potato

life did not become bad, but it simply became scheduled. you learned how to live by calendars now, by meetings and reports and client dinners. your phone buzzed more often from work than from friends these days, and your closet slowly filled with silk blouses, neutral heels, and fitted office dresses instead of oversized hoodies and school event shirts. 

sometimes, you missed how easy everything used to feel. other times, you were grateful it no longer did.

“you’re thinking again.” you blinked and looked up from your untouched drink. across the table, your colleague and closest friend from work, tara, narrowed her eyes at you knowingly beneath the warm restaurant lighting. around the two of you, friday night chatter filled the rooftop bar while city lights glittered far below the building.

you laughed quietly. “i’m literally just sitting here.”

“exactly,” tara replied. “you only get that existential look when you start thinking about life.”

you rolled your eyes and finally took a sip from your drink. it tasted expensive and barely alcoholic, which felt very fitting for the kind of establishment your coworkers liked frequenting after successful presentations.

you leaned back into your chair with a sigh, letting their voices blur together briefly while laughter continued around the table. honestly, they weren’t wrong. the past year had been exhausting. being a corporate manager at your age sounded impressive on paper until people realized it mostly involved sleeping too little and carrying everybody else’s problems on your back, while pretending you had everything under control.

still, you liked the work, the independence, knowing you built this version of your life yourself. your phone buzzed suddenly beside your drink, bringing your eyes to it. 

it’s the family groupchat. 

your younger cousins were apparently spamming blurry photos from their movie night at your aunt’s house. one picture showed three of them wrapped together in blankets while another was just an aggressively close image of pizza. you smiled despite yourself.

tara noticed instantly. “family?”

“yeah.” you shook your head. “my cousins.”

“the little kids?”

“not little anymore,” you murmured.

that part still felt strange too. the youngest cousin who used to cry over scraped knees now posted dance covers online and borrowed makeup from you occasionally. another had recently started driving lessons. they were all growing too fast, stretching taller and louder and more complicated each year while you somehow stayed stuck remembering them as children.

maybe adulthood was just constantly realizing time moved without asking permission first.

—

the invitation arrived on a random tuesday night while you were half-awake in bed, still wearing your work blouse and scrolling mindlessly through your phone after answering one last email. you almost ignored it, thinking it was just another notification buried between work group chats, promotional messages, and missed calls from relatives... but then your eyes caught familiar words.

senior high alumni homecoming.

you blinked once. now you were fully awake.

the invitation opened into an elegant digital poster washed in dark navy and gold, far more sophisticated than anything your old student council could’ve designed years ago. beneath the formal lettering sat the event details neatly arranged across the screen. the venue, the date, the dress code... and then, at the very bottom says—

costumed masquerade theme.

you stared at the word longer than necessary. for some reason, it made your chest feel strangely light. below the poster, old batchmates were already reacting in the comment section. 

it had been years. years since senior high—since crowded hallways and sports festivals and summer evenings that felt endless back then. life after graduation moved too quickly for everyone. college separated people, and careers scattered them further. friendships became birthdays greeted through instagram stories and occasional “we should meet soon” conversations nobody had time to fulfill.

and yet, this invitation felt like somebody opening an old bedroom window after years. all at once, the memories from before drifted back in quietly.

you sat up against your pillows, phone glowing against the dark room while the city outside your condo windows stretched endlessly beneath the midnight sky.

would it really feel the same? you doubted it. 

everyone was older now, real adults. people had careers, licenses, responsibilities, and probably relationships too. the thought made something inside you shift faintly. still, despite yourself, excitement curled somewhere in your chest.

you imagined seeing your old classmates again after all this time, imagined hearing familiar voices you hadn’t heard in years, briefly becoming younger again just by standing in the same room together.

it sounded nice, dangerously nice. which was exactly why you hesitated.

for the next few days, the invitation in your phone stayed unanswered. you kept reopening the poster during work breaks only to lock your phone again afterward. every time someone new confirmed attendance, your curiosity deepened a little more. 

you were grocery shopping with your mother beneath painfully cold supermarket air-conditioning while your mother pushed the cart slowly through the produce aisle, occasionally handing you random items to place inside.

you trailed beside her absentmindedly while checking your phone again, seeing someone had just sent another reminder poster.

“three weeks left before the masquerade reunion!”

your mother glanced at you briefly. “what are you staring at?”

“nothing,” you answered.

she hummed suspiciously before tossing oranges into the cart. “you’ve had that same expression since yesterday.”

“what expression?”

“the one you get when you’re thinking too hard.”

you looked down at the invitation again. you could almost picture it already—old batchmates rediscovering each other beneath adulthood and years apart.

it felt like an invitation back to youth, just for one evening.

before you could overthink yourself out of it again, you accidentally pressed the attendance button.

confirmed.

your mother blinked when you suddenly looked so petrified. “what happened?”

you slipped your phone into your pocket. “…i think i’m going to a party.”

and that’s it. 

the night of the alumni homecoming arrived wrapped in gold lights.

the convention center occupied almost the entire upper floor of the hotel, glowing warmly behind towering glass windows while valet attendants guided cars beneath the entrance canopy downstairs. 

...you didn’t expect for the party to be this well-prepared and budgeted. from outside alone, the event already looked far more elegant than anything your old batch could have afforded years ago. adulthood really did strange things to people—apparently one of those things included having enough money to rent out ballrooms and pretend everybody had always been this sophisticated.

you stood before the large mirrored elevator walls one last time before stepping out onto the event floor.

you decided to dress as catwoman. the costume had started as a joke between you and tara during a late-night online shopping spree. but now, beneath the hallway lights of the hotel, you almost regretted how good it actually looked on you.

music pulsed through the ballroom doors ahead as hotel staff welcomed arriving guests. the moment you stepped inside, warm lighting and noise swallowed you whole.

the venue was enormous! massive chandeliers reflected gold across glossy floors while alumni crowded around cocktail tables beneath dim ambient lights, meanwhile the dance floor already held clusters of people as servers carried trays of drinks through the crowd.

and everywhere, everyone wore masks. beautiful, elaborate, confusing masks. half the challenge of the reunion seemed to be figuring out who anybody actually was. some people wore elegant masquerade masks while others committed entirely to themes and costumes dramatic enough to make identification nearly impossible. every few seconds, somebody somewhere would suddenly shriek after recognizing an old batchmate.

thinking about it, it was kind of genius. years changed people enough already, so hiding everyone’s faces behind masks only made the nostalgia feel stranger.

for a moment, you simply stood there near the entrance taking it all in. years ago, something like this would’ve overwhelmed you almost immediately. it’s too loud, too crowded. too many social expectations pressing against your chest all at once. but adulthood had apparently beaten professionalism into you. now, instead of panicking, you simply adjusted your clutch beneath your arm and moved forward calmly into the crowd.

look at you.

a functioning adult...sort of.

time moved strangely inside the venue, though. 

one moment you were laughing over old classroom stories and forgotten teachers, and the next you were standing beside an open bar while somebody from your old literature class passionately explained why he quit law school to start a café business instead. everywhere you looked, old versions of people kept appearing beneath unfamiliar adulthood. 

it felt a little like opening a time capsule only to discover everything inside had learned how to breathe on its own.

you drifted further into the venue eventually, drink balanced loosely in your hand while conversations came and went around you in fragments. the ballroom had grown warmer now from the amount of people filling it. for once, you allowed yourself to enjoy it. to exist inside this strange overlap between who you used to be and who you became.

“do you think caleb’s actually here?”

huh? 

your steps slowed. it happened so naturally your body reacted before your mind did.

“oh my gosh, wait, is he? did anyone see caleb?”

caleb.

the name landed against your chest with quiet, terrible familiarity. for a second, all the noise around you dulled.

instead of turning around, you stood near one of the ballroom pillars with your fingers tightening subtly around your glass.

“i think he is,” another woman answered excitedly. “someone said the guy wearing the nightwing costume might be him!”

...of course caleb was here. why wouldn’t he be? it would’ve been more strange if he wasn’t here. the realization should not have unsettled you this much after all these years, and yet suddenly your chest felt oddly tight beneath the fitted black fabric of your clothes. because if caleb was here... then, is the other also here? 

your thoughts stopped themselves before fully forming the name.

...zayne.

something you tried your best to bury after all these years... now had been brought up to the surface. it’s pretty naive of you to think that this wouldn't happen one way or another tonight, right? 

you stared blankly toward the moving crowd ahead while your pulse shifted unevenly somewhere beneath your ribs. it had been years since you last saw either of them properly, years since that unbearable summer, years since tangled confessions and emotions too large for any of you to handle correctly at eighteen.

years since you walked away.

would they look different now? what if you ran into them tonight? what exactly were you supposed to say after all this time? the thought alone made heat creep faintly up your neck.

you were no longer teenagers. no longer those messy, emotionally reckless kids orbiting around each other beneath suburban summers and friday night gatherings. 

adulthood had happened already, surely time had done its job. surely they had moved on.

“honestly,” one of the girls behind you continued with a laugh, “i still can’t believe i dated him.”

you blinked.

another voice groaned. “you dated caleb and survived? tell us everything.”

dated.

the word echoed unpleasantly inside your chest.

“oh please,” the girl laughed again. “it wasn’t that dramatic. we broke up because of distance after graduation. he was already flying all over the place for training back then.”

flying?

ah, right.

your parents did let you know a year ago that he had become a DAA pilot. somehow hearing it spoken aloud made the years feel even more real.

“he’s gotten more ridiculously handsome though,” another added. “if he’s really here tonight, maybe this is your chance to get back together.” their laughter then blurred afterward beneath the music.

you stood still for one second too long, before looking over your shoulder to see the face of the girl caleb had apparently dated.

did he really?

pfft, of course he did. why wouldn’t he?

he was caleb. the golden boy turned golden man. the kind of person people naturally loved. and yet, the image still unsettled something quiet and unpleasant inside you. before memory could drag you any further backward, you immediately resumed walking deeper into the ballroom.

enough.

your heels clicked steadily against polished floors while you lifted your chin and forced yourself through the crowd again. you refused to let old emotions creep back into your chest this easily after everything.

you were not eighteen anymore. you were a grown woman now—one who handled negotiations, presentations, and difficult people for a living. for god’s sake, you paid taxes and managed teams and owned matching dinnerware now.

get yourself together.

whatever existed between the three of you belonged to another lifetime already. tonight was only a reunion. nothing more.

you tried to shake the feeling off afterward. really, you did.

deciding you needed something sweet—or maybe simply a distraction—you wandered toward one of the longer dessert tables situated near the center of the venue. unlike the crowded cocktail area, this side of the ballroom felt calmer. at the center of the table, a large chocolate fountain cascaded endlessly downward in glossy ribbons.

okay, maybe adulthood never truly erased simple joys.

the fountain looked ridiculously good. you grabbed one of the small dessert cups from beside the table and leaned slightly forward, carefully positioning fruit skewers beneath the flowing chocolate. the scent of cocoa drifted warmly upward.

for a brief moment, you relaxed again.

and then—that feeling returned. just enough to make the back of your neck grow strangely aware. you straightened slightly, fingers tightening around the dessert cup as you sensed someone standing nearby behind you. not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough to feel deliberate.

your eyes lifted instinctively...

to a man dressed in a nightwing costume stood only a few meters away, dark domino mask shadowing his face while he casually held a drink in one gloved hand.

tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. even the posture—

oh my god.

your entire body went rigid beneath your clothes.

shit. that had to be caleb, right?

your mind raced embarrassingly fast while the man remained completely unaware—or at least seemingly unaware—of the internal crisis currently unfolding beside the chocolate fountain.

okay, you were an adult. a very functional adult. this was not high school anymore. if that really was caleb, then the correct thing to do would obviously be acting normal. mature and emotionally unaffected. you absolutely refused to look like somebody still hung up on old teenage history years later.

hesitantly, you cleared your throat and turned toward him fully.

the man finally glanced up from his drink.

god, why did he still feel familiar even after all this time?

forcing composure into your expression, you offered him a polite smile. “…hey, caleb, how’ve you been?”

for a few long seconds, the man simply stared at you.... strangely.

his silence stretched enough to make heat slowly creep up your neck beneath the mask. behind the dark lenses of his nightwing costume, his expression looked almost alarmed, like you had approached him with deeply concerning information instead of a simple greeting.

your confidence began deteriorating immediately. why did he look so confused?

a horrible thought then crossed your mind all at once.

did caleb seriously forget about you now?

no, that was ridiculous! surely not to that extent. before you could spiral any further into your own embarrassment, the man finally spoke.

