sweetie, try to stay calm,” he says firmly. “We’re going.”

He’s grabbing the hospital bag he packed weeks ago, checking it once out of habit even though you both know it’s ready. He’s helping you sit up, supporting your back carefully as another contraction passes.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, voice steady against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

By the time you reach the car, Sylus has already opened the door for you, helped you in, and adjusted your seatbelt with careful precision. He doesn’t rush you, even though you can tell from the way his jaw is set that every second feels like it matters more than he’s saying. 

Every time a contraction hits, he glances over immediately. One hand stays on the wheel, the other reaching over to your thigh or your hand, wherever he could touch just to ground you through it. 

The wave of discomfort pulled a strained groan from your throat, your fingers gripping his hand tightly it almost left a mark. 

“You’re doing good, Sweetie,” he says once, low. “Hold on a little more, yeah?” 

You shook your head weakly, another pained sound escaping you. 

“I know it hurts,” he murmured softly, trying to calm you through it. “We’re almost there. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Tears stung your eyes as you nodded weakly, trusting him completely even through the pain.

… 

Sylus barely had the engine off before staff were already approaching with a wheelchair, alerted ahead of time by his call during the drive. Nurses immediately surrounded you the second the doors opened, speaking calmly as they carefully helped you out of the car.

Another contraction hit you, making you grip Sylus’ arm tightly as they eased you into the wheelchair. He stayed right beside you the entire time, hand firm at your shoulder. 

You were brought into the maternity room. The medical staff moved around you – but you didn’t even have the time to notice the soft beeping that filled the room, or who was checking your vitals. All you were thinking about is that it's painful.

“Okay, let’s check the babies’ positioning,” the doctor said calmly as they stepped closer. 

Sylus immediately moved closer at the sound you made, one hand finding yours while the other rested carefully against your arm. 

“You’re doing amazing” he murmured quietly, though his eyes never stopped tracking the staff around you. 

The doctor pressed gently against your stomach first, checking carefully before moving to the ultrasound monitor nearby. The screen flickered to life moments later. 

“Twin A is head’s facing downward,” She explained, eyes focused on the image. “That’s good. But Twin B…” She adjusted the probe slightly. “Still higher. The position isn’t ideal yet.” 

Sylus’s brows furrowed immediately. “What does that mean?” 

“It means we will continue monitoring closely,” Doctor Xie answered calmly. “Twins can complicate labor progression, especially depending on positioning.” 

Another contraction hit before you could fully process it, stronger this time. Your fingers tightened painfully around Sylus’s hand as you sucked in a strained breath. 

The doctor glanced briefly between the monitor and your expression before speaking again.

“She’s progressing,” they said carefully. “But this may take time.”

An hour or two passed slowly. There was nothing major happening yet, it's just constant monitoring and contractions that came and went. 

And in that waiting, It was only you and Sylus.

You were in the bed, turned slightly toward him whenever you could manage it, while Sylus sat right beside you in the chair he pulled close enough that your hand never had to reach far to find him. 

“You’re shaking.” He noticed quietly.

“I’m fine, Sylus.” You lied weakly. He didn’t argue about it, he just exhaled through his nose and shifted a little closer to you instead.  “Actually, I am not,” You admitted, giving him a tired look. “It feels like it’s never going to end.”

“Of course it will,” He said immediately with no hint of doubt in it at all. 

“I’m never getting pregnant again,” you said in a strained, exhausted breath. 

“If that’s what you want,” he replied calmly. “Though if you ask me, I want a dozen more kids.”

You gave him a weak, incredulous look, but another contraction stole most of your strength before you could respond.

Sylus leaned in, bringing your hand up slightly and pressing a slow, steady kiss against your knuckles. 

“You’re doing really well,” he said quietly.  His thumb brushed over your skin once more, grounding, certain. “You can do this.” he added, eyes holding yours without wavering. 

“And if I can’t?” you asked, voice breaking slightly under the exhaustion and pain. 

The words barely left you before Sylus’s expression twisted. He furrowed his eyebrows, opening his mouth to answer but nothing came out fast enough – because in the same second, you felt the most gut wrenching pain in your stomach. 

Your body tensed and you instinctively tried to sit up. For a split second, it was exactly what you had been told to expect: a release of pressure, a warm rush that signaled your body finally moving into the next stage.  Though you noticed the pool of blood in between your legs – and that was never a good sign.

 “Sy– Sylus!”

The monitors beside you spiked, beeping faster. A nurse stepped in quickly. “Her water has broken, but there’s—” she hesitated briefly, checking again, “—significant blood present. We need the doctor now!”  

For a moment, everything blurred. 

The pain came in waves that made it hard to focus on anything else, the room around you fading in and out. Voices sounded distant. The beeping felt far away. Even your own breathing felt heavy and uneven.

But your hand was still in Sylus’s. That much you could still feel clearly. 

Everything felt hazy, like you were drifting in and out between moments. And through that haze, you saw him – Sylus, right beside you.

His hand was still holding yours tightly, but his face… it was different. The usual calm wasn’t there in the same way. And for the first time in your life, you saw raw fear in Sylus’s eyes. 

You barely managed to hold onto that image before your surroundings changed again. The room suddenly filled with movement and urgency as the staff prepared for delivery. Voices became quicker,  your bed was immediately wheeled out of the room.  

Sylus stayed right beside you, still holding your hand the entire time as they rushed you down the hallway. He didn’t let go, not even once. 

The doors to the delivery room opened ahead of you. And you were taken inside—about to give birth – and everything faded out in a blur. 

You drifted back into awareness slowly. 

At first, there was only light. 

Bright, sterile, almost blinding—spilling across your vision in soft, unfocused halos that made it hard to tell where the ceiling ended. It buzzed faintly above you, a constant hum of machines threading through the room. 

You blinked, slowly. 

Your body felt heavy and grounded in the bed. When you tried to move, you realized you couldn’t move the way you normally would. Your legs were gently lifted and supported, placed in position for delivery. At one point, the whole thing scared you. 

“Where…” you softly said, your voice weak as you tried to sit up. “Where’s my husband?”

“Ma’am, stay still for me, okay?” she said calmly, her voice firm but reassuring. “You’re safe. He’s just right outside changing into scrubs. He’ll be here shortly.”

You nodded, feeling the dull, throbbing pain in your stomach settle in waves.

A few moments later, the door opened again. The moment his eyes found yours, the urgency in his expression softened into something so tender. 

“Hey,” he said quietly as he reached for your hand. “I’m here.” 

His grip tightened around yours just as another wave hit—harder this time.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your body tensing without warning. The Doctor straightened, checking monitors..

“Okay,” the doctor said, eyes on the monitor. “We’re fully dilated. On the next contraction, I need you to push with it.”

You nodded quickly, breath already uneven. Sylus didn’t let go of your hand – he stayed close, his eyes fixed on you. .

Another contraction came hard.

“Now,” the nurse guided. “Deep breath–chin down –...and push.”

You cried out softly as you pushed, your whole body straining against the pressure. It felt like everything inside you was working against everything outside of you. When it eased, you gasped for air, trembling. 

“Good,” the nurse encouraged. “We go again on the next one.”

Sylus brushed his thumb lightly over your knuckles. “I’m here,” he said quietly. “Keep going, okay?”

Another wave came faster this time. You barely had time to breathe before it hit.

“Push,” the nurse said again.

You tried harder this time. Your voice broke as you pushed through the pain, tears slipping down your temples. The effort left you shaking afterward, your body struggling to recover between contractions.

“I— I can’t…” you whispered, shaking.

Sylus leaned closer immediately. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly. “You’re doing it. Just breathe.”

Another contraction surged – stronger, heavier.

“Now—push,” the nurse instructed again.

You pushed. It was longer this time, more desperate. Your strength was visibly fading, breath becoming uneven, your grip on Sylus tightening painfully as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

When it finally eased, you didn’t fully recover. You stayed hunched, breathing shallow, vision unfocusing at the edges.

“Ma’am?” the nurse said, noticing immediately. “Can you hear me?”

You tried to nod—but your head barely moved.

Sylus’s expression changed instantly. “Hey—hey, Sweetie,” he said, firm now, concern breaking through his calm. “Stay with us.”

Another monitor alarm changed pitch.