“…i’m not caleb.”

the ballroom lights shifted overhead at the exact same moment, finally illuminating his eyes properly through the mask.

hazel brown, not purple.

oh.

how did you even make that mistake?

“ah,” you muttered beneath a short embarrassed laugh. “i’m sorry, i thought you were somebody else.”

he really looks a lot like caleb...

the man stared at you for another second before chuckling lightly into his drink. “well, now i’m curious. you looking for caleb?”

you frowned. “no,” you answered perhaps a little too quickly. “i just thought you were... him.”

“ah.” the man nodded knowingly in a way that irritated you slightly. then he casually added, “i heard he wasn’t able to attend anyway because of his schedule.”

your fingers loosened around the cup. “is that so,” 

“yep, something work-related, i think.”

that made sense. pilots probably weren’t exactly known for stable schedules.

the strange tightness lingering inside your chest eased just slightly afterward. maybe because uncertainty felt worse than disappointment somehow. at least now there was an explanation, a clean one.

he simply wasn’t here.

you nodded politely. “well, thank you anyway.”

the man raised his glass toward you. “good luck finding whoever you’re actually looking for.”

you gave him one last embarrassed smile before immediately turning away. jesus, what an unbelievably humiliating interaction.

as you walked deeper through the ballroom again, you tried forcing yourself not to think about it too much. honestly, maybe it was better this way. you wouldn’t have to worry about awkward reunions or unresolved history suddenly resurfacing. caleb wasn’t here. and if caleb wasn’t here—then maybe zayne wasn’t either. 

you continued moving through the venue with quieter steps, eventually drifting toward the grand staircase leading upstairs to the hotel’s lounge area. unlike the crowded ballroom below, the upper floor looked dimmer and more intimate.

except, there was a crowd gathered near the lounge entrance.

you slowed, watching the way people stood clustered together around one side of the room, several guests leaned against the railings trying to peek through the gathering, while others whispered to each other with visible amusement.

your brows furrowed. what exactly was happening up there?

curiosity carried you upstairs before caution could stop you. most of the crowd, however, seemed gathered around one particular table near the center of the lounge. you stepped closer carefully, weaving between guests until the scene finally came into view.

a proper poker setup occupied one of the longer tables, cards scattered beneath the amber lighting while chips piled carelessly around half-finished drinks. several masked alumni sat around the table already looking halfway defeated.

and seated among them—was ghostface.

it’s not the ridiculous halloween-store version. this one looked… unfairly good.

instead of the long black robe usually associated with the mask, the man wore fitted black clothing that sharpened the broadness of his shoulders and arms, dark fabric stretching cleanly over muscle before disappearing into grey baggy jeans that somehow made the whole look even more attractive. black gloves covered his hands while the ghostface mask itself showcased its expression permanently frozen into that eerie open-mouthed grin.

you folded your arms while lingering near the edge of the crowd, attention slowly drifting toward the game unfolding before you.

“that’s like his sixth win already.”

“no seriously, this guy’s terrifying.”

soft laughter circled around the table, and the ghostface man only leaned back slightly in his chair, cards resting between gloved fingers with suspicious ease.

you watched another round unfold. and unfortunately, they were right. he was good, very good. 

he played patiently, almost lazily at times, like he already knew how each round would end before the others did. every movement looked deliberate, the way he shuffled chips, the way he held cards. even the way he sat there silently while everyone else talked too much.

you narrowed your eyes beneath your mask. okay, that irritated you.

because for as long as you could remember, you had always been good at card games. most especially poker. annoyingly good, according to several cousins and former classmates who stopped agreeing to play against you years ago. and now this ghostface man was sitting there collecting victories like he owned the table, so your competitiveness stirred before you could stop it.

you remained watching for another minute, then another.

the ghostface player revealed another winning hand.

“oh come on,” someone complained loudly. “this guy’s impossible.”

through the mask, ghostface only tilted his head in amusement.

that did it.

before you could reconsider, you stepped forward through the crowd. “can i play too?”the moment you stepped closer to the table, several heads turned toward you at once.

years ago, that amount of attention probably would have made your stomach fold into itself. you used to hate moments like this in school—the sudden awareness of eyes, the fear of saying something awkward, the feeling of being perceived too closely.

unlike everyone else who only glanced briefly your way, the ghostface guy seated across the poker table looked up at you and… stayed there.

one second, and two, and three.

his mask revealed absolutely nothing, which somehow made it worse. the frozen expression carved into ghostface’s face remained permanently unreadable while he simply stared at you in complete silence.

you resisted the urge to fidget beneath his attention. 

why did that suddenly feel intense? 

“is that okay?” you finally asked, gesturing toward the empty chair. “or am i intruding?”

for a brief moment, ghostface remained motionless. then—as though suddenly realizing he had been staring too long—he leaned back and nodded once.

“it's okay.”

your breath caught.

that voice...

you narrowed your eyes even more beneath your catwoman mask while slowly taking the seat across from him.

his voice is dangerously familiar, not enough for certainty, but just enough to disturb you. you settled into the chair anyway while the others around the table perked up at the possibility of fresh entertainment.

“oh thank god,” somebody groaned dramatically. “please humble him for us.”

“seriously,” another added. “this guy’s been robbing everybody blind.”

ghostface said nothing. he only lowered his gaze back toward the cards in his hands while the dealer reshuffled for the next round.

thankfully, once the game resumed, the mask itself stopped being distracting surprisingly quickly. maybe because ghostface rarely lifted his head fully while playing. most of the time, his attention remained lowered toward the table, gloved fingers handling chips and cards with calm precision.

the first few rounds unfolded carefully. you played cleanly, watching your opponents more than your own cards while the lounge buzzed around you. years of corporate meetings had apparently sharpened your poker face because some of the players folded too early against you. ghostface, however, remained annoyingly difficult to read. his movements were too controlled, too measured. 

you frowned while studying him across the table.

the game had somehow become quieter around the two of you, in the sense that your attention had narrowed toward the man seated across. somewhere along the way, the others around the table stopped mattering. it became a strange tug-of-war existing only between you and ghostface.

and annoyingly—he really was good.

the current round had gone sideways faster than you expected. one by one, the other players folded until only the two of you remained at the table, chips scattered between dim amber light and half-empty glasses.

you leaned back in your chair while mentally rearranging possibilities.

shit.

ghostface had cornered you beautifully.

your fingers tapped once against your cards while you forced yourself to think. if you folded now, you’d lose the round entirely. but if you pushed too aggressively and guessed wrong—ugh. your ego genuinely would not survive losing to this stupid masked man, especially not in front of an audience.

across the table, ghostface remained infuriatingly calm. it made you bite against your lower lip while studying the chips, trying to search for another angle, another bluff, another opening somewhere inside the round.

come on. think!

you glanced upward absentmindedly—then immediately looked back down—before your eyes snapped upward again.

because ghostface was staring at you.

... very openly.

his elbow rested against the arm of the chair while his gloved fist supported the side of his face, posture almost lazy beneath the dark clothing. yet despite how relaxed he looked, the attention directed toward you felt sharp enough to press against your skin.

and unlike before—he did not look away. it's like he knew exactly what position he had cornered you into and wanted to watch you struggle through it.

fine.

you stared back.

the lounge lights shifted overhead while the two of you remained suspended in this strange silent challenge across the poker table. the longer you looked, the more your eyes adjusted to the thin dark material shadowing the eyeholes of the ghostface mask.

and then, you saw them.

purple eyes...

faintly obscured beneath black fabric and low lighting, but unmistakably purple. for one horrifying second, your mind blanked completely.

wait. how common even were purple eyes? no, that wasn’t the correct question. how rare were they?

your pulse stumbled unevenly while you stared at him, but ghostface remained motionless, watching you. those purple eyes continued to pierce into your soul. now, the mask felt less anonymous than before.

your gaze dropped quickly back toward the cards in your hands.

don’t get distracted.

it did not matter who this man was. it did not matter why his voice sounded familiar or why his eyes looked dangerously recognizable beneath that mask. right now, there was only one thing that mattered:

you were winning this round.

you inhaled slowly and forced yourself to think again. and then—like a spark suddenly catching—you saw it. a narrow opening hidden beneath the way ghostface had structured the round. risky but possible.

slowly, you reached forward and pushed your chips inward. the table quieted, and ghostface tilted his head at your bold move.

someone nearby muttered, “oh this is evil.”

you finally lifted your gaze toward him again.“call,” for the first time all night, ghostface hesitated. it was barely noticeable, but very much enough.

the reveal came seconds later.

“no way.”

“finally!”

got you.

after being cornered for nearly the entire round, somehow—somehow—you managed to turn it around against him!

the moment your win settled in, the lounge around the table reacted instantly.

“she actually did it,” one of them laughed.

“our man got humbled,” another added, half incredulous.

you could feel the attention return to you again, lighter this time, less intimidating than before. your shoulders eased beneath the catwoman mask as you offered a small, polite smile. and then, you turned your attention back across the table toward ghostface. “that was a good game,” you smiled a bit wider. “you’re really good.”

that was a fact.

he didn’t respond though. 

ghostface remained perfectly still, head tilted slightly downward as if studying you through the black void of his mask. the silence stretched just long enough to feel intentional, like he was weighing something he had no intention of sharing with anyone else in the room.

you couldn’t read him, not even a little. then, after a beat too long, he lifted his hands and gave a slow, lazy clap.

once... twice... thrice.

“congratulations, miss poker,” he said at last.

you held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, because his mannerisms bothered you. it’s the tilt of his head, the stillness between movements, and even the way he spoke felt like something your memory almost knew but couldn’t fully grasp.

a familiar ghost of familiarity.

you swallowed the thought before it could form properly. instead, you let out a small breath and returned a light smile. “thanks,” you replied casually, as if none of this lingered beneath the surface.

you pushed back your chair and stood, smoothing yourself as the crowd began shifting around you again, some still talking about the game while others moved on to their own conversations. excusing yourself politely, you stepped away from the table, and as you walked past ghostface, you felt his presence remain still behind you. but you didn’t look back.

you weaved through the lounge crowd toward the hallway, heels clicking against the floor. you needed a moment where your thoughts didn’t feel like they were circling something you couldn’t name.

the nearest restroom sign came into view at the end of the corridor. it was blissfully quiet compared to the lounge outside.

the moment the door closed behind you, the noise of the party dulled into distant vibrations through the walls, softened enough for you to finally exhale properly.

you reached up and removed your mask. “ugh,” 

finally.

cool air brushed against your skin almost instantly, easing the slight warmth that had gathered beneath the mask throughout the night. for a moment, you simply stood there staring at your reflection in the mirror, fingers adjusting loose strands of hair that had shifted during the evening.

after using one of the cubicles, you washed your hands slowly beneath warm water, your thoughts inevitably drifting back toward the lounge outside.

toward... the ghostface guy.

your brows furrowed faintly at your own reflection, thinking about how... everything about him felt familiar. not just one specific thing, but everything. and then there were those purple eyes.

could it really be—?

no. the nightwing guy downstairs already said caleb wasn’t here. besides, years had passed already so people changed. maybe you were simply projecting old memories onto strangers because tonight had dragged too much nostalgia out of you all at once.

that had to be it.

you shut the faucet off firmly and shook the thought away before it could root itself any deeper.

it was just a man in a mask. nothing more.

composing yourself again, you slipped your mask back on and headed toward the restroom exit. except the moment you opened the door and stepped back into the hallway, your footsteps stopped completely.

someone stood just outside the women’s restroom.

him.

the one you were thinking about just now.

he leaned lazily against the wall several feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his grey jeans while one boot rested loosely against the baseboard beneath him. 

you blinked once.

did he follow you here...?

ghostface only turned to you and stared back silently.

you abruptly cleared your throat, forcing politeness back into your expression before the silence became strange. “are you waiting for someone?” you asked with a small smile.

ghostface tilted his head slightly at your question. after a pause that lasted just long enough to make your chest tighten again, he answered quietly, “yeah, i was.” voice muffled enough beneath the mask.

you tilted your head at him, still trying to keep the conversation light despite the strange tension gathering in the hallway. “there’s nobody else in the women’s restroom,” you pointed out gently. “whoever you’re waiting for isn’t there.”

ghostface stayed leaning against the wall for another second as he chuckled, low and dangerously familiar. “really?” 

your breath caught immediately.

there it is. that stupid laugh. warm, teasing, and unfairly boyish beneath all the black fabric and broad shoulders. the sound hit you harder than recognition should have, crashing straight into old summers, friday nights, basketball courts, laundry afternoons, and eighteen-year-old heartbreak all at once.

this is... caleb. 

you knew it now.

the hallway felt even more unbearably narrow around the two of you.

you wanted to run, to run before you lose whatever careful distance you spent years building between yourself and the past. “well,” you said carefully, “your ex isn’t anywhere nearby either. she’s downstairs.”

for the first time since you stepped outside the restroom, ghostface, or rather caleb, looked genuinely confused. “…my ex?” he repeated slowly.

you nodded once, trying to sound casual despite the heat climbing beneath your skin. oh god, you immediately decided this conversation needed to end before your dignity dissolved entirely. clearing your throat again, you stepped forward and gestured politely toward the hallway. “anyway, excuse me—”

you brushed past him. or at least, you tried to.

“y/n.”

you stopped, and the silence afterward felt strangely loud. slowly, you turned back toward him. and for some reason, the fact that he didn’t call you pips or pipsqueak or those silly childish names anymore lingered in your chest.

of course he didn’t. you were adults now, after all. 

grown people with careers and separate lives and years between you. maybe those childish nicknames belonged to another version of him entirely, another version of the three of you. maybe this only proved what you already suspected downstairs—they had moved on now. and maybe you were the only one still haunted by old things.

no, that wasn’t true either.

you weren’t clinging to the past. tonight only dragged it back into your hands unexpectedly. that was all.

your gaze lifted hesitantly toward him again just as he finally moved. slowly, he reached beneath the collar of his black shirt and pulled something free from underneath the fabric, revealing a dog tag necklace with a tiny apple charm attached near the chain.

it’s the one you gave him years ago when you were still taller than him as kids. he had laughed so hard back then. you remembered the exact sound. and now—now it rested against the black fabric of his chest like something treasured too carefully for too long.

so he still had it after all these years. 

“it’s me, dummy,” he says.

yeah, you knew.

maybe not the moment you first saw him near the poker table. but somewhere between the voice, the eyes, the way he stared too intensely, and the unbearable familiarity wrapped around every little mannerism he had—you knew.

your hands curled quietly into fists against your sides, because now that caleb was standing here in front of you after all these years, your body suddenly remembered too many things at once. “i know,” you murmured. “you always make things obvious.” 

deep down, you missed him. you missed caleb. standing this close to him again made something ache inside your chest.

you wanted to hug him, the kind where your face disappears into someone’s shoulder and years melt apart for a moment. and, now that you're thinking about that, you also somewhat hoped to see zayne around here and do just exactly that.

but adulthood had taught you restraint in places where younger versions of yourself used to act freely. so you stayed still.

caleb watched you carefully for a beat before fully turning toward you, one shoulder lifting lazily against the wall. “how’d you know it was me?” 

you let out a small huff through your nose, “i just do.”

that answer silenced him only briefly, but enough for you to notice. something shifted in his posture before he straightened fully, removing the ghostface mask completely with one hand.

and there—there he was.

he wasn’t the boy you remembered anymore, but a grown man.

caleb had always been handsome in that effortless, bright sort of way people naturally felt attracted to, but adulthood sharpened him into something almost unfair. his features had grown more defined over the years, jaw stronger now beneath the dim lighting, cheekbones sharper, even the bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes somehow added to it instead of taking away.

he knew that too.

you could tell by the way he leaned casually against the wall afterward, completely comfortable inside his own skin. his grin tugged crookedly. “there she is, thought maybe corporate life killed your personality already.”

you only smiled back. “you’re the one dressed like a murderer at a school reunion.”

caleb barked out a laugh, warm and genuine. the sound echoed softly down the hallway.

“there she is,” he repeated quieter this time, almost to himself. you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on you as he slipped his hands back into his pockets. “so how’s your family? your mom still forcing everybody to take leftovers home after gatherings?”

you smiled faintly despite yourself. “yes.”

“and your cousins?” he continued. “they still following you around like ducklings?”

you chortled at that. “they’re teenagers now. they barely acknowledge my existence.”

“that's tragic.”

you shook your head, still smiling. but somewhere in the middle of the conversation, something settled strangely inside your chest. caleb kept asking about everyone else, your family, your cousins, your parents. everything surrounding your life except—

you.

he never asked how you were. that tiny omission lingered heavier than it should have.

if this was how caleb acted now, then maybe he really had moved on already. maybe years were enough to soften whatever existed between the three of you back then, enough to turn obsession into memory and memory into something manageable. adulthood had a way of doing that to people, didn’t it? sanding sharp feelings down into old stories you only revisit every once in a while.

maybe caleb was normal now, maybe he had loved someone else already. maybe he went through heartbreaks and hookups and whole relationships himself while you stayed tucked away in a corner of his past like an old neighborhood photograph.

you swallowed and forced yourself not to linger too long on the thought. “what about you?”

caleb looked up. “what about me?”

“how’ve you been all these years?”

for a second, something flickered across his face. surprise maybe. as if nobody had asked him that sincerely in a long time. he grinned again, slipping back into that familiar warmth he wore so naturally. “good, been very busy you know.”

“wow, incredibly detailed answer.”

he laughed under his breath. “i mean, what d’you want me to say? i fly planes now. half my life’s in airports. i drink too much coffee. sometimes i forget what country i’m in.”

“that sounds mildly concerning.”

“it’s called occupational hazard.” his eyes stayed on you while he spoke, and it made something inside your chest feel unsteady in a way you hated noticing.

caleb still looked at people too directly. 

he continued talking afterward, telling you random pieces of his life in fragments. about long-haul flights, ridiculous passengers, getting stranded once because of weather conditions, and his coworkers apparently thinking he had anger issues because he got into arguments too easily.

“that part’s believable,” you muttered.

“oh, shut up.” his grin remained, but thinner now somehow. “i miss our neighborhood though,” 

the words were simple, but something about the way he said them made your stomach tighten faintly. he didn’t say he missed home, he didn’t say he missed being younger. he just said he missed the neighborhood.

you looked at him carefully, trying to understand what exactly he meant by it. or maybe—what exactly he was trying not to say.

caleb must’ve noticed your stare lingering too long because he straightened and gave you another crooked grin, this one almost sheepish beneath all the confidence he usually carried. “anyway,” he clears his throat, “i should probably stop hiding in hallways before people think i’m actually kidnapping women tonight.” he steps away from the wall afterward, clearly about to leave.

but before he could, you stopped him. 

“how’s zayne doing?”

caleb halted mid-step, and you watched it happen in real time.

the subtle dimming in his eyes, the way the looseness left his shoulders, as his smile slowly weakened at the corners before disappearing entirely. something restrained passed across his expression so quickly you almost missed it, held-back and quiet in the way real emotions usually were.

your brows knitted faintly together. for a second there—he looked like someone trying very hard not to let something show.

but the switch quickly flipped.

his smile returned so naturally that, if you weren’t looking directly at him moments earlier, you probably would’ve missed the crack entirely. “he’s good. a successful doctor now. annoyingly successful, actually.”

that sounded like zayne.

something inside you eased hearing it from caleb himself. you didn't doubt zayne’s success—you already knew what he became years ago through mutual acquaintances and scattered updates from families—but hearing caleb say it aloud made it feel more real.

you nodded. “that’s really good to know.”

caleb only hummed. 

but then, unexpectedly, he steps closer.

the movement was so unexpected that your body nearly reacted on instinct, feet threatening to retreat backward against the hallway floor. except you stopped yourself midway, tilting your head up at him instead with quiet confusion.

he was close enough for you to notice the faint shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes, close enough to catch the subtle scent of cologne mixed with something colder, cleaner.

your pulse stumbled once when caleb looked down at you before his hand slowly lifted.

and then, he patted your head.

it wasn’t really a pat, though. 

his fingers lingered.

they slid gently into your hair near your temple, brushing softly through the strands beside your ear before trailing lower down your shoulder with unbearable slowness. the touch felt absentminded on the surface, almost affectionate in a casual way, but there was something underneath it that made your body go completely still, something that lingered too long to mean nothing.

his eyes softened almost imperceptibly while his fingers slipped away from your hair. “you really grew up,” his voice had changed again, less teasing. “no longer the little scatterbrain i used to know.”

his hand dropped back to his side afterward. “you don’t have to worry about zayne too much, you’ll see him soon anyway.”

you blinked. “what?”

so he really isn't here, then? 

caleb tilted his head. “granny’s birthday. did they tell you yet?”

your mind stalled for half a second before realization hit.

oh right, granny’s birthday. the same granny who practically raised entire neighborhoods through force-feeding and unsolicited life advice. miraculously, this year, her birthday landed on a friday.

“she wanted everyone together again,” caleb continued. “same setup as before.”

you stared at him. “oh, you and zayne are going?”

caleb looked almost offended by the question. “of course we are,” he said. “it’s granny.”

—

the hotel lights had long disappeared behind you, now swallowed by distance and the slow quietness of the road.

your mind remained back there somehow, back in that hallway with caleb.

you sat behind the steering wheel with one hand loosely resting against it, the other drumming near the gearshift as the city lights blurred past your windows in streaks of gold and white. the catwoman mask had already been tossed carelessly onto the passenger seat beside your purse, abandoned the moment you got into the car, but the rest of the costume remained annoyingly intact against your skin.

you suddenly understood why actresses always complained about tight outfits during interviews. you adjusted uncomfortably in your seat while stopping at a red light, your thoughts drifting back unwillingly toward caleb again.

his smile. that stupid dog-like grin he gave you before disappearing back into the crowd with a “i’ll see you around, y/n,”

no longer pipsqueak, huh.

your grip tightened lightly against the wheel. you should stop thinking about him.

before your thoughts could spiral any further, your car suddenly jerked faintly beneath you, making your brows furrowed. then the engine made a strained clicking sound.

once, twice, before it died.

“…you’ve got to be kidding me.” the steering wheel stiffened beneath your hands as the car slowed awkwardly toward the side of the road. you managed to park safely beneath a dim streetlight, but when you tried restarting the engine again, the car only answered with another pathetic clicking noise.

you stared blankly ahead through the windshield.

for fuck’s sake. out of all nights.

you leaned back against the seat and exhaled harshly through your nose, fingers rubbing against your temple while frustration crawled into your chest. the road around you was unusually quiet this late at night, with only the occasional distant headlights passing every few minutes. after another failed attempt to start the engine, you finally groaned and grabbed your phone from the cupholder to call tara.

you dialed her impatiently while pushing the car door open.

humid night air wrapped around you the second you stepped outside. the heels you regretted wearing clicked sharply against the pavement as you walked around the front of your car, hugging your arms briefly against yourself while the phone rang beside your ear.