“Fetal heart rate is dropping,” someone called out.

“Maternal blood pressure is falling,” another voice added.

“Stop pushing,” the nurse said quickly.

But your body didn’t respond immediately—you were too exhausted, too far gone between awareness and pain.

Sylus squeezed your hand hard. “Stay with me,” he said, voice low but urgent now. “Please.”

Your fingers trembled in his. Then slowly… they loosened. Your head tilted slightly to the side, breath weakening.

“Call it,” the nurse said immediately. “We’re not progressing.”

“We’re going for an emergency cesarean,” the doctor said firmly. “Now.”

For a brief second, everything moved at once.

Hands adjusted monitors. Voices overlapped in short, controlled urgency. 

“Sir,” the nurse said, already turning to Sylus, “I need you to step out with us for now.”

Sylus didn’t move at first.

“My wife—” his voice came out rougher than before. “My wife is–”

“We understand,” the nurse said gently but firmly, guiding him by the arm. “We’re taking over from here. It’s a sterile procedure now. She’s going to be moved to the operating room.”

But Sylus resisted only for a second longer, as if his body refused to accept distance from you.

Then he looked back again. You were being adjusted, stabilized, surrounded – too many hands, too much movement.

And you weren’t fully responding anymore.

Sylus didn’t realize he had stopped walking until the nurse guiding him gently tightened her hold. 

The corridor felt too bright, too long, too far away from where you were. He kept looking over his shoulder even as they escorted him out.

His last view of you was through the shrinking space between the doors—your still form, the movement around you, the room swallowing you whole. 

Then it shut, and he was left staring at it.

The corridor was mostly empty. Sylus sat on the metal chair, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. He had faced a lot of things in his life—things that had left blood on his hands without ever making him flinch.

But now, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He didn’t know what to think, or what to do with the silence pressing in from behind those closed doors. Every second that passed felt heavy. His jaw tightened slightly as he stared at the floor, then at the doors again. 

He couldn’t stop replaying it.

The moment your grip loosened in his hand. The way your body had gone still while the room moved into urgency around you. 

He faced bigger threats before. He had walked into situations where his life was on stake.

But none of that felt like this. This was different.

This was you – His wife.

His fingers tightened slightly, then loosened again, like he couldn’t decide what to do with his own hands. 

He exhaled slowly, but it didn’t steady anything. 

Because every version of the memory ended the same way in his mind—your hand slipping from his, and him not being able to hold on to you long enough.

The doors finally opened. 

Sylus was on his feet as quick as he could. A nurse stepped out, removing her gloves slowly. Her expression was calm, though there was a hint of fear in it.

“How’s my wife?,” Sylus asks immediately. “And the babies?”

She exhaled, steadying herself. “We had some complications.”

Sylus chest tightened hearing it. 

“She lost a significant amount of blood during the procedure,” she said. “We’ve managed to deliver both babies, but neither of them were responsive at birth. The neonatal team is currently doing everything they can.” 

Everything after that became muffled. He was still standing there, still looking at the nurse but it felt like the floor beneath him had suddenly become unsteady. A cold heaviness settled in his chest so sharply it almost made him feel weak.

His jaw tightened slightly as he forced himself to focus on the nurse again. “…Will they eventually be alright?”

The nurse’s expression softened, just slightly. “We’re trying our best.”

Sylus looked away for the first time that night, one hand pressing briefly against his mouth as he exhaled hard through his nose, trying to keep himself steady.

But his thoughts were already spiraling somewhere he didn’t want them to go.

For the first time in his life, Sylus felt fear  – That he might lose both his children and his wife. 

…

He never left the lobby after that.

Hours seemed to blur together around him, but Sylus stayed exactly where he was, seated in the same metal chair outside the operating floor. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped together tightly enough to ache, eyes fixed somewhere distant like he wasn’t fully seeing anything in front of him anymore.

He was spiraling. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Luke and Kieran arrived not long after, having rushed over the second they were informed something had gone wrong. But the moment they stepped into the hospital lobby, both of them slowed.

Because the man sitting there barely looked like the Boss-Man they knew. 

Their boss was always composed. Untouchable. The kind of person who could walk through corpses of people he just killed without ever looking shaken.

But now he just sat there in silence, staring down the floor with an expression so distant it genuinely unsettled them. It was like a man holding himself together by the last thread he had left.

And what made it worse – what made Luke and Kieran stop in their tracks completely—was the fact that it was the first time they had ever seen Sylus with tears in his eyes. 

His eyes were glassy, and every now and then a tear slipped down his face without him seeming to notice. 

“Boss…” Luke called carefully.

Sylus looked up at them. And for a second, neither of them recognized the expression on his face.

Because Sylus looked genuinely scared.

It was the fear of someone realizing there was absolutely nothing they could do.

To my Dearest Wife.

If you are reading this, then it means I am likely somewhere between certainty and doubt again – probably pretending I am only the former. 

I don’t think I said it enough then, so I will say it properly now. 

Thank You.

For enduring all the months that changed your body, your strength, and your comfort in ways I could only witness, never fully feel. For the pain you went through that I could only stand beside, and never take away. 

I wish I could have taken even a fraction of it from you.

But I also know you would have refused. That is just who you are – A strong, selfless woman.

When I look at them, I will think of you first before anything else. They exist because you endured what I could not.

And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget what you are doing is extraordinary.

Not just as their mother, but as you - my wife.

The person who changed everything I thought I understood about strength, patience, and love.

Half my soul is already yours, and I have long stopped knowing where I end and you begin. 

Thank you for trusting me with this life. 

Thank you for giving me a family.

I love you, my dearest wife.

Your Husband, 

Sylus

To Silas and Silva.

You probably won’t understand this letter until much later. Maybe, that’s for the best.

There are things your father has done in his life that never frightened him. Before the two of you, I thought there was very little in this world capable of making me hesitate. Other than your mother, I was afraid of nothing.

Until the both of you came into our lives.

I began preparing long before either of you were close to being born. Your room was finished weeks earlier than necessary because I disliked the thought of not being ready. I read books I never thought I would touch in my lifetime. Your mother laughed at me once for reading parenting manuals at three in the morning. 

Your mother tells me often that I will be a good father. I am still learning how to believe her. But I do know this: there has never been anything in my life I have wanted to protect more than the two of you. 

Sometimes, late at night, I rest my hand against your mother’s stomach and wonder who you will become.

Will you inherit her kindness? I hope so.

Will you inherit my arrogance? I sincerely hope not.

I find myself wondering what you’ll sound like when you first cry. Whether one of you will be louder than the other. Whether you’ll calm instantly when your mother holds you, or if it will take me a few tries to learn how to soothe you properly. I wonder if you’ll love your mother as fiercely as I do.

You should. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I think about the moment I finally get to see your faces.

And I realize, I am looking forward to it more than I expected.

And I want both of you to know,  no matter what kind of man the world believes me to be, understand this clearly: Before you were even born, you were loved completely—and I will only love you more from here on.

“...Love, Dad.”

Your voice softened around the final words as you lowered the letter slightly, the paper crackling faintly between your fingers.

Silas was curled against your side beneath the blanket, absently tracing the edge of the paper with tiny fingers while Silva lay half-asleep across your lap. 

“Again,” Silas whispered immediately.

You laughed under your breath. “We just finished it.”

“But I like Daddy’s letter.”

Your chest tightened a little at that. 

Silva tilted her head up toward you curiously. “Mama?”

“Hm?”

“Did Daddy really read baby books at three in the morning?”

You snorted softly. “Oh, constantly.”

From the hallway, a low voice spoke immediately. “I heard that.”

The twins perked up instantly. “Daddy!”

Sylus had just returned home, still loosening the cuffs of his sleeves as he stepped into the living room. The exhaustion on his face disappeared the moment he saw the three of you curled together beneath the blanket. 

The second the twins saw him, they both launched off the couch at the exact same time. Tiny footsteps thundered across the living room as Silas and Silva sprinted toward him without hesitation. 

Sylus barely had enough time to open his arms before both children crashed straight into him.

Silas wrapped himself tightly around his legs first, nearly knocking him back a step, while Silva immediately climbed into the hug too, arms squeezing around him possessively like she needed to make sure she got her share.

“There’s my litters,” he murmured quietly, pressing a kiss against Silva’s hair before ruffling Silas’ head gently. 

Silas tilted his head up excitedly. “Daddy, guess what?” 

“What?”

“It’s our fourth birthday!”

A small smile tugged at Sylus’ mouth. “So I’ve heard.”

Silva narrowed her eyes suspiciously then immediately leaned back just enough to inspect his hands.

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“Our presents!” The twins immediately started looking around him anyway. 

Silva peeked behind his legs. Silas checked near the doorway. Then both children looked up at him with identical narrowed eyes. “WHERE IS IT?” 

Sylus looked down at them calmly, clearly seconds away from teasing them for at least another five minutes.

“Presents? I don’t know what you’re talking abou—”

“Sylus,” you warned immediately from the couch.

He glanced toward you.

You were already giving him that look. The one that said don’t you dare make them cry on their birthday just because you think it’s funny.

Then Sylus slowly raised both hands in surrender. “Alright,” he sighed. “Daddy’s just messing around.”

Sylus tilted his head slightly toward the large glass doors leading outside.  “Go look at the backyard.” 

Then both their eyes widened at the exact same time.

“No way,” Silas whispered.

Silva shoved her brother’s arm so fast she nearly dragged him off balance. “MOVE!”

The two of them bolted toward the doors at full speed, nearly slipping over themselves in excitement while you laughed helplessly from the couch. 

Sylus walked over beside you just as the twins yanked the curtains open. 

Outside in the backyard, surrounded by mountains of brightly wrapped gift boxes, stood Luke and Kieran in full clown costumes and matching red noses. 

Between them stood Mephisto perched stiffly on top of a giant present box with an absurd little party hat somehow attached to its head. 

“CLOWNS?!” The scream that left Silva’s mouth was loud enough to shake the glass doors.

Silas was already bouncing in place beside her so hard he nearly slipped.

“Daddy, there are clowns!” Before either of them could say another word, the twins shoved the sliding doors open and bolted outside at full speed. 

Silas crashed directly into him first, wrapping both little arms around his legs so suddenly Luke stumbled backward from the impact.

Meanwhile Silva launched herself straight at Kieran without hesitation.

“We love your noses!” Kieran made a deeply startled noise as Silva hugged him around the middle.

“…I don’t know how to respond to this,” he admitted stiffly. 

Luke looked equally caught off guard, awkwardly patting Silas’ head once with giant clown gloves.

“Well,” he muttered. “This is unexpectedly wholesome.”

Silas looked up at him with sparkling eyes. “Do clowns know magic?”

“Absolutely,” Luke answered immediately.

Kieran turned toward him slowly. “Why did you answer that so confidently?”

“Commit to the performance.”

Mephisto suddenly flapped its mechanical wings from atop the present box.

The twins gasped dramatically. “MEPHISTO HAS A HAT!” Silva shouted.

Before anyone could stop her, she immediately abandoned Kieran and sprinted toward the mechanical crow perched proudly atop the giant gift box. 

“Mephiiii!”

Mephisto straightened instantly at the incoming danger.

Silva ignored that entirely and wrapped both arms around him anyway, nearly squishing the poor mechanical bird against her chest.

“Caw! Caw Caw! Caw–!” Mephisto immediately erupted into panicked screeching.

Its wings flapped wildly in distress while Silva only hugged him tighter. 

“You’re so cute!” she giggled, burying her cheek against his metal frame.

For a moment, the crow kept struggling as it tried to process the situation. Then the frantic flapping slowed. 

“Caw… caw…” Mephisto’s glowing eyes dimmed just slightly, stabilizing as if recalibrating itself in real time.

Its wings, which had been rigidly fighting moments ago, slowly settled against Silva’s small arms instead of pushing away. The tension in its frame eased little by little, like it had stopped trying to escape. He’s taking a liking to the feeling of being cuddled!

From the doorway, you stood beside Sylus, watching the entire scene unfold in the backyard. The twins’ laughter echoed loudly as Silas ran in circles around Luke while Silva proudly declared Mephisto her “new best friend.” 

You tilted your head slightly. “I still can’t believe you got Luke and Kieran into clown costumes.” 

Sylus didn’t even look away from the yard. “It wasn’t difficult.” 

Then you added, “How did you even convince them?”

“I figured that they always pull the most absurd birthday surprises for me every year,” Sylus said, tilting his head lightly against the doorframe, eyes still on the yard. “Might as well commit the same energy for my children.” 

Silas was laughing so hard while trying to climb the swing set that Luke had to steady him with an exasperated sigh.

Silva, still hugging Mephisto tightly, was spinning slightly in place while the mechanical crow emitted a calm, resigned “caw…”.  It had accepted that this was its new purpose in life.

You leaned a little closer to Sylus, watching the scene with a soft smile. Then, without saying anything at first, you wrapped your arms gently around his waist. 

“Thank you for the gifts,” you murmured against his back. “They look so happy.” 

Sylus went still for a moment.

His hand reached down instinctively, resting over yours where it held him. His gaze stayed on the twins – like he was memorizing the sound of their laughter, the way they moved without fear, without hesitation, without anything but joy.

“…They are,” he said quietly. “More than I expected.” 

Sylus exhaled softly, almost like the weight in his chest had finally settled into something gentler. Then he moved slightly, turning more fully toward you. 

His hand lifted, brushing lightly against your hair before he leaned down and pressed a slow, quiet kiss to the top of your head. 

“...For you too, my wife,” he murmured. Then his hand moved to your cheek again, guiding your face gently upward. Then he leaned in and kissed you. 

“DADDY IS KISSING MOMMY!” Silas shouted at the top of his lungs. 

“Oh my god, they are,” Luke blurted out immediately. “Kieran—cover their eyes!” 

Meanwhile Silva gasped dramatically, as if witnessing something deeply scandalous. She immediately spun around and covered Mephisto’s eyes with both hands. “DON’T LOOK!” she whispered urgently.

From inside the doorway, you broke into soft laughter against Sylus’ lips as he finally pulled back.  He huffed a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh, his hand still steady at your waist.

“Thank you, Sylus,” you said gently. 

"For what?”

You hesitated only a second, eyes flicking briefly toward the yard – the life he had quietly built around all of you.

Then you smiled. “For everything.” 

You simply moved closer, and Sylus met you halfway without hesitation, settling beside you until your shoulders touched and the distance between you disappeared. His arm came around you instinctively, while your head found its place against him.

Before the moment could settle completely, tiny footsteps thundered across the patio again.

“MOMMY! DADDY!”

Silas grabbed Sylus’ hand while Silva latched onto yours immediately, both children tugging with all their strength toward the backyard.

“Come outside!” Silva insisted breathlessly. “We need a birthday picture!” Silas added.

Sylus barely had time to sigh before the twins were already dragging both of you across the yard.

The second Luke spotted the four of you approaching, he straightened instantly and pointed toward the giant present box dramatically. “Positions, everyone.”

Within seconds, Luke had somehow arranged everyone into place while Kieran stood behind the camera.

“Silas, stop climbing your father.”

“I WANT TO BE TALL LIKE DADDY!”

“Silva, don’t put the party hat on Mephisto upside down.”

“HE LIKES IT.” 

You broke into laughter just as Sylus pulled you a little closer against his side, one arm steady around your waist while the twins squeezed in between both of you.

“Alright,” Kieran muttered flatly, already preparing the camera. “Everyone look alive.”

The twins immediately grinned at full power.

“Three… two… one—”

Click.

The moment froze there forever – Silas grinning with half his front teeth missing, Silva clutching Mephisto proudly against her chest, your genuine smile, and the way Sylus’ lips curved with the kind of love that softened every sharp edge he had left. 

Later that night, the house had fallen still. The twins were asleep upstairs, exhausted from sugar rush and excitement, while soft lamplight spilled across the hallway wall.

Sylus stood beside you holding the freshly framed print carefully in his hands. You reached up to straighten it after he placed it on the wall.

Right beside last year’s photo. Then another, and another.

Birthday after birthday stretched down the hallway in uneven little snapshots of your lives together.

Until finally, near the very beginning, there they were as newborns – wrapped in pink and blue hospital blankets. They were barely bigger than Sylus’ forearm as he held them close against his chest in the photograph.

You smiled the second you saw it again. “Oh, you were definitely crying here.”