“come on, tara…”

the street remained mostly empty around you, lined with sleeping establishments and darkened storefronts that looked strangely eerie this late into the night. somewhere nearby, a dog barked once before silence swallowed the sound again.

and... headlights?

you looked up instinctively, only to see a dark car sat parked several meters behind yours on the opposite side of the road.

you were almost certain it hadn’t been there earlier. 

the vehicle remained completely still beneath the weak glow of a streetlamp, windows tinted dark enough that you couldn’t make out whoever sat inside. 

maybe it was nothing. maybe another driver had simply pulled over too? but something about it made your stomach tighten. your phone continued ringing unanswered against your ear while your eyes remained fixed on the unfamiliar car.

suddenly, standing out here alone in your stupid tight costume didn’t feel very smart anymore.

without thinking twice, you lowered the phone and quickly walked back toward your car. the moment you slipped inside the driver’s seat again, you locked the doors immediately.

you looked through the rearview mirror.

and the dark car remained there, watching.

or maybe you were only paranoid. you hoped you were only paranoid.

the sight unsettled you more the longer it stayed there. so you tried calling again, straight to ringing. but your frustration only tangled itself together with nervousness until your shoulders felt stiff beneath the tight leather of your costume. you then sighed heavily and lowered your phone. 

maybe you should just call roadside assistance instead. or maybe—

knock knock.

you physically jolted so hard your shoulder hit the seat. your head snapped violently toward the driver-side window, pulse instantly spiking into your throat.

and there—leaning slightly down beside your car beneath the dim streetlight—was a familiar face.

older, sharper.

the softness youth once gave him had long disappeared, carved away into cleaner lines and composed restraint. even through the shadows, there was no mistaking him. not the calmness in his expression, not the piercing emerald eyes staring directly at you through the glass.

zayne.

for a second, you could only stare at him blankly.

what was he doing here? and more importantly—why did this somehow feel exactly like something zayne would do? appearing at the exact moment your life tilted sideways without warning.

when your eyes met, you watch him straighten up and step aside.

was he really back in town now? 

your fingers tightened around your phone before you slowly unlocked the car door, the cool night air hitting your skin again the moment you stepped outside.

up close, the sight of him almost startled you a second time. you swallowed once and forced yourself to compose properly despite the strange tightness gathering beneath your ribs. 

there was no time to be overwhelmed. not here, not now.

you smiled politely in that careful adult way people did after years apart. the kind of smile exchanged between relatives reconnecting after too much time passed. “zayne,” you greeted softly. “it’s been a while. how’ve you—”

“what’s wrong with your car?” the interruption was immediate, clean and direct.

your words stopped midair, as the smile on your face faded before you could even help it.

huh.

for some reason, the bluntness stung more than it should have. you looked at him for a second, suddenly unsure where to place your hands or your voice or yourself beneath his attention. maybe adulthood really had made him colder, or maybe he was simply always like this and you only forgot.

“i—” you started awkwardly. “sorry, i just—”

“don’t be.” his voice wasn’t harsh. if anything, it was too calm. 

you blinked once before pressing your lips together tightly.

the silence stretched briefly between you while distant cars occasionally passed somewhere farther down the road. beneath the streetlight, zayne’s gaze flicked toward your vehicle again before returning to your face.

you finally cleared your throat. “uh, my engine suddenly stopped working, i don’t even know why.”

zayne nodded once. then, without another word, he stepped past you toward the front of the car.

you turned instinctively to watch him. and suddenly, embarrassingly, your chest tightened again. because it hit you all at once then—this was the first time you had been alone with zayne in years.

really alone.

without any family gatherings, crowded parties, and without caleb between the space separating the two of you. there’s just the quiet road and the warm night air. and zayne standing beside your broken car with rolled sleeves and tired eyes.

he leaned slightly over the hood of the car, brows furrowing in concentration as he examined something beneath the front light. his forearms flexed when he rested one hand against the edge of the hood, and the sight made your stomach twist in a way that felt deeply inconvenient.

seriously, what the hell was wrong with you tonight?

as if sensing your stare lingering too long, zayne looked back at you directly. the eye contact hit harder now that you were adults, less innocent.

quietly, with the same unreadable composure he always carried, he asked. “why are you out here alone this late?”

“there was an alumni homecoming,” you explained, hugging your arms a little closer against yourself while standing beside the car. “for senior high.”

zayne remained crouched near the front of the vehicle, one hand braced against the hood while the other adjusted something beneath it. he only glanced up briefly before returning his attention back to the engine.

“i attended the party,” you added after a second, suddenly hyperaware of what you were wearing. “which is why i look like… this.”

the corner of zayne’s mouth twitched faintly, enough to make your stomach betray you a little.

“i noticed,” he says.

you cleared your throat and stepped closer to the car, heels crunching lightly against stray gravel near the roadside. up close, you could smell faint detergent and something sterile clinging subtly to him beneath the night air, like hospital corridors and clean laundry somehow followed him everywhere.

it felt unfairly familiar.

you looked down at him. “you didn’t hear about the homecoming?”

silence.

“that means no, then.”

zayne hummed, entirely unbothered by your accusation. honestly, that tracked. he was always strangely detached from things happening around him unless someone physically dragged the information to his face. back then, people used to joke that zayne could probably miss the apocalypse if nobody updated him personally.

you opened your mouth to tease him again when suddenly—

“fuck.” grease smeared darkly against the cuff of his rolled sleeve and streaked lightly across his forearm.

instinctively, you moved toward the passenger side door. “wait, i have wipes inside—”

“it’s okay.” zayne said it so quickly that you paused mid-motion. he barely even looked at the stain. you stood there awkwardly for a second before slowly nodding and stepping back again.

silence settled afterward, the kind of silence that carried too many things beneath it.

you watched zayne work quietly for another moment. he really had changed... or maybe matured was the better word. oh — his phone is ringing.

buzzzzz!

zayne stopped immediately. with his clean hand, he pulled the phone out and glanced briefly at the screen before answering.

“baby?”

your body stilled, completely.

zayne turned slightly away while speaking into the phone, voice lower and calmer in a way that sounded unintentionally intimate beneath the quiet road. “yes, i’m still outside.” he paused. “no, don’t wait up.”

your throat tightened before you could stop it.

oh.

he had a girlfriend now. 

you stared blankly at the road instead, suddenly unable to figure out where to look. how? when? where did he even meet her? and more importantly—why did you care so much? the realization embarrassed you instantly. because what exactly were you expecting after all these years apart? that both of them would remain frozen in time waiting for you forever?

you swallowed and looked down at your hands. this entire situation felt strange and wrong somehow.

zayne was here late at night helping you alone on the side of the road while his girlfriend waited for him somewhere else. and you stood beside him in a skin-tight costume looking at him too much and thinking about things you absolutely should not be thinking anymore.

it made guilt creep slowly beneath your skin.

zayne ended the call not long after and slipped his phone back into his pocket. before he could return to fixing the engine, you stepped forward quickly and lowered the hood shut with a dull metallic thud.

the sound cut through the quiet road sharply, making zayne blink up at you.

then one of his brows lifted.

the expression was so familiar it almost threw you off balance. that look he had on his face looked exactly like his younger self again—the same boy who used to silently judge everybody with one unimpressed glance.

you pressed your lips together awkwardly. “you don’t have to fix it. i’ll just call for assistance or something.”

zayne remained leaning slightly against the car, grease staining his sleeve while he looked at you like you’d just said something ridiculous. “i can fix it.”

“yeah, but you don’t need to.”

“it's fine.”

you exhaled through your nose. “zayne, seriously, i don’t want to take too much of your time.”

his gaze stayed on you for a moment, and then he straightened fully, brushing his stained hand against his slacks without much concern. “the radiator hose is damaged. your engine overheated. it’s not something you should drive home tonight.”

you stared at him silently while he spoke, watching the way the streetlight caught faintly against the sharp bridge of his nose and the loose strands of dark hair falling near his forehead.

“It’s better if i drive you home,” he added calmly. “i’ll call assistance for your car afterward.”

your body stilled faintly at the offer. 

drive you home...?

the intimacy of it settled strangely beneath your ribs, because this wasn’t high school anymore. you weren’t teenagers stumbling through friday nights.

you were adults now. and being alone in a car with zayne at this age felt infinitely more dangerous than it would’ve back then. you swallowed once before the thought escaped your mouth. “…don’t you have a girlfriend?”

zayne paused, actually paused. his brows furrowed slightly as he looked at you with genuine confusion. “what?”

you immediately regretted asking.

ugh, you sounded insane now that you realized it. you cleared your throat and gestured vaguely. “the... call earlier.”

realization dawned across his face slowly. and then—to your complete disbelief—zayne almost looked amused. “my assistant? her name is baby.”

“…what?”

“baby jane,” zayne repeated calmly. “one of the assistants in the hospital.”

you continued staring at him.

that was the dumbest thing you had ever heard.

if this explanation came from literally anybody else, you would’ve laughed directly in their face and called them a liar. but zayne looked entirely sincere standing there. because zayne couldn’t lie to save his life. back then, he used to get caught hiding things within five seconds simply because guilt physically manifested on his face.

awkwardly, you nodded. “…oh.”

a tiny silence followed, then you noticed the look on zayne’s face. subtle but definitely there—mild amusement lingered quietly in his eyes while he watched you process everything.

your cheeks instantly felt warmer as you looked away. “well, that’s a ridiculous name.”

“everyone says the same thing.”

after zayne finished calling assistance for your car, the two of you stood awkwardly beside the road for a moment while waiting for the details to settle. it turns out that the dark tinted car from earlier belonged to none other than zayne. 

several minutes later, you found yourself slipping into the passenger seat. the interior smelled faintly like coffee and something distinctly him—subtle enough that you probably wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t sitting this close. zayne also settled into the driver’s seat beside you, adjusting the wheel before glancing toward you.

“are you cold?” he asked, fingers already reaching toward the air conditioning controls.

you shook your head. “i’m fine.”

he paused briefly before pulling his hand away again without argument.

you stared out the passenger window while absently rubbing your thumb against your phone screen. you still felt worried about your car despite everything. what if the repair became expensive? what if the engine problem turned out worse than expected? and on top of that—sitting in zayne’s car after all these years felt so odd in a way you couldn’t properly explain.

the silence between you wasn’t awkward exactly. it was worse. it was familiar.

you cleared your throat to distract yourself. “do you still remember the way to my house?”

instead of answering verbally, zayne simply opened his maps application. you stared at the glowing screen for a second before letting out a tiny huff of disbelief.

“wow,” 

“i remember the address,” he said calmly while typing it in. “not the route.”

that reminds you... back then, zayne used to remember everything about you—which snacks you hated, which route you preferred walking home, which pencil brand you always lost within two days.

he used to notice little things without even trying. but now he needed maps.

you looked down at your lap quietly.

this was good. this was normal. people grow up and move on. you were expecting too much from ghosts of adolescence that no longer existed the same way they once did. and, weren’t you relieved? if both caleb and zayne had truly moved on from whatever complicated mess existed between the three of you back then, then you could finally breathe properly too. you no longer have to carry that strange lingering guilt that followed you through adulthood like an unfinished sentence.

now, all of you could finally leave everything behind.

when the car stopped outside your house, relief and disappointment tangled together unpleasantly inside your chest. you unbuckled your seatbelt slowly and turned toward him with a polite smile. “thank you for driving me home. i really appreciate it.”

zayne nodded. “mm.”

you stepped out of the car carefully, heels crunching lightly against the pavement again. you were already halfway toward your gate when—

“wait.” your name left zayne’s mouth behind you.

you turned around and stilled at the sight of zayne stepping out of the car too. in his hands was a small cake box decorated with your favorite flowers tucked neatly around the ribbon.

where did that suddenly come from? and... is that for you? 

something about his composure became almost painfully awkward beneath the porch lights. “i heard about the reunion,” he admitted quietly. “but my schedule didn’t allow me to attend.” his tone remained flat in that very zayne way, but you caught it immediately—the subtle stiffness beneath his voice whenever he was embarrassed about sincerity.

it almost made you smile.

“so, i brought something instead.” he sounded like someone reluctantly explaining why he accidentally cared too much.

slowly, you stepped closer and looked down at the lettering written carefully across the cake.

“congratulations for getting promoted.”

you remember caleb texted you about your promotion months ago while zayne never did, but this felt exactly like the sort of thing zayne would do instead of sending a message. quietly remember just to quietly show up. quietly carry around a cake for god knows how long because he didn’t know how else to express congratulations properly.

you looked back up at him. “thank you for still remembering, zayne.”

—

after a few months of postponed plans, missed friday dinners, and relatives constantly saying “we'll be finally complete next time”, granny’s birthday finally came by.

your family arrived earlier than everyone else, mostly because your mother believed being late to family occasions was some kind of moral failure. by eight in the morning, you were already outside in granny’s front yard wearing house slippers and comfortable clothes, sitting on a small plastic stool beneath the shade while blowing balloons until your cheeks hurt.

from the open kitchen windows came the scent of garlic fried in oil, sweet spaghetti sauce simmering in giant pots, and the faint buttery smell of cake that somebody had already sliced prematurely despite strict instructions not to touch it yet. inside the house, the older aunts moved around carrying trays and arguing over whether the pasta needed more sauce while old love songs played from a speaker.

it felt so comforting, like childhood preserved in a glass jar.

your younger cousins ran circles around the yard while chasing each other with uninflated balloons, their slippers slapping against the fake grass. every few minutes one of them would come bother you for help.

at one point, one of the smaller cousins climbed directly onto your lap while you were tying ribbons around balloons, nearly making you inhale the entire thing from surprise. “oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly, pushing his forehead away. “you’re trying to kill me before granny’s birthday even starts!”

the child only grinned mischievously before stealing one of the candies from the nearby table and sprinting away before his mother could catch him. you watched him disappear around the gate with a smile still lingering on your face.

every now and then, the familiar metal gate creaked open again and another relative stepped inside carrying containers of food or grocery bags or wrapped gifts while greeting everyone.

and every single time, granny would brighten like sunlight itself. she sat proudly near the terrace in her favorite floral duster while greeting every newcomer as though they had returned home from war instead of merely driving fifteen minutes away. sometimes she forgot stories halfway through telling them. sometimes she repeated the same joke twice. and nobody minded.

somehow, granny had always been the center thread tying everybody together. without her, everyone drifted.

you noticed that more clearly now as an adult. how people got jobs, moved cities, entered relationships, built schedules too crowded for friday gatherings and random visits. the neighborhood no longer felt permanently alive the way it once had when you were younger. but today felt different—today felt like somebody, in this case, granny, had reached into the past and carefully stitched it back together for a few hours.

you finished tying another cluster of balloons near the gate before standing up to stretch your sore shoulders. immediately, one of your aunts shoved a tray of barbecue sticks into your hands on her way past.

“bring this inside please.”

“why am i suddenly unpaid labor?” you complained.

“because you’re unmarried and still useful,” your mother replied from somewhere behind you without even looking up. almost the entire yard burst into laughter at that, so you groaned while carrying the tray toward the tables, though the smile on your face stayed anyway.

and maybe that was the strange thing about coming back here. for the first time in a long while, adulthood felt far away. here, you were still just you. still someone’s granddaughter. still someone’s cousin. still the girl who grew up inside these walls.

the moment you stepped inside the house carrying the tray of barbecue sticks, you immediately regretted it.

“come here,” one of the older women called instantly, patting the empty seat beside her. another older relative leaned forward with dangerous curiosity already sparkling in her eyes. “so, when are yougetting married?”

oh no.

you forced out a polite smile as you carefully balanced the tray in your hands. “good morning to you too.”

that only made them laugh louder. within seconds, you found yourself trapped near the dining area while several elderly women interrogated you about your love life. somebody asked whether you were secretly dating, another asked if your standards were too high now because you were a corporate manager, then one uncle declared that women became “too intimidating” once they earned too much money.

you stared at him blankly while chewing your barbecue in silence. honestly, you would rather reorganize all the monoblock chairs outside one by one than survive this conversation.

thankfully, salvation arrived in the form of chaos. one of the younger cousins suddenly darted past you like a tiny criminal and snatched another barbecue stick straight from the tray.

“hey!” you yelped. 

the little girl burst into delighted laughter before sprinting outside barefoot while the adults erupted into noisy scolding.

“go catch her!”

“that child keeps stealing food!”

you did not even pretend to hesitate. “i’ll go,” you announced, already escaping toward the doorway before another marriage question could be launched at your forehead.

outside, you spotted the little girl racing across the front yard triumphantly with the stolen barbecue held high in the air.

“come back here!” you laughed, chasing after her across the grass. “you little thief!” the child shrieked happily and nearly reached the gate before—someone suddenly caught her mid-run.

two large hands lifted her clean off the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing, and the little girl gasped before bursting into giggles.

you stopped in your tracks.

even before your mind fully processed the uniform, the broad frame, or the sunglasses glinting beneath the sunlight—you already knew it was none other than your childhood friend.

they’ve arrived.

he stood there casually in his brown DAA uniform, one arm holding the laughing child against his side while the other stole the barbecue stick directly from her hand. “crime doesn’t pay,” he informed her seriously before taking a bite himself.

the little girl gasped in betrayal. “caleb!”

caleb only grinned around the barbecue. even after all these years, he still carried that same careless brightness around him. the uniform hugged his frame, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal toned forearms lightly browned from the sun, while the dark sunglasses somehow made his grin look even more radiant.

caleb finally turned toward you and smiled, crooked and familiar and terribly easy. “wow,” he drawled while lowering the child back onto the ground. “they got you working like hired staff already?”

you let out an embarrassed laugh despite yourself. “somebody has to do the labor around here.”

“yeah?” caleb tilted his head while looking you over openly. “you even look the part.”

your eyes widened. “what does that even mean?”

he laughed beneath his breath, clearly entertained by how fast you reacted. “relax, you look adorable.”

the word hit you stupidly harder than it should have. before you could recover, caleb already brushed past you casually toward the relatives gathering near the entrance. and just as instantly, loud greetings exploded from the yard.

“caleb!”

“you got thinner!”

“no, he got bigger!”

relatives crowded around him fussing over his arrival while younger cousins clung to his arms asking endless questions about airplanes and flying. and somehow, quite unlike you, he handled all of it effortlessly.

then, a quieter presence approached behind him. unlike caleb’s easy warmth, zayne arrived like winter air drifting through an open doorway. with a dark trench coat resting against his arm despite the sun, he wore an all-black clothing with a composed posture that remained untouched by the noisy chaos surrounding him.

he looked absurdly polished compared to the rest of the family bustling around in slippers and casual clothes. that only made him more familiar too.

his gaze found you almost immediately, quietly taking in the sight of you standing there breathless beneath the sunlight with messy hair, barbecue smoke clinging faintly to your clothes, and ribbons still tied around your wrist from decorating earlier.

your throat suddenly felt dry.

zayne gave you the smallest nod before moving past you as well, greeting the older relatives respectfully while they began fussing over him too.

and until lunchtime, you barely sat down. 

every time you thought you finally had a moment to rest, another relative suddenly needed help carrying something, reheating food, arranging chairs, or finding missing utensils. at some point, you became the unofficial runner of the entire gathering.

still, you didn’t really mind. there was something oddly comforting about the exhaustion. meanwhile, both caleb and zayne had become trapped in their own corners of socialization. every few minutes, you’d catch glimpses of them between rooms.

you saw caleb sitting comfortably among a noisy cluster of uncles and neighbors outside near the terrace, laughing easily while answering endless questions about work abroad. zayne, on the other hand, remained inside most of the time, seated neatly beside the older relatives who adored him for entirely different reasons. every auntie in the room seemed eager to brag about him to somebody else. zayne endured all of it with quiet patience, occasionally adjusting his sleeves while listening attentively whenever elders spoke to him.

by the time lunch was nearly ready, the heat inside the house had become unbearable enough that your head started hurting slightly. after setting down another tray of food onto the dining table, you exhaled and leaned toward your nearby aunt. “is there still cold water left?” 

your aunt nodded while fixing plates. “there should be some in the fridge—” before she could even finish speaking, you hear two chairs scraping against the floor at the exact same time.

you froze at the loud sound, only to see that caleb and zayne had both stood up simultaneously.

“i’ll get it,” caleb said.

“i can get it for her,” zayne spoke at almost the same time.

silence...

your fingers tightened around the empty glass in your hand. and there you go.

you felt eighteen again. 

caleb blinked first before glancing sideways at zayne with a crooked look of disbelief. zayne slowly sat back down first, though the faint tightening in his jaw betrayed him. then caleb followed a second later, leaning back into his chair while exhaling through his nose in amusement.

the younger cousins were very quick to catch on. of course they did. children always noticed first.

“they’re doing it again!” one of the young teenagers quickly blurted out from the couch.

another cousin burst into laughter. “oh my god, just like before!”

“right? they used to fight over helping her all the time!”

several older relatives started chuckling too, while others exchanged those suspiciously observant looks older people had whenever they sensed gossip material forming in real time.

you felt your entire face grow warm. “okay,” you interrupted, forcing out an awkward laugh. “i can just get water myself.” you escaped toward the kitchen before the conversation could worsen further, clutching your empty glass like it could protect you from humiliation.

behind you, the teasing unfortunately continued anyway. you opened the fridge and grabbed the cold pitcher of water with slightly unsteady hands. the cool air spilling from the refrigerator against your overheated skin felt heavenly as you poured yourself a full glass, trying to ignore the muffled conversations continuing from the dining area.

except certain words drifted into hearing range anyway.

“so, do either of you finally have girlfriends now?”

you paused unconsciously while lifting the glass toward your lips. outside, someone laughed, another relative joining in. “there’s no way handsome men like these stayed single this long.”

“what about exes?”

“secret children?” one uncle joked. the room then bursts into noisy reactions. you stared down quietly at your glass of water. and then—

“none,” zayne answered.

one of the aunties sounded genuinely shocked. “none at all?”

“i’ve been busy,” 

it sounded believable, painfully believable. of course zayne would sacrifice romance for career progression with terrifying efficiency—but then the attention shifted toward caleb.

“what about you?”

you waited absentmindedly for the obvious answer, because surely someone like caleb—

“don’t want one.”

“what do you mean you don’t want one?” somebody laughed.

caleb’s voice came easier this time. “just never wanted anybody enough.”

huh?

you hated that your mind immediately tried to interpret it. you forced yourself to drink your water while keeping your back turned toward the dining room.

they had both moved on obviously. people didn’t stay stuck on childhood feelings forever.

you had barely finished your glass of water when granny suddenly shuffled into the kitchen, drawn in by the noise and laughter echoing through the dining room. “why is everybody so loud in here?” she asked suspiciously, though the smile already tugging at her mouth betrayed her amusement.

“we were asking them why they’re both still single!”

“apparently nobody wants to date these two.”

the room erupted again into laughter. you closed your eyes briefly in secondhand embarrassment while setting your empty glass down on the counter. unfortunately, when you turned around—you accidentally made eye-contact with both caleb and zayne at the same time.

shit.

you immediately focused very hard on literally anything else.

before the room could spiral into even more teasing, granny suddenly clapped her hands together as though remembering something important. “oh! since you’re all just sitting there talking anyway, do me a favor, will ya.”

and just like that, every younger adult in the room developed selective hearing.

granny ignored them expertly. “haiya, the speaker outside stopped working again,” she said with a sigh. “the extra one should still be in the attic somewhere.”

before you could quietly escape the kitchen, granny’s eyes landed directly on you. “you,” you stopped yourself from reaching for the plates. “you were in the attic this morning, right? guide them.”

you turned. “…them?”

granny pointed directly toward caleb and zayne.

fuck?

being alone upstairs with the both of them is significantly more dangerous than it logically should! but refusing would only make everyone tease you harder.

you forced out a smile. “sure.”

eventually, the three of you walked upstairs together while the noise slowly faded behind you into muffled laughter. the old staircase creaked beneath your steps exactly the same way it always had growing up, and the familiar sound alone made something in you stir.

you tried to fill the silence before it became unbearable. “the attic’s probably messier now, granny keeps throwing random things there.”