Sylus immediately raised an eyebrow. “I was not.”

“You absolutely were,” you laughed softly, pointing at the picture. “Your eyes are red.”

Sylus narrowed his eyes at you before glancing back toward the photograph again.

“…I probably did cry,” he admitted under his breath.

Your smile gentled instantly.

For a while, he said nothing at all. His thumb brushed absently along the edge of the frame as his gaze lingered on the picture — on you, exhausted but smiling faintly, and the twins tucked safely against him. 

He placed the golden frame back on the mantelpiece, the small clink of metal against wood sounding extraordinarily loud in the quiet room.

“That night…” he began. “…I thought I'd lose you - All of you.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, finally leaning back just enough to steady himself, but his eyes didn’t leave the frame.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted quietly. “I just stood, staring at the ceiling, bargaining with anything that might be listening - heaven, fate, whatever name they went."

He moved closer then, wrapping himself around her from behind.

“And I swear…” Sylus exhaled slowly, voice roughened by memory, “Heaven knows how much I asked for you.”

Your chest tightened with a warmth. You let your eyes close, leaning your head back against his shoulder as his arms wrapped securely around you.

And it made sense, then… how far his love for you all would’ve gone - he would’ve burned everything down for you.

“I love you, Sylus.” you whispered, your fingers lacing through his.

His fingers curled gently around yours.

“I love you too,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing against your temple. "In this life, and the next."

For a moment, it felt like nothing in the world could ever take this away – It was just the soft beginning of a life that begins and ends with you. 

And if the world ever tried to take you from him again, he would tell them no—that whatever comes after this, whatever waits beyond it, even heaven itself, can wait.

Every summer, Zoey spent a few weeks in her grandmother’s flower shop—a cozy little place that always smelled like soil, sunlight, and something sweet. It wasn’t big or fancy, but it had charm, with ivy curling around the windows and handwritten price tags tied to each bouquet.

Her grandmother had a long distance trip, and like one good grandchild, she offered to watch over the house and the shop while she’s away. She liked dusting the shelves, trimming the stems, and tying ribbons around paper-wrapped flowers. She liked the peace of it.

Most mornings, before the first customer arrived, she’d hum a little tune while watering the plants. Sometimes she sang quietly to the rows of tulips or the sleepy sunflowers just starting to turn toward the light. It was silly, maybe, but it made her feel connected. Like the flowers knew her voice. Like they bloomed a little just for her.

Zoey could still remember the dinner from a few nights ago—just her and Grandma seated at the small wooden table near the back of the shop, plates of warm soup between them, and a soft breeze drifting in through the open back door.

Between bites, her grandmother gave her the usual welcome-back talk. A little teasing, a little storytelling. And then, as always, came the run-through of the regulars.

“Mrs. Choi comes every Thursday. She likes carnations. Always says they last longer, but really she just doesn’t want to spend too much.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lee? They still argue over which flowers to buy. They’ve been married fifty years and still haven’t agreed on a single bouquet.”

“There’s a high school teacher who buys orchids but never remembers the name. And a little boy who brings his allowance for one rose every Sunday—for his mom.”

She had smiled through it all, the way she always did—half-listening, half-focusing on her rice.

Then her grandmother added, “Oh, and there’s a boy your age. Comes in every week. Never talks much. Just buys the same thing.”

“What thing?” she asked.

“White tulips and baby’s breath. Every time.”

That gave her pause. “Who’s he buying them for?”

Grandma shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “That’s the mystery, isn’t it? Hair always in his eyes, walks like he’s late even when he’s early. But polite. Quiet. Never forgets to say thank you.”

She didn’t think much of it at the time. Just another one of the shop’s many odd habits. But still, the image stuck—messy hair, white flowers, quiet voice.

Zoey liked mornings best.

The town woke up slowly, and so did the shop. She’d unlock the front door around 7:30, tie on her apron, and start with the plants out front—misting the lavender, checking the soil, whispering little greetings to the marigolds like they were old friends. It was the kind of rhythm that felt easy. Comforting.

Customers came and went at their own pace. Some were familiar faces—neighbors picking up arrangements for birthdays or anniversaries. Others were travelers who stumbled in by accident, drawn by the hanging ferns and warm smell of eucalyptus. Zoey didn’t mind either way. She liked chatting, but she liked the quiet just as much.

By mid-morning, things slowed. The “dead hour,” her grandmother called it—when most people were at work or home, and the shop felt more like a greenhouse than a business.

Zoey sat behind the counter, legs tucked under her, lazily rearranging some new bouquets. A few soft jazz tracks hummed through the old radio, and the gentle scent of lilies drifted in from the back. At one point, she leaned over the counter with her chin on her arm, dangerously close to dozing off.

Then the bell above the door jingled.

She blinked and sat up quickly, brushing a few petals off her shirt. “Welcome in—!”

Just like her grandmother had said: tall, quiet, and kind of scruffy in a mysterious way. His hair flopped over his eyes, just enough to hide what color they were. He stepped inside like he’d been here a thousand times, hands in his pockets, gaze already sweeping toward the usual shelf.

White tulips. Baby’s breath.

Zoey’s heart did something weird in her chest. Like a hiccup, but lower.

Oh. It’s him.

Once he turned to the counter, he froze for a second.

Just a blink—barely enough for most people to notice—but Zoey caught it. The tiniest shift in his step, like his brain had paused to recalibrate.

He had expected her grandmother. Not… her.

And now they were just standing there. Staring.

Zoey straightened up behind the counter, smoothing her apron out of pure reflex. He didn’t speak, and for a second she wondered if he could—or if maybe she was dreaming this whole thing and hadn’t actually woken up from her almost-nap.

“Do you…” she cleared her throat gently, trying to sound casual. “Do you need help with that?”

His eyes, half-hidden under his hair, flicked toward the flowers. Then back to her. He gave a small, single nod.

Quiet type. Just like Grandma said.

Zoey stepped out from behind the counter and walked over, the scent of sweet pea and hydrangeas brushing past her as she moved. “White tulips and baby’s breath, right?”

He looked slightly surprised again—like maybe he didn’t expect her to know. But then, slowly, he nodded again.

“Got it,” she said, reaching for a few of the best stems. “Let me wrap those up for you.”

He watched her work, silent as ever, but not in a cold way. More like someone who kept his words close, careful with when and how he used them.

Zoey pretended not to notice how her fingers felt clumsier than usual. Or how the inside of her chest felt warmer than it had a few minutes ago.

She worked quickly, maybe a little too quickly. Her hands moved through the familiar motions—trimming, wrapping, tying the paper—but her brain was buzzing in the background.

So this is him. Messy hair, quiet energy, soft steps. Just like her grandmother described. Except he looked even more out of place in real life, like someone who had wandered into the wrong decade with a face too pretty for small towns.

She glanced up and caught him watching her. Not in a bold way. More like… curiously. Cautiously. Like he hadn’t expected her and didn’t quite know what to do about it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shift his weight, hands still tucked into his hoodie pocket. His gaze stayed low—on the floor, on the flowers, anywhere but her.

When she finally handed over the bouquet, their fingers brushed for a second.

He blinked. She pretended not to notice.

“There you go,” she said quietly.

He nodded again, held the bouquet like it was made of glass, and turned to go without a word.

The bell above the door jingled. Zoey let out a slow breath.

Okay. So that was the guy.

She looked down at the now-empty counter and then, without really meaning to, smiled to herself.

Definitely not what she expected.

She was still smiling faintly to herself, replaying the moment like a scene from some quiet indie film—mysterious boy, flowers, no words, gentle eye contact—when her eyes drifted to the register.

Her smile faltered.

Wait.

Wait.

He didn’t pay.

Zoey’s head shot up. The bell had just stopped jingling. Through the window, she caught a glimpse of his back already halfway down the street, one hand holding the bouquet, the other still tucked in his hoodie pocket.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, smacking her palm gently to her forehead. “I forgot to charge him.”

She looked toward the door. For half a second, she considered running after him. But the mental image of herself bursting out of the shop yelling ‘Excuse me! Flower thief!’ was… not ideal.

Instead, she groaned, leaning both elbows on the counter. “Cool, Zoey. Great start. First real sale of the summer and you give it away for free.”

She dropped her head into her arms.