“some things never change,” caleb replied easily from behind you. “including this house.”

you glanced back briefly, remembering once upon a time, this exact staircase had carried the three of you toward childhood conspiracies instead of polite adult conversations.

the attic door creaked loudly when you pushed it open, and warm dusty air greeted you immediately. the room smelled faintly like cardboard, old books, wood polish, and trapped summer heat. sunlight slipped through the tiny circular window near the ceiling, illuminating floating dust particles drifting through the air like tiny fireflies.

you could see boxes stacked everywhere of old christmas decorations, broken electric fans, bags of clothes nobody wanted to throw away, photo albums, and your forgotten toys.

all three of you simply stood there quietly.

you remembered rainy afternoons hiding here together to avoid chores downstairs, remembered flashlight games, remembered lying on flattened cardboard boxes while listening to rain hammer against the roof above you. the attic still carried traces of those years somehow, small ghosts preserved inside warm dust and old sunlight. except now, the air between the three of you felt... different.

heavier.

caleb wandered toward one side of the attic where several labeled storage boxes rested against the wall. he crouched near one marked with messy handwriting that literally read CALEB and laughed quietly beneath his breath. “wow, granny really archived my entire existence up here.”

zayne had already started scanning the room practically. “where is the speaker supposed to be?” he asked while looking around.

you shrugged. “i honestly have no idea. i was only here for extra chairs earlier.”

“how helpful,” caleb commented.

you shot him a look. “then you find it.”

he grinned without looking up from the box he had opened.

you exhaled before stepping farther into the attic yourself, carefully weaving between old storage containers while searching as the attic slowly filled with the sound of things being moved around.

caleb sat crouching on the floor near his old storage box while sorting through random junk he apparently used to own—old basketball magazines, tangled earphones, a broken handheld game console... “damn,” he muttered, holding up an ancient toy car. “i remember crying over this.”

you laughed while brushing dust off yourself. “you used to cry over everything.”

“excuse me,” caleb replied with fake offense. “i was just emotionally expressive.”

“you cried because i beat you at mario kart once,” zayne deadpanned from across the attic without looking up from the boxes he was checking.

caleb pointed at you as he looked at zayne. “because she cheated.”

“i didn’t cheat,” you defended.

“you absolutely cheated, you manipulative girl.”

you snorted before you could stop yourself, bending slightly to look through another box near the far wall, unaware that both men had unconsciously looked toward you at the same time until caleb suddenly spoke again. “heh, you still do that.”

you glanced back. “do what?”

“that thing when you bite the inside of your cheek.”

your lips parted, and without realizing it, you immediately stopped doing it. caleb smiled faintly when he noticed.

“you still remember that?” you asked carefully.

“yea, i remember a lot of things about you, miss poker.”

you quickly looked away and crouched beside another stack of boxes, pretending to search harder for the speaker. across the room, zayne finally straightened from where he’d been kneeling near an old shelf.

“so you cut your hair,” he suddenly said.

your hands paused before looking at him. his tone had remained completely neutral and observational, almost clinical. but somehow, hearing it from him affected you differently. you touched your hair absentmindedly near your shoulder. “a few months ago, yeah.”

zayne nodded once. “it used to reach your waist.”

caleb leaned back against the wall nearby, one knee propped upward while watching the two of you. “he noticed that immediately when we walked in earlier,” 

zayne’s gaze shifted toward him. “caleb.”

“what?” caleb shrugged innocently. “i’m just saying.”

you forced yourself to keep searching. “you two are still so dramatic.”

“we’re not dramatic,” caleb replied.

zayne adjusted his sleeves, turning to caleb. “you are.”

“says the guy who used to get jealous over card games.” caleb grinned wider. “remember that?” he continued casually, though his eyes remained fixed on zayne instead of you. “she used to sit beside me during poker nights and you’d stare holes through the back of my head the entire time.”

“because you always cheated.”

“again with the cheating accusations,” you muttered.

“you liked it when i let you win,” caleb now looked at you.

your heartbeat stumbled, because the way he said it didn’t sound playful anymore. it sounded personal. for some reason, your mind replayed the night of the alumni event, when you unknowingly played poker against him.  slowly, you stood upright again while clutching one of the dusty boxes against your chest. “i never needed you to let me win.”

caleb looked at you then, fully. the sunlight slipping through the attic window caught faintly against the gold-brown tones of his skin while dust drifted through the space between all of you. “i know,” 

nobody spoke for several seconds.

downstairs, you could hear someone screaming and laughing over karaoke lyrics.

and then caleb exhaled suddenly through his nose before speaking again, “you know what’s funny?” he rested his forearm over his raised knee, gaze lingering on you beneath lowered lashes. “i thought seeing you again after all these years would make things easier.”

your throat tightened. you should not ask, you absolutely should not. “did it?”

caleb stared at you for a long moment, then smiled. “not even a little.”

you stilled at caleb’s answer.

the words lingered strangely inside the attic, hanging somewhere between the dust-filled air and the slow heat pressing beneath your skin. for a second, you became painfully aware of the sunlight touching the side of your face, of the old floorboards beneath your feet, of the way your heartbeat had suddenly become embarrassingly noticeable to yourself.

and then you noticed zayne looking at caleb, but it wasn’t an annoyed look, wasn’t surprised either. it was quieter than that, like there was an entire conversation happening inside one glance alone.

something restrained passed between them before zayne’s eyes eventually shifted toward you instead.

you immediately laughed and shook your head, forcing lightness back into the room before the atmosphere swallowed you whole. god, they still had the same effect on you somehow. that alone irritated you a little. so instead of shrinking away from it, you turned toward caleb with a deliberately playful expression. “what? does that mean you still haven’t moved on yet?” it was meant to be teasing, something to defuse the tension. except the moment the words left your mouth, you watched caleb’s face slowly change.

there it was again.

that same crooked, dangerous little smirk he used to wear years ago whenever you accidentally walked yourself into his traps. he leaned further back against the wall behind him, eyes dragging slowly over your face before answering. “depends,” 

your stomach tightened instantly. before he could continue—and before zayne could speak either—you quickly cut in. “okay, i’m just gonna ask granny where the speaker actually is before we die up here.”

you turned around and headed toward the attic door before either of them could say anything else that would make your entire nervous system malfunction. the wooden floor creaked beneath your steps when you grabbed the doorknob quickly, twisting it while already half distracted by your own embarrassment.

but the knob didn’t move.

you frowned, trying again harder.

“huh?” you jiggled the handle again, now using both hands, but the old wood only rattled loudly beneath the force.

your brows furrowed deeper. “wait.” you pulled harder this time, but the door refused to budge completely. confusion now immediately shifted into disbelief. “are you serious?” you shoved your shoulder lightly against it before trying the lock again, only for the handle to stubbornly remain stuck in place.

behind you, you heard movement.

“what happened?” zayne asked.

“the door won’t open.”

caleb laughed at first like he thought you were joking, but the sound faded when you hit the door again with genuine frustration.

“i’m serious.” you knocked loudly this time, “hello?!” your voice disappeared beneath the thunder of karaoke downstairs. somebody was aggressively singing an old love song now, complete with cheering relatives and clapping somewhere below.

of course. of fucking course nobody could hear you.

you tried again anyway, knocking harder until your palm stung against the wood. “granny?!”you abruptly turned around. “do either of you have your phones?”

for one tiny second, caleb and zayne exchanged a look. and something about it immediately made suspicion flicker inside you.

zayne checked his pockets first before speaking calmly. “i left mine downstairs.”

your eyes moved toward caleb, watching the way he patted his jeans before exhaling through his nose. “mine too.” caleb had the audacity to look mildly entertained already. “guess we’re stuck,” 

“what do you mean ‘guess we’re stuck’?”

“relax, someone’ll notice eventually.”

“eventually?” you repeated incredulously.

the attic suddenly felt significantly smaller than before. way too small. especially now that you were hyperaware of everything again.

you swallowed.

absolutely not. there was no universe in which getting trapped inside an attic alone with these two men counted as a survivable situation. especially not when the tension between all three of you already felt thick enough to physically breathe in.

you crossed your arms tightly. “there’s no way.”

caleb tilted his head. “no way what?”

“no way i’m getting stuck up here with both of you.”

zayne looked away for a brief second, though not fast enough to hide the faint amusement threatening at the corner of his expression.

“wow,” caleb muttered. “that sounded personal.”

“because it is personal,”

“geez, pipsqueak, we’re not gonna eat you alive.”

your heartbeat stumbled traitorously at the nickname. so he still does call you that, huh? 

eventually, pacing around the attic stopped accomplishing anything except making you hotter. so with an exhausted sigh, you finally sat down onto the wooden floorboards near one of the storage boxes, crossing your legs beneath you while leaning your back against the wall. the longer the three of you stayed trapped up there, the warmer the space became.

there was barely any airflow at all.

the tiny circular window near the ceiling let in sunlight but absolutely no breeze, and the trapped heat had started settling heavily against your skin until even breathing felt sticky. 

you fanned yourself weakly using the corner of an old magazine you found nearby. “it’s actually so hot,” you groaned. “how is this room legally allowed to exist?”

caleb snickered from where he sat a few feet away against another stack of boxes. “who's dramatic now?”

“you’re sweating too.”

“well, i sweat beautifully.”

fair. he actually was sweating though.

caleb had always been the type to run warm easily, and now that the heat had thoroughly caught up to him, the strands of his dark hair had started sticking damply against his forehead and temples, the slight sheen of sweat along his neck catching under the attic sunlight whenever he moved. with a quiet exhale, he dragged one hand through his hair and pushed it back, exposing more of his forehead before unzipping his brown DAA jacket halfway down just to loosen it.

the movement pulled your attention before you could stop it, but you instantly averted your gaze—to where zayne is quietly settled.

zayne sat near the shelves, though the heat had clearly begun getting to him too. he rarely looked disheveled, so the subtle signs became painfully noticeable once you started paying attention; his sleeves had been rolled upward twice already, dark hair sat slightly messier now near his forehead. every few minutes, he adjusted the collar of his black shirt like the fabric had become unbearable against his skin. a bead of sweat also slowly slid down the side of his neck before disappearing beneath the collarbone of his shirt.

you glanced away while continuing to fan yourself. “summer’s getting really evil,” 

caleb tipped his head back against the wall. “if i pass out up here, tell people i died handsome.”

“nobody would say that.” you tugged lightly at the fabric of your shirt where it clung uncomfortably against your skin from the heat. honestly, at this point modesty felt significantly less important than survival. so before you could overthink it, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off over your head, leaving yourself in only your thin undershirt.

immediate silence.

you looked up instinctively and caught both men staring. not even subtly.

caleb’s eyes had visibly paused on you before he looked away first with a low exhale through his nose. zayne reacted faster, immediately turning his gaze aside and adjusting his shirt again.

“geez,” you muttered defensively. “don’t make it weird.”

“we’re not making it weird,” caleb replied too quickly.

you gestured vaguely toward them. “then take yours off too instead of suffering. we literally all grew up together anyway.”

caleb looked at you for a second before grinning slowly. “nah, you might die seeing my biceps.”

“you’re insufferable.”

to your surprise, zayne suddenly spoke from beside the two of you. “she’s right about one thing.” you blinked toward him, only to see that he had reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling it off completely—completely shirtless!

your brain short-circuited. 

because unlike caleb, who at least still had clothes on, zayne had apparently decided modesty was optional now as well. the attic air suddenly vanished from your lungs, your eyes betraying you before you could stop them.

sweaty broad shoulders, defined arms, sharp collarbones damp from heat, and the... abs.

you instantly busied yourself with absolutely anything else—the dusty floorboards, the ceiling, the old christmas decorations nearby. anywhere except directly at zayne’s now shirtless body.

ah, spiritual enlightenment.

across from you, caleb immediately noticed. he leaned forward with visible amusement sparkling in his eyes. “why’re you looking away? thought we all grew up together.”

your face burned hotter. “shut up.”