Then, muffled into the wood. “Grandma’s totally gonna laugh at me.”

Still, a small part of her was amused. Not just because it was mildly embarrassing, but because of him. How quiet he’d been. How he never once looked impatient. Like he would’ve stood there forever, bouquet in hand, waiting for her to remember the obvious.

She sighed, lifting her head.

Maybe he’d come back.

The next morning, Zoey opened the shop like nothing had happened.

Okay—tried to act like nothing had happened.

But every time she looked at the register, she remembered. Every time she walked past the tulips, she remembered. Every time the bell above the door made even the slightest jingle, her heart jumped a little, thinking—

Is that him?

But no. Not at first.

By late morning, the usual rhythm settled in. A woman came in for daisies, a delivery boy dropped off a crate of new succulents, and Zoey found herself rearranging the display table for the third time, pretending she wasn’t watching the clock.

It was nearly noon when the bell finally chimed.

She looked up, casually this time—or so she told herself.

And there he was.

Same hoodie. Same hair falling over his eyes. Same quiet steps. Zoey froze, mid-tuck of a ribbon.

He paused a few feet from the counter, glanced at her briefly, then reached into his pocket. Pulled out a folded bill. No words. Just placed it gently on the counter.

She blinked. Slowly.

Oh. He remembered. He came back to pay.

She looked at the money, then at him. “…Hi.”

He nodded once. The faintest hint of apology flickered across his face. Still no words, but the message was clear enough.

“I—um.” She tried not to smile, but failed a little. “You didn’t have to. I mean, I’m glad you did. But, like. I wasn’t gonna chase you down the street or anything.”

His lips twitched, barely there. Almost a smile.

Almost.

He turned to leave again, clearly not planning to linger.

But this time, just before the door, he paused. Looked over his shoulder.

And gave the tiniest wave.

Then he was gone.

Zoey stared at the door for a long moment, then at the money on the counter.

“He definitely smiled that time,” she whispered to herself.

Overview

“Cheers!”

The clink of wine glasses rang out under the golden Bahamian sunset, the sea breeze warm against their sunkissed skin.

Hunterix had claimed one side of the private beach, the soft crash of waves just behind them, a low bonfire crackling in front. The smell of salt, grilled shrimp, and roasted marshmallows filled the air. It was their first real break in months — no rehearsals, no stage lights, no screaming fans — just sand, sea, and the taste of freedom.

“What a great tour,” Rumi sighed, sinking back into the oversized bean bag chair and swirling her wine. “Ending the world tour on a good note — no disasters, no wardrobe malfunctions, no last-minute vocal rests. I’m almost emotional.”

“I knowww!” Mira said, dramatically flopping beside Zoey on the striped lounger. Her curls were still wet from the ocean, her oversized sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Thirty stadiums. Sold out. Hunterix didn’t just perform — we ate.”

“We didn’t just eat,” Zoey added, smug and glowing under the fairy lights. “We devoured.”

“Spoken like a true leader,” Rumi grinned, holding up her glass again.

They laughed, tipsy off the wine and the relief of being done — finally done. The afternoon sun hung low but still bright, casting warm, golden light that stretched lazily across the shore. Music from a portable speaker buzzed somewhere near the beach bar.

Then Zoey frowned, pulling out her phone from the beach blanket. She zoomed in on a blurry Instagram story. “Huh. Tell me this isn’t what I think it is…”

“What?” Mira leaned in, squinting. “Is that—?”

“It is,” Zoey said, tone darkening. “The Saja boys are in the Bahamas.”

Rumi quickly turned his head towards Zoey, furrowing her eyebrows almost immediately. “You’re bluffing.”

She flashed her screen in front of Rumi, which collected an exasperated groan from her.

“Why do they always follow our schedule?” Rumi complained, tossing her half-eaten marshmallow into the fire. “It’s like they have ears in hell or something.”

“They just want to steal our moment again – just like how they want to steal our fans!,” Mira muttered. “Didn’t they drop their comeback teaser, like, right after ours?”

“Two hours after,” Zoey said, jabbing her skewer into the sand. “They’ve made a career out of riding our coattails. No originality. Just… jawlines, abs, and pretty face!”

“Jawlines, I can agree for sure,” Rumi said with a sigh, sipping her wine. “But talent? Debatable.”

“Fuck Saja boys,” Mira said casually, grabbing another marshmallow.

“Yeah. Fuck Saja boys,” Zoey repeated with a smirk, raising her glass again.

“Fuck Saja boys!” Rumi huffed, stabbing at the fire with more aggression than necessary.

“Well, that’s one way to start a conversation,” said a voice — low, amused, and unmistakably familiar.

The girls froze. They knew exactly who it was without having to turn their heads. It’s as if their worst collective nightmare had just spoken.

Slowly, very slowly, they turned.

And there they were.

The Saja boys.

(Cue music: Uhh Ahh) Jinu. Abby. Romance. Mystery. Baby. In that exact order.

Wearing linen shirts, swim shorts, sunglasses perched on damp hair, and that unmistakable aura of boys who knew they looked good. They strolled down from the beach villa like they owned the coast.

Jinu stood with his hands tucked in his pockets, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Mind if we sit with you guys?”

“Hell no!” Rumi shot to her feet like she’d been electrocuted. “Bahamas is big, why are you here?!”

“I should be the one asking you that. Why are you here?” But Jinu is already sliding into the seat beside Rumi before she could say no.

“Wow, thank you, Hunterix girls are so generous.” Abby said smoothly, sitting next on Mira’s left side while he helps himself with a can of soda in the girl’s cooler.

Romance gave Mira a wink, sitting on her right side. “We keep meeting like this. I’m starting to think that you like me.”

Mira groaned and pulled the hood of her beach robe over her face.

Meanwhile, Baby dropped into the beanbag like the whole idea was forced on him — honestly, he just wanted to sleep in. He took a soda from the cooler and drank it in one go.

“Hey, those drinks are—“ Zoey’s mouth opened to protest, but Mystery sat beside her and leaned just close enough to send her mind spiraling. “Hey.”

She stiffened as she felt their knees touch. “Oh my god. This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, I’m afraid that it’s happening,” Jinu said, toasting a marshmallow with a grin. “Sir, can I have two more servings of scallops here?” he called toward the villa like they had room service.

That’s when realization hit Rumi. The photos. The tags. The overlapping posts.

“Oh my god.” She looked between them, then back at the beach house behind them. “You’re not just in the Bahamas.”

“We’re staying here,” Jinu confirmed with a slow grin. “Same villa. Surprise!”

“Who the hell booked this place?” Mira hissed, looking ready to throw someone’s phone into the ocean.

“I thought this villa was exclusive?” Rumi snapped, furiously typing out a message. “If Bobby planned this, I’m burning my contract.”

“You’re texting Bobby? Great! Tell him I said hi,” Jinu added cheerfully, peeking over her shoulder. Rumi nearly elbowed him in the ribs.

“Why not see this as a bonding opportunity?” Abby said, already making himself at home. “Hunterix and Saja — embracing our mutual indifference.”

“Or,” Romance offered with a shrug, “a perfectly-timed PR stunt. Two top global groups. One villa. Has a nice ring to it, no?”

“This is going to go downhill faster than our encore set in Tokyo.” Rumi groaned, burying her face into her palm. From beside her came a quiet chuckle. She shifted her fingers just enough to shoot a side-eye at the man next to her — only to be met with Jinu’s smug, infuriating grin.

So much for a calm, well-deserved first day of vacation.

And just like that, what was meant to be a peaceful, well-earned first day of vacation turned into something else entirely — tense, crowded, and dangerously close to a headline.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67094761

Zhan Zhengxi was the definition of efficient. He ran the espresso machine like it was an extension of his body—precise, powerful, untiring. The early morning rush was his element, and he liked the quiet lull afterward even better.

That was when he usually walked in.

Right around 9:17 every morning, the glass bell above the door would chime softly, and Jian Yi would appear. Blonde hair a little too bright for this sleepy part of town, earbuds in, hoodie always slightly too big. He never looked at the menu, never tried anything new.

"Small drip. No sugar," he said every time. Dull. Cheap. Standard.

Zhengxi had long since memorized the order. And yet Jian Yi always said it like it was their first meeting.