“what?” caleb chuckled. “suddenly shy now?” while speaking, he shrugged off his DAA jacket completely too, leaving only the fitted white tank top stretched across his chest and shoulders, all sweaty. the heat had dampened the thin fabric slightly near his collarbone, and the sight of his forearms flexing as he tossed the jacket aside did absolutely nothing good for you. 

zayne peacefully folded his discarded top ontop of a storage box while watching the interaction unfold beside him.

“leave her alone,” he said to caleb.

caleb raised a brow. “why?”

zayne’s eyes shifted toward you briefly, calm and knowing. “she’s always been a scaredy kitten like that.” the familiarity of the remark hit you directly in the chest. years ago, he used to say things like that all the time too.

you frowned at zayne’s comment. “i am not a scaredy kitten.”

caleb laughed under his breath instantly. “yeah? tell that to your eighteen year old self, i bet my life she'd also just space out and stammer around.”

“fuck you.”

“it was funny.”

“you’re evil.”

caleb grinned. “and yet you still followed us everywhere back then.”

you opened your mouth to rebutt that immediately, only for the memory itself to betray you first. because annoyingly enough—you had followed them everywhere. the three of you used to move around the neighborhood like a tiny dysfunctional unit impossible to separate—summer afternoons spent biking aimlessly around streets, convenience store runs at midnight, and then hiding in this exact attic whenever adults downstairs assigned chores nobody wanted to do.

you smiled while shaking your head. “we were actually unbearable teenagers.”

“you were unbearable,” caleb corrected.

“says the one who somehow always ended up in neighborhood clashes.” you looked up to remember. “it was always at the... where was it again? oh right, the street four blocks away here.”

“and yet i survived.”

zayne spoke without looking up. “barely.”

caleb whistled. “and the one who always used to snitch spoke just now, finally.”

“who wouldn't snitch on a cheater.”

“where did that even come from? and why do you always say i'm a cheater?”

“because you are a cheater,” you and zayne answered simultaneously.

the three of you paused, before unexpectedly bursting into laughter together. real laughter this time, the kind that slipped out before anybody could control it. laughter made it easier to forget how much time had passed, made it easier to fall back into old rhythms.

you hugged your knees loosely against your chest while smiling. “i thought both of you would completely forget about me after college.”

the moment the words left your mouth, caleb glanced toward zayne briefly. “that was unlikely,” zayne said.

you tilted your head, now rummaging again through the photoalbums inside a nearby box. “why?”

“you were hard to miss,” caleb replied, walking toward you to crouch closer and look at the same albums.

your brows furrowed. “we barely even talked after.”

“didn’t mean we didn’t hear about you.”

you looked up. “…what?”

caleb looked up as well, meeting your eyes. “your... promotion.”

“ah.”

“congratulations, by the way,” zayne added calmly. “for also successfully advertising that one campaign your company did.”

your eyes snapped toward him. “…how do you know about that?”

zayne looked almost confused by the question. “you posted it.”

so they've been updated of you from afar, huh.

at some point during the conversation, both men had gradually moved closer without you noticing. caleb now sat near enough that his knee almost brushed yours, while zayne leaned against the wall beside you instead of across the attic, close enough for you to catch the clean scent of his cologne beneath the heat and dust.

suddenly, you remembered the lack of clothing again. you glanced at your own thin undershirt, and to zayne completely shirtless beside you, then to caleb in only a tank top with damp hair falling over his forehead. you cleared your throat quickly. “anyway, what about you two? you seriously never dated anybody?”

“why?” caleb asked lazily. “you curious?”

“normal people ask questions during conversations.”

“you first,” he replied.

zayne glanced toward you too, quieter but no less attentive. somehow, having both of them looking at you at once made the space inside your chest tighten. you tried to stay unaffected. “i already answered downstairs, i think. i have never been in a serious relationship in my life.”

“no serious relationships,” caleb corrected carefully. “that’s different.”

you looked down at your hands, shrugging. “i don’t know, i guess work just became easier to focus on.” that wasn’t the full truth. the fuller truth sat heavier beneath your ribs—that intimacy had always felt strangely incomplete after them.

after whatever the three of you had become all those years ago.

you let out a forced chuckle to lighten the mood again. “which sounds depressing now that i say it out loud.”

“it doesn’t,” zayne says, glancing down your chest, and back up your eyes. maybe it was the trapped closeness of the attic, but something about the way he looked at you right then made warmth slowly spread beneath your skin, a kind of longing stretched too thin over too many years.

caleb rests his chin against his fist. “so really no boyfriends, no exes?”

your face warmed beneath the attention. “why are you interrogating me?”

“because... it’s weird imagining nobody trying.”

you opened your mouth to deflect the conversation somewhere safer. “did either of you even find the speaker yet?” 

caleb groaned. “look at her running away.”

you ignored him entirely after that, standing up too quickly from the floorboards and dusted your hands against your shorts as if you were suddenly very determined to continue searching for the missing speaker—anything to keep yourself occupied. “if we actually find this thing, maybe granny will finally stop making me carry trays around.” the old wooden floor creaked beneath your steps as you moved toward another pile of boxes near the shelves. 

it almost grounded you. almost.

the moment you bent to check behind one of the boxes, you feel a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, urging you to stop and look back.

you found zayne standing closer than you realized, close enough for you to notice the faint sheen of sweat still lingering along his collarbones and chest, catching the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. his grip around your wrist wasn’t painful, but it stopped you completely. “look at me,”

what’s gotten into him all of the sudden?

your gaze flickered everywhere except directly at him because he was still shirtless and because something about the expression on his face right now made your chest feel strangely full. “zayne—”

“look at me.”

so you did, and his eyes looked nothing like they did downstairs around the family.

this wasn’t the polite zayne. not the distant adult zayne carefully controlling every word. this looked much closer to the boy you used to know years ago.

his fingers tightened around your wrist, enough to slightly hurt. “you always do this,”

“...do what?”

“run away.” 

the words landed harder than they should have. you immediately tried pulling your wrist back a little, but zayne didn’t let go. behind him, caleb had gone unusually quiet. you could feel his presence somewhere behind zayne without directly looking, still crouched, still listening.

your throat tightened slightly. “there is... nothing to run away from.”

so they really haven't moved on yet, huh.

zayne gave you a look, one that felt almost cruel in how accurately it saw through you. “you are right now.”

“i was-... literally just looking for the speaker. doing what we’re actually here for.”

“you can do that while talking to us, can’t you?”

“well, whatever you both were talking about is weird.”

“weird?” he repeated quietly. his grip loosened slightly afterward, but he still didn’t fully let go. “y/n, you never changed. like before, and until now, all you’ve ever done is run away.”

your chest further tightened at his words, brows furrowing as you still tried to look somewhere else.

“after what happened, you just disappeared on us.”

you swallowed hard.

“and you stopped showing up.”

hearing it said out loud like this made it sound uglier than the version you’d told yourself all these years—that everyone simply grew apart naturally, that time passed, and that adulthood happened. but deep down, you knew. you knew you had distanced yourself on purpose after what happened between the three of you.

after that summer.

your voice came out smaller now. “things got complicated. you know that.”

zayne raised a brow. “so you left?”

the sunlight filtering through the attic window suddenly seemed painfully bright against the dust floating lazily in the air. “what was i supposed to do?” you asked exasperatedly. for the first time since grabbing your wrist, zayne hesitated. that tiny hesitation somehow hurt even more, because it meant he didn’t have an answer either.

behind him, caleb finally moved. 

you glanced toward him instinctively.

he still sat low against the floorboards, elbows resting loosely over his knees now while he stared somewhere toward the old shelves instead of directly at either of you. his expression looked incredibly unreadable, but his jaw had tightened faintly.

“you left us behind,” zayne breaks the silence again.

your eyes stung unexpectedly, whispering, “that’s not fair,”

zayne’s gaze softened for only a second before hardening again beneath restraint. “isn’t it?”

you hated this, you hated how small you suddenly felt beneath the weight of his stare, beneath the years sitting unsaid between all three of you. you instinctively shrank slightly backward, only for your wrist still trapped in his hand to stop you halfway.

caleb finally exhaled from behind zayne before speaking for the first time in several minutes. “zayne, don’t corner her.”

zayne looked toward him briefly. “i’m not.”

“you are.”

the attic remained painfully quiet after that. not truly silent—because downstairs, somebody was still butchering an old love song through the karaoke microphone while relatives laughed loudly between clinking plates and glasses—but up here, inside the heat and dust and years sitting between the three of you, everything felt suspended.

your wrist still tingled faintly where zayne had held it, but neither him nor caleb looked away from each other. somehow, being caught between their silence felt worse than shouting.

and then, zayne spoke, still calm. “do you ever think about that summer?” caleb’s gaze flickered toward him slowly. and zayne continued before either of you could interrupt. “we were kids, scared kids.”

your heartbeat quickened, you already knew what summer he meant. of course you did. there had only ever been one summer capable of following all three of you into adulthood like this.

“did you wonder once, caleb,” zayne’s eyes remained on him, steady and honest in a way that almost hurt to witness. “if we were brave back then, would something have happened?”

the question settled heavily into the attic air.

caleb didn’t answer. for once, he actually looked speechless. his brows slowly straightened while his lips parted faintly, like he almost had words but couldn’t quite force them out. and then, eventually, his eyes shifted away from zayne—and landed on you instead.

when your eyes met, you looked away immediately.

somewhere throughout the years apart from them, hidden beneath careers and distance and adulthood, you had slowly realized something terrifying. you never actually stopped wanting them, not one more than the other, not one instead of the other.

just them. just caleb and zayne—the boys who ruined every normal definition of love for you before you were even old enough to understand what love properly was. and maybe you could have buried that forever, maybe you almost did.

until today. 

zayne took another step closer. this time, he was looking directly at you. “can we have the answer now?” 

christ, you could hear your own heartbeat. it’s fast, loud, humiliatingly obvious. you were always afraid to admit it, but perhaps—a part of you wanted to cross that line now, to stop pretending none of this existed and to finally say something honest after years of repression.

your eyes flickered helplessly between them. and then—your wandering gaze accidentally caught something sitting atop one of the higher shelves across the attic.

you blinked out of yourself. 

wait. isn’t that the speaker? the stupid missing speaker? 

your restraint grabbed onto it instantly like a lifeline. before your courage could betray you completely, you took the first opportunity to escape. the moment zayne’s hand loosened from your wrist, you slipped around him quickly and pointed toward the shelf. 

“there!” you said too fast. “the speaker’s there.”

both men turned instinctively toward where you pointed, and you waste no time crossing the attic toward it before either of them could stop you again. your heart still hammered wildly inside your chest as you reached the shelf and looked upward. the speaker rested frustratingly high near the top, partially hidden behind old storage bins and random decorations.

“…seriously?” you stretched upward, but it’s absolutely nowhere near close enough. the shelf was too tall. you frowned while standing on your toes, fingers barely reaching for it. you glanced around desperately for something to stand on, but there weren’t any proper chairs nearby. before you could stubbornly insist on climbing higher onto the unstable boxes, caleb suddenly walked up behind you. 

“need help?” he asks.

you blinked toward him over your shoulder. for some reason, your brain completely failed to produce a normal response. you watch how caleb’s hair remained damp from the attic heat, dark strands falling messily over his forehead while his white tank top clung slightly against his chest and stomach. 

“i…” 

caleb’s mouth twitched like he noticed your sudden inability to function. without another word, he crouched down in front of you with one knee against the wooden floorboards and a broad back facing you. “c’mon,” he said while motioning over his shoulder. “get on.”

your eyes widened. “…wh-what?”

“you need height, pips, unless you wanna risk your life or sumthin.”

you hesitated. behind you, zayne stepped closer too, setting a box he’d moved earlier more securely against the shelf before looking toward you. “if you’re getting it, pass the speaker to me immediately after. it’s heavy.”

you nodded weakly.

okay. fine.

you swallowed once before carefully stepping toward caleb’s crouched form. “don’t drop me,” 

caleb laughed. “you wound me.” still, his hands steadied against your calves as you awkwardly climbed onto his back. the moment your thighs wrapped around either side of his neck, heat rushed violently into your face.

this was humiliating.

caleb stood up carefully afterward, and the sudden loss of ground beneath your feet made you instinctively tighten your hold around him. his hands then immediately gripped more firmly on your thighs to stabilize you.

large hands...warm palms... strong fingers pressing securely against the bare skin just below your shorts... 

you stared determinedly at the shelf instead.

focus! focus on the speaker, not on the fact that caleb’s shoulders flexed beneath your hold every time he adjusted his grip on you.“comfortable up there?” he asked, rubbing a thumb along your skin.

fuck.