What he didn't say—what Zhengxi knew anyway—was that Jian Yi never drank the coffee. Not all of it, at least. Sometimes it went cold in front of him as he doodled into his phone or stared blankly at the people outside. Sometimes, he just sat with it, nursing the cup for an hour before leaving.

"Small drip. No sugar," Jian Yi said again one morning, like a script.

Zhengxi raised an eyebrow but made it anyway. "You know, we've got better stuff. You could try the Ethiopian blend. Or literally anything else."

Jian Yi grinned. "I'm a man of simple taste."

Zhengxi handed him the cup, fingers brushing his. "You're a man of no taste."

Jian Yi laughed, bright and amused, and Zhengxi hated how much he liked that sound. He watched him wander to the usual table, settling in like he belonged there already.

Truth was, he kind of did.

Other customers came and went, orders scribbled on cups, tips tossed into the jar, milk steamed and poured like a performance. But Jian Yi stayed. Some days he doodled in a sketchbook.

In Zhengxi's small business, he was the only regular cusyomer he had so far.

It was raining again the first time Zhengxi broke his own rule.

He stepped from behind the counter during the lull and brought over a second cup—latte art curling like cream smoke at the top. He approached Jian Yi's table and placed it in front of him.

Jian Yi blinked up at him. "Uh... I didn't order another one?"

"I know," Zhengxi said, sitting across from him. "But you've been pretending to like our drip for over a month, and I'm tired of watching good beans go to waste. This one's on the house."

Jian Yi flushed but took the cup anyway. He sniffed it. "Is this cinnamon?"

"Vanilla oat latte. Just try it."

Jian Yi sipped—and actually drank. A second sip followed. Then a third.

Zhengxi crossed his arms, watching him. "Tastes better, doesn't it?"

"I'll admit it does," Jian Yi said, smiling around the rim of the cup.

"I told you," Zhengxi said with a small, smug tilt of his lips. "You should try something from the actual menu sometime."

"This is really good," Jian Yi murmured, like he was surprised.

Zhengxi looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time in all the weeks he'd been coming in. He noticed the softness in Jian Yi's features, how smooth his skin was, how his cheekbones caught the morning light. There was something quietly delicate about him, almost androgynous in how naturally beautiful he was.

His hair fell across his forehead in silky strands, still a little damp from the drizzle outside. His lips—plump and parted slightly from the heat of the drink—held a trace of foam now.

Zhengxi's gaze dropped to the way Jian Yi's fingers curled neatly around the cup. How he didn't look away even when he noticed Zhengxi staring.

Then Jian Yi took another sip, and a soft puff of foam clung to the corner of his mouth.

"You've got something—on your lips," Zhengxi said before he could stop himself.

"Really? Where?" Jian Yi looked up at him, tongue darting out to trace his mouth slowly. "Here?"

Zhengxi's stomach flipped. It wasn't fair, the way Jian Yi reached for the foam like that—casual, almost playful, but entirely dangerous.

"Did I get it?" Jian Yi asked, looking at him with that grin again.

Zhengxi quickly looked down and shrugged, trying to mask the heat rising up his neck. "Yeah. You got it."

Just then, the front door chimed and a new customer walked in—mercifully breaking the moment.

"I gotta get back to the counter," Zhengxi muttered, already turning away.

"Okay," Jian Yi called after him, still smiling. "Thanks for the coffee!"

Zhengxi's ears burned as he ducked behind the espresso machine. He didn't answer—but he was already thinking about what he'd make Jian Yi tomorrow.

In a week, Jian Yi had become Zhengxi's personal Michelin taste tester. He took the role seriously—perhaps a little too seriously.

"No offense," Jian Yi said one morning, swirling a honey cardamom cold brew in his hand like it was wine, "but this one tastes like potpourri got bullied in high school."

Zhengxi raised a brow, arms crossed over his apron. "You said you liked cardamom last week."

"I liked the idea of cardamom," Jian Yi corrected, licking a bit of cream off his thumb. "Execution? Tragic. Caffeine strength is decent though. I'll give it a six out of ten for effort."

"You're lucky I don't poison your cup."

Jian Yi leaned forward on the counter, grin unfazed. "You say that, but you keep handing me samples like I'm your favorite lab rat."

Zhengxi grumbled under his breath but passed over another small glass. "Try this one. Less spice, more roast."

Jian Yi took a cautious sip—then made a contemplative face, tapping a finger to his chin. "Hmm. Darker. Smokier. Still not the one."

"Maybe the one doesn't exist," Zhengxi muttered, turning to clean the milk frother.

"It will. You just need inspiration," Jian Yi said, the innuendo riding a little too easily on his tongue. "I'm happy to stick around until you find it."

Zhengxi didn't look at him, but he felt it—the weight of Jian Yi's stare, the casual flirtation that was starting to feel less like a game and more like a dare.

And the thing that really got him? Jian Yi meant it. He stayed.

Every morning like clockwork, same window seat. Same offhand commentary. Same crooked smile. Even when he brought his own food once—some suspicious-looking breakfast wrap—he insisted on ordering coffee from Zhengxi just so he had an excuse to talk.

"You could save money if you made this at home," Zhengxi told him one afternoon, sliding over an espresso blend with cinnamon and orange peel.

Jian Yi took a sip. "True. But then who would insult your life's work every morning?"

Zhengxi smirked. "I can think of better reasons to see me than trashing my coffee."

"Yeah?" Jian Yi asked, eyes glinting. "Name one."

Zhengxi opened his mouth—then closed it. He turned away under the guise of wiping down the counter, but Jian Yi's quiet laugh followed him like smoke.

But Zhengxi had to admit—quietly, and only to himself—that after all this time, he'd gotten used to Jian Yi's presence.

The sound of his voice across the counter. The dramatic reviews. The smirks that lingered too long. Even the way he'd sprawl across the corner seat like he owned it, earbuds in but one always hanging loose so he could eavesdrop on Zhengxi yelling at the espresso machine.

It had become routine.

And Zhengxi liked routine.

More than that—he liked Jian Yi.

So when Wednesday rolled around, cool and overcast, and the door didn't jingle at precisely 8:43 AM... he noticed.

He told himself it was nothing.

Probably just overslept. Or had class. Or ran out of money to blow on artisan coffee he only half-liked.

But Thursday came and went.

No Jian Yi.

The window seat stayed empty. Zhengxi caught himself glancing at it between orders, like maybe he'd just blinked and missed him walking in.

By Friday, something itched beneath his skin. He ground the beans too fine. Frothed the milk too aggressively. Snapped at the teenage trainee for stacking the cups too loud.

"Dude," the trainee said, eyes wide. "You good?"

Zhengxi didn't answer. He just stared at the empty chair across the room and muttered, "Fine."

But he wasn't. Not really.

It was ridiculous. Jian Yi wasn't a regular customer—he was a constant. An expected part of Zhengxi's every day. And now the silence felt too loud.

It wasn't until Saturday afternoon that Zhengxi did something out of character.

He pulled out his phone.

Stared at the contact saved simply as J.Y. (☕)—a name Jian Yi had put in himself the day they swapped numbers "for emergency taste-testing needs."

After a minute of debating, he opened the chat.

Zhengxi: You alive? Or did you finally die from one of my coffee experiments?

He stared at the message. Thought about deleting it. Thought about sending more.

Before he could, the screen lit up.

Jian Yi: lol still alive sorry for disappearing ...you free tomorrow?

Zhengxi blinked. His pulse did a weird thing in his wrist.

Zhengxi: Maybe. Depends on what you're planning. Jian Yi: Nothing dramatic. Just miss your face, that's all.

Zhengxi stared at the words.

And for the first time in three days, he smiled.

They met the next day outside a small café Jian Yi had picked—some quiet, artsy place on a tree-lined street with mismatched furniture and indie folk music humming through hidden speakers. The place had rave reviews online. Jian Yi insisted they "see how the competition holds up."

Zhengxi showed up in his hoodie and jeans, hands stuffed in his pockets, a little wary.

Jian Yi was already waiting at a corner table, two drinks in front of him.

Zhengxi slid into the seat across from him. "You ordered for me?"

"I figured you'd go for the espresso blend." Jian Yi pushed the cup toward him. "It's their signature roast. Strong, bitter, a little too proud of itself. Reminded me of you."

Zhengxi gave him a look but took a sip. "It's decent."

"Decent?" Jian Yi repeated, mock-offended. "You have no poetry in your soul."

"I have taste. That's enough."

They spent the next hour critiquing every detail—the beans were over-roasted, the milk foam too thin, the syrup flavors unbalanced. Jian Yi pointed out that the café art was "weirdly anxious," and Zhengxi agreed when they got served lukewarm pastries.

But beneath the banter, there was something softer in the air. Something unsaid, hanging between them like steam rising from a mug.

Zhengxi noticed the faint tiredness in Jian Yi's eyes, the slight slump in his shoulders. He looked fine. But he didn't look okay.

He waited until their cups were nearly empty before speaking again.

"So," Zhengxi began, watching the last of the espresso swirl in his cup, "you gonna tell me why you stopped coming over?"

Jian Yi looked at him for a long moment. No quips. No grin. Just silence.

Then he shrugged. "I needed some space. Stuff came up."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah. Life stuff. Family, mostly."

Zhengxi didn't push. But he didn't look away, either.

"I thought you got tired of my coffees." he said quietly.

Jian Yi blinked. "You cared?"

"I got used to you being around," Zhengxi admitted, rubbing the rim of his cup. "And when you weren't around, everything felt off."

Jian Yi smiled. It was smaller than usual. Warmer. More real.

"I missed it too," he said. "Coming in. Seeing you behind that counter, scowling like someone stole your dog."

"I don't scowl," Zhengxi muttered.

"You do," Jian Yi said. "But I kinda like it."

A short pause made the ambiance more intense.

"I like a lot of things about you."

Zhengxi looked up. The café buzzed quietly around them, but for a second, it all faded.

He didn't say anything right away. Just stared, really stared, the way he only ever did when Jian Yi wasn't looking.

Now he was. Looking right back.

"Then come back," Zhengxi said finally, voice low. "To the shop. Tomorrow. The next day. As many as you want."

Jian Yi grinned—slow and genuine.

"Only if you make me something new."

"I already have something in mind."

Jian Yi raised a brow. "Inspired by me, I hope?"

Zhengxi didn't smile. But his eyes did.

Mo Guanshan never expected to stream full-time.

Sure, gaming was something he'd always enjoyed, and yelling at strangers online came more naturally than filling out job applications. But if you told him a year ago that losing yet another job — his third that year — would push him to become "DontCloseMountain," a small but steadily growing Twitch streamer, he'd have laughed and gone back to folding uniforms at the dry cleaner.

Yet here he was. Living off noodles, hoarding free samples of everything in the market, and stringing together just enough subscribers and pity donations to barely get by.

His setup was not anything extraordinary: a secondhand monitor with a fading line across the middle, a scuffed gaming headset, and a webcam he always tilted slightly upward to hide the clutter of his apartment. 

His audience wasn't huge, but they were loyal — enough to fill his chat box with emojis and inside jokes, especially when he went on his trademark rants mid-game.

"Mountain, you gonna rage-quit again or what?" a user called SpaghettiMom typed during one particularly bad run of Apex.

"Not today, Satan," Guanshan muttered into his mic. "I'm chill."

He wasn't. But he smiled anyway, half sarcastic, half entertained by the chat's roasting. Streaming gave him something close to routine. An escape. And on some nights — when his kill count was high and the chat was buzzing — it almost felt like he was winning at life.

Almost.

The problem was, winning didn't pay rent.

Guanshan was scraping by. His Twitch earnings couldn't cover his electricity bill, let alone rent. He'd applied to a dozen jobs last week and hadn't heard back from any. The weight of it settled between his shoulder blades every time he leaned over his desk. Every night he closed his eyes to sleep, he did math in his head — calculating how many subs it would take to survive, how long until his landlord kicked him out.

Then one night, something unusual happened.

He was mid-stream, halfway through a sleepy late-night streaming when it popped up on screen:

$500 donation from 69tian.

His mouse froze. His heart skipped, too.

"Uh... okay," he said, blinking at the alert like it might disappear. "That's... not a typo?"

The chat blew up.

SpaghettiMom: WHOA user700: Yo who is 69tian?? littlechili: MOUNTAIN YOU SUGAR BABY NOW?? catchaser: LUCKY AF

Guanshan scratched the back of his neck. "Well. Damn. Thanks, uh... '69tian'? That's a... name."

He chuckled awkwardly, trying not to look directly at the name for too long. It was clearly a joke — a reference to something crass and juvenile — and yet there was something about it that made his scalp prickle.

It wasn't just the number or the smirk-inducing username. It was how it appeared. Sudden. Silent. Very weird.

Still, five hundred dollars was five hundred dollars.

That night, he didn't sleep much. He kept checking his Twitch page, refreshing the donation logs just to make sure it wasn't a scam. But it was real. The money processed. Cleared. Landed in his account.

And the next day, he streamed again — not because he wanted to, but because for the first time, it felt like there's something to look forward to.

The next few days, Guanshan kept seeing the name pop up in his donation alerts.

69tian has donated $100. 69tian has gifted 20 subs to chat. 69tian: nice kill, Mountain.

It was the first time the dono sent a chat — a simple message attached to a $200 tip. The message lingered longer than the money in his head.

It was flattering. And eerie.

Guanshan wasn't used to this kind of attention. He wasn't the hot guy with a ring light and a charming smile. His streams weren't polished. He swore too much, his lighting sucked, and sometimes he got too real about his life on air.

But whoever 69tian was... they liked it. Or him. And he may never understood why they do.

And before he knew it, Guanshan was looking forward to seeing the name in chat. He'd start streams with a glance toward his alerts tab, pretending he wasn't hoping for it.

He told himself it was gratitude. Just gratitude.

One late-night steram, Guanshan received a different type of message.

It wasn't public this time. It was a whisper — a private Twitch DM.

69tian: Hope the money helps. I'd like to ask for something in return.

Guanshan stared at it.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He had no idea what to reply.

DontCloseMountain: What kind of something?

There was a pause. A long one.

69tian: Nothing weird. Just say my name out loud in stream sometime.

Guanshan leaned back in his chair.

"What the hell..." he muttered under his breath.

He didn't respond right away. Didn't want to encourage it. But he also... didn't stop streaming. And 69tian didn't stop donating. The requests, when they came, were subtle. Harmless, almost. Compliment the chat. Show your face more. Read a comment in your real voice, not your "streamer" voice.

Harmless.

So why did it feel like hands pressing lightly against the back of his neck every time the name appeared?

It was one of those nights where the silence outside was louder than the sound in his headset.

The game music had long faded into background noise. Guanshan had played through three rounds of Valorant and rage-quit twice. His energy was low, his voice hoarse from shouting at his screen, and the lag in his internet was pissing him off more than usual.

He glanced at his viewer count: 73. Not bad for a Wednesday night. The chat, though, had slowed. People were bored. And so was he.

He yawned into the mic. "Alright, chat, let's switch it up. I'm not in the mood to shoot anymore heads tonight. Let's talk."

Messages rolled in like a tide.

Chevy19: Ayyy chill stream SpaghettiMom: Finally Jianjian: Story time? user700: Ask us stuff too

He leaned into his mic. "Okay. You can ask me anything. Just don't get weird about it."

The chat exploded.

Jianjian: Favorite food? ChickenAss: First kiss? Sheisangry: Are you single? Babygirl: What's your type tho SpaghettiMom: Don'tCloseMountain has a secret gf confirmed?

He rolled his eyes. "Single. And none of your damn business," he muttered with a grin. "Next question."

Then, from a username he recognized immediately:

69tian:Ever been in love?

Guanshan's cursor froze over his stream dashboard. He could've ignored it. Could've laughed it off. But for some reason... he didn't.

He leaned back, stared at the screen, and for a moment, he forgot the 73 people watching. Forgot the notifications. Forgot the spotlight.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean..."

The words stuck, rusty and dry. But they came anyway.

"There was someone," he admitted. "Back in high school."

The chat paused for half a beat — then flooded in again.

SpaghettiMom: OMG story time user700: Tell us more Jianjian:What happened Babygirl: Was it serious??

He let out a breath, almost laughing at himself. "Nah. It wasn't anything. Just... someone."