“stop talking.”

“yes, ma’am.”

behind you, zayne cleared his throat once. “can you reach it?” 

you forced yourself to focus again and stretched upward toward the speaker stacked near the top shelf. this time you could finally reach it properly, fingers brushing against the dusty handle. “almost—” but then, something suddenly moved near your hand, making you freeze. the ticklish sensation of what might be something alive made you look closer, and see...

“A COCKROACH!” your scream ripped through the attic instantly, jolting violently backward on instinct. “SHIT—” 

caleb startled hard beneath you from the sudden movement. “what—?!”

“THERE’S A BUG—” you wiggled frantically trying to get away from it while caleb lost balance underneath your panicked thrashing. then, the speaker tipped dangerously over the edge of the shelf. thankfully, zayne reacted fast enough to catch the heavy speaker against his chest before it crashed onto the floor.

the problem was everything else, though. you were still screaming, while caleb was still trying not to drop you. and the next few seconds happened far too fast—caleb’s balance finally gave up.

CRASH!

you landed very hard against caleb’s chest as both of you crashed onto the floorboards together, the air knocking from your lungs. caleb grunted sharply beneath you from the fall, one arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to keep you from hitting the floor harder.

“are you okay?” he coughed.

“the roach—!” your heart still hammered wildly while you tried pushing yourself upright—until sudden sharp pain tore across your palm. “ah—!”

a splintered piece of wood had been sticking upright between the uneven floorboards where your palm landed during the fall. a thin but deep cut now stretched across the center of your hand, bright red blood immediately welling against your skin.

“shit,” caleb muttered, staring at you.

you winced hard, clutching your injured hand against yourself while still half sprawled against caleb’s chest.

he pushes himself upright quickly despite clearly getting hurt from the impact too. you only noticed now the way he’d scraped part of his arm against the floorboards during the fall, redness already forming along his elbow. he didn’t even look at it as his attention stayed entirely on you. “let me see,” 

you shook your head weakly out of reflex while pressing your wounded palm closer against yourself. “it’s fine—”

“you’re bleeding.” his voice came lower, more serious. the teasing undertone went gone instantly. before you could protest again, caleb carefully grabbed your wrist to examine the cut more closely.

his brows furrowed hard. up close, you could see the same shift in his face whenever he got worried about you, the slight narrowing of his eyes and the way his touch became gentler without him seeming to realize it.

meanwhile beside both of you, zayne had already set the speaker down safely. you heard quick footsteps approaching, then suddenly zayne crouched near you too, immediately reaching for your injured hand with frightening calmness.

“move,” he told caleb.

“i’m helping her.”

“and i’m a doctor.”

caleb clicked his tongue but loosened his hold enough for zayne to inspect your palm instead. now you sat there trapped awkwardly between them on the attic floor, breathing unevenly while both men focused on your injured hand. despite the pain, your face still burned hotter from the way caleb’s arm remained securely attached around your waist the entire time.

instead of dwelling on that, you observed the way zayne’s entire demeanor shifted the moment he properly saw the wound. it happened so naturally that it almost startled you more than the injury itself.

one second he had been the same restrained, unreadable man from earlier, standing in the attic shirtless with sweat dampening the edges of his dark hair. and then suddenly, the doctor in him surfaced so seamlessly that it felt like watching somebody step into their true skin.

you watch his posture straightening, expression sharpened. his fingers wrapped around your wrist with control as he tilted your palm toward the sunlight. fresh blood continued slipping slowly from the cut, bright against your skin before trailing down the inside of your wrist and arm in thin warm lines.

the wound pulsed really painfully, every heartbeat making it throb even harder, enough to make you wince again.

immediately, zayne’s eyes flicked upward. “does it sting or ache?” 

you blinked at him for a second. “both.”

zayne hummed under his breath before looking around the attic quickly, scanning the cluttered shelves and old boxes. his brows drew together—of course there was nothing useful here. no bandages, tissues, nothing clean enough. “we shouldn’t wrap it with anything dirty,” zayne murmured more to himself than to you.

you shifted against caleb’s chest, still painfully aware of the way his arm remained firm around your waist from behind. his body felt warm beneath yours, solid, breathing against your back despite the awkward position the two of you were still trapped in on the floor.

“it’s okay, i can just use my shirt for now and wash it downstairs later when someone notices we’re missing—” you stopped yourself when zayne suddenly moved, your breath caught when he leaned downward toward your injured arm. “…zayne?”

he didn’t answer, his gaze stayed lowered instead, almost avoiding yours. and then you felt it—the warmth of his tongue dragging slowly along the thin trail of blood that had begun slipping down your wrist. 

“z-zayne!” it made you flinch hard in shock, but his hand tightened carefully around your wrist to steady you before the blood could drip further. he still wouldn’t look at you, expression remained frighteningly focused despite the intimacy of what he was doing, dark lashes lowered while his tongue traced upward once more against your skin.

the sensation made your stomach twist painfully because it hurt and because it didn’t. because his mouth was warm and the attic was hot and your pulse was beating too hard beneath his touch. “you’re insane,” you whispered weakly.

that finally made the corner of his mouth twitch, but he still didn’t stop. slowly, carefully, zayne lifted your wounded palm closer toward his mouth. you could see the brief hesitation in his face this time, almost like he knew crossing this line would change things. 

but even then, his lips pressed softly against the center of your palm.

“hng—!” pain flared immediately when he applied pressure to the cut, sucking the blood from the wound to keep it temporarily clean. but the sting made your entire body tense. your free hand immediately grabbed onto the closest thing near you—

caleb.

you pressed backward against his chest hard enough that he physically stiffened beneath you. “it hurts,” you shakily breathed.

behind you, caleb let out the faintest grunt, low and strained. his arm around your waist tightened before he could stop himself. but you failed to notice completely—too distracted by zayne, by the overwhelming feeling of his mouth against your skin.

zayne’s eyes finally lifted toward yours then, emerald green, but darker now somehow. you had never realized before how intimate being cared for could feel until this exact moment. his lips remained close against your palm while his fingers held your wrist steady.

meanwhile behind you, caleb’s ears had gone bright red. but you still failed to catch on the visible effort it took for him not to move beneath the repeated pressure of your body pressing against him every time the pain made you squirm. you were sitting directly between his legs, half against his chest, and every small movement from you dragged against him in ways that were making his breathing increasingly uneven.

“nghh...” caleb’s grip flexed once against your waist. but before you could process that, zayne pulled back slowly from your injured hand.

your skin burned so badly it almost felt feverish, heat spreading up your throat and cheeks while your injured palm still throbbed beneath zayne’s careful hold. you stared at the faint sheen of blood left near his lower lip before he calmly wiped it away with the back of his hand. he inspected your swollen palm again with doctor-like focus despite the fact that he had literally just licked you off to suck your blood.

your breathing became uneven all over again, because you suddenly felt eighteen. painfully eighteen. back in that summer version of yourselves where standing between zayne and caleb had always felt like standing too close to a storm.

zayne tilted your wrist once more, checking the wound carefully. “the bleeding stopped,” he murmured, in which you nodded weakly to. but he stayed crouched close in front of you though, way too close. his eyes lifted toward yours. “can you still run away now?”

fuck’s sake, how are they this persistent?

you almost wanted to scream. why were they still like this? why were they still capable of unraveling you so easily after all these years? you swallowed hard and forced yourself to push back before you completely lost whatever remained of your sanity. “what if i don’t?” you retorted. the words slipped out before you could stop them. 

and the second they did—something behind you suddenly twitched hard against your rear. your entire body went still, feeling the solid and warm thing press against your bum, twitching ever so slightly.

is that... caleb? 

behind you, caleb sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, like he was physically struggling, and then he made a strained sound under his breath. you felt the arm around your waist flex harder for half a second before he abruptly loosened it like he’d finally remembered himself. “okay,” caleb muttered roughly from behind you. “get off me.”

you turned your head slightly in confusion, only to find caleb looking away toward the opposite wall with a deeply tense expression, jaw tight enough to visibly flex. the tips of his ears were brightly red, damp hair sticking messily to his forehead while sweat slid slowly down the side of his neck into the collar of his tank top. he looked both irritated and embarrassed at the exact same time, which somehow made him even worse to look at.

“you get—”

“seriously,” he muttered with a grunt, finally glancing at you briefly before immediately looking away again. “it’s hard.”

“i-i mean, it’s hard to breathe.” caleb quickly corrected himself.

zayne exhaled quietly through his nose beside you like he was holding back amusement. you stared at caleb in absolute disbelief while your brain scrambled uselessly trying to process what he’d just admitted out loud. 

so what you’re sitting on is his...

zayne leaned toward you again before you could recover properly from caleb’s admission. instinctively, you leaned backward to create distance—but all that did was press your body more firmly against caleb behind you.

that caused a strangled grunt escaping low from his throat, his hands instantly tightening around your hips hard enough to make you inhale sharply. “that hurts—” 

you tried shifting away again, but there was nowhere to go. there was zayne in front of you, and caleb beneath and behind you. zayne’s eyes flickered downward briefly at the way caleb’s grip dug into your waist before returning to your face. strangely, he didn’t look annoyed. if anything, he looked calmer now. certain.

the faintest flush had spread across the bridge of his nose from the heat, but his gaze remained painfully steady on you. “earlier, you asked what happens if you stop running.”zayne leaned closer still, one hand braced beside your knee against the floorboards. “prove it.”

you stared at him helplessly. “what? what do you—”

“prove you’re not running anymore. and if you can do that,” he murmured, “then we’ll leave you alone.”

you swallowed hard. after all these years, after all the distance and silence and pretending nothing happened between the three of you—they were still here, looking at you like this, wanting you like this. but deep down, you already knew something terrifying. you certainly didn’t want them to leave you alone. 

your teeth pressed lightly against your lower lip. “deal.”

it was now or never. if they wanted you so bad to prove them otherwise, then let them take it.

before you could stop yourself, your hand lifted toward zayne’s face, fingers curled against his jaw. for the first time since reuniting with them, you stopped thinking—pulling him toward you to kiss him.

it didn't feel rushed nor hesitant, it just felt like years and years of restrained tension finally colliding all at once.

zayne froze for barely half a second, then immediately kissed you back. harder. “fuck,”

his hand came up almost desperately to cradle your face, fingers spreading gently along your cheek and jaw like he’d imagined touching you this way too many times before. he kissed like a man who had spent years holding himself back. careful at first, then increasingly less careful every second after.

despite everything, there was still something achingly romantic about zayne. even now. even like this. his thumb brushed softly beneath your cheek while his mouth moved against yours, and the tenderness of it nearly undid you completely.

behind you, caleb exhaled shakily. “it’s so... painful,”

you had forgotten you were still sitting against him, pressing against him every time the kiss made you move unconsciously. this time, though, you didn’t pull away. if anything, your body pressed more firmly backward on instinct as zayne kissed you deeper. 

caleb physically tensed beneath you. his fingers dug harder into your hips. “fuck,” he breathed hoarsely, the sound barely registering through the haze that clouded your thoughts.

zayne tilted his head, kissing you slower now but somehow deeper, his grip on your face tightening when you instinctively kissed him back harder. your injured hand trembled weakly against his shoulder while the other remained curled near his jaw.

you could feel his breathing becoming uneven too, could feel the way even zayne—always composed, always restrained—was starting to lose control of himself.

behind you, again, caleb let out another rough exhale. his forehead dropped briefly against the back of your shoulder like he was trying to survive this somehow. 

you stopped trying to hold