He kept his voice casual, tried not to let the warmth reach his ears.

"He was one of those people that made everything feel like a dare. Annoying, flirty, impossible to read. He teased me all the time — called me stupid names, tried to get under my skin. And he did. Every damn day. Thought I hated him for a while."

The memory came back stronger than expected — the smirk, the glint in his eyes, the way he said "Don't close Mountain," every time Guanshan snapped at him.

That's where the username came from. He'd typed it out as a joke once. Then it stuck.

"I didn't hate him," he said, quieter now. "I think I was... obsessed. In a dumb, teenage, confusing way. It never went anywhere. He disappeared after graduation. Haven't really heard from him ever since. But he did leave me this PC that I use up to today."

He let that hang in the air. No names. No details.

Just a fragment of something half-dead, buried deep.

The chat buzzed, but he didn't read it right away. His eyes were blurry. And then suddenly,

69tian has donated $1,000.

His heart skipped.

He sat up straighter. "What the hell?"" he muttered, lips dry.

Then came the message attached:

69tian: That was a beautiful story. Thank you for sharing it.

He stared at it. For a long time. He couldn't believe his eyes. He thought that this 69tian guy had a lot of money to waste on a low life streamer like him. It was surreal.

Guanshan couldn't shake the feeling for the rest of the night. Something in him shifted — something warm, anxious, a little sick. He ended the stream early, blaming lag, and lay awake in bed with his phone face-down on the pillow beside him.

Why now? Why this?

And how the hell did one viewer — one dono — have this much power over him?

The next day, curiosity won.

He messaged them.

DontCloseMountain: Hey. Who are you?

No response for a minute. Then:

69tian:  69tian. But you can call me whatever you want.

Guanshan scowled at the response. The way he messages really remind him of a certain someone. Someone that still kind of lives in the back of Guanshan's mind.

DontCloseMountain: Seriously. What do you want from me? You've been donating tons to me. I am thankful but I think it's too much. 69tian:I just want To hear and watch you. That's all.

Another message popped up before he could react.

69tian: Here's a number. Burner phone. Call me.

Guanshan stared at the digits on screen. Something in his gut twisted. He tapped the number into his phone. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Click.

Silence.

"...Hello?" he asked, cautious.

There was no answer. Just soft static.

Then his phone buzzed.

Text from Unknown: Just keep speaking. I like your voice.

It was the weirdest call of his life. He hung up after five minutes. Blocked the number. Tried to shake it off.

But he didn't stop streaming.

And 69tian didn't stop donating.

One night, Guanshan was editing clips in the dim glow of his dual monitors, the only light in his apartment coming from the flickering screen and the dull hum of the city outside. His headphones hung loosely around his neck, faint echoes of audio edits playing softly as he trimmed timelines and tweaked cuts.

Then the screen flickered.

Just for a second.

A brief distortion—almost like static—ran across both monitors. He paused, brows knitting together.

Then it flickered again. Longer. Sharper.

He frowned and instinctively reached for his mouse. Nothing moved. The cursor was frozen dead center.

His stomach sank.

And then — the camera light turned on.

A sharp, green dot in the dark.

Click.

"What the fuck?" Guanshan muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. He stared at the light, confusion mixing rapidly with dread. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but nothing responded. Not escape. Not Ctrl+Alt+Del. Nothing.

Suddenly, a window bloomed open on his screen.

Discord.

His Discord.

He hadn't opened it.

He hadn't touched a thing.

The app loaded itself sluggishly, almost like it was dragging something with it from the bottom of the digital abyss. And then a call launched — video.

The caller ID: 69t_backup

Guanshan's heart dropped into his stomach. His breath caught in his throat.

69t? 69tian?

No. Impossible.

And yet — there it was.

The call connected.

And the screen lit up.

Not with an icon. With an empty camera feed.

“What the actual fuck?” Guanshan whispered, his voice trembling.

No response.

Until the screen behind the video call flickered again, revealing something layered beneath the Discord window.

Photos. Screen grabs.

Of Guanshan.

From tonight.

From seconds ago.

Him editing. Him frowning. Him confused.

The final one — him staring in horror at the screen.

Guanshan’s blood turned to ice.

He didn’t hesitate — he lunged toward the plug and yanked it out from the wall with every ounce of force he had.

The monitors went black. The fan in the CPU clicked to a halt.

But then behind him, he heard a soft chime.

Bing.

From his phone.

Still lit. A message notification from a number he didn’t recognize.

Unknown number: You shouldn’t have done that, Mo Guanshan.

For the next two days, Guanshan didn't stream. Didn't even open his PC. He would sleep with one eye open if he could.

He turned off every notification, unplugged his webcam, and stuffed it in a drawer like it had teeth. He refused to touch Discord. Every time his phone buzzed with a burner number, he ignored it — until the same number texted.

Unknown number:  You still drink black coffee with two sugars. Unknown number: Meet me at Wanhua Café. 9PM. I'll be at the back."

No name. No push. Just that.

Guanshan stared at it for a full minute. He had enough of this 69Tian. No amount of donations could compare to the horror he felt that night - and today, he planned to put an end to it. He brought a pocket knife with him and grabbed his coat.

Guanshan’s pulse thudded in his ears as he stepped out of the café, scanning the empty street. The night air bit into his skin, neon signs flickering dimly above the cracked pavement. His hand tightened around the knife. Each step toward the alley made his heart pound harder.

That message from the unknown number — it kept echoing in his head. He had to end this. Whatever this was.

A shuffle behind him made him spin around, blade raised.

A figure stepped out of the shadows — tall, familiar, annoyingly casual. His face was half-hidden, but Guanshan recognized that presence instantly. His chest clenched.

“Stay back. I’ve got a knife!” he warned.

The figure didn’t move.

“I said, stay the hell back.” His grip tightened.

But in one fluid motion, the man stepped forward and grabbed his wrist. The knife fell from Guanshan’s hand like it was nothing.

“Long time no see, Don’t Close Mountain,” the voice drawled.

Guanshan froze. The neon above flickered, finally revealing the bastard’s face — He Tian.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Guanshan growled, yanking his arm back. “You’re the one behind this crap? You’ve been messing with me for weeks?”

He Tian smirked, cocky as ever. “I like to think of it as… watching over you.”

“I ought to stab you with your own damn ego,” Guanshan snapped. “You think this is funny? You scared the hell out of me! You think showing up like some cryptic stalker erases whatever nightmares you planted in my head?!”

He Tian shrugged, the smirk faltering just a bit. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Guanshan muttered.

There was a pause. He Tian looked away for a second, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know how to come back. I didn’t know if I could. So I just… kept my distance. Donated to your stream here and there. It was the only way I could still see you without... crossing a line.”

“Oh, and this isn’t crossing the line?” Guanshan scoffed, gesturing wildly between himself and He Tian with the knife.

He Tian winced. “Okay, fair. But when you started talking about that love story on stream…” He exhaled. “I got greedy. I saw the opening from there. I wanted back in.”

Guanshan stared, chest tight. “You could’ve just messaged me, you moron.”

“I thought you’d ignore me,” He Tian admitted, voice quieter now. “It’s been a long time. You’ve always been good at shutting people out.”

Guanshan narrowed his eyes. “Okay, then riddle me this — how the hell did you get into my PC?”

He Tian blinked. “...Borrowed access?”

“Borrowed?!” Guanshan’s voice shot up. “You went through my personal files and you’re calling it borrowing?!”

“I didn’t snoop too much,” He Tian said quickly, hands raised in mock surrender. “I just wanted to see if… if I was still in there somewhere.”

“And?”

“Well…” He Tian gave a crooked smile. “You kept a folder. With my pictures. Cute ones, too.”

Guanshan’s face burned. “I don’t—! That’s—! I—God, you’re the worst.”

“I know.” He Tian stepped forward, a little softer this time. “But I’m sorry. For everything. I just... I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Guanshan stared at him, every part of him tense. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, “You’re a pain in the ass.”

He Tian grinned. “But I’m your pain in the ass.”

Guanshan raised an eyebrow, trying not to let his lips twitch. “You really have no shame.”

“Zero.” He Tian leaned in, brushing their fingers together. “Can I start over?”

Guanshan looked down at their hands, then back at him. “You pull this shit again, and I will make sure you regret it.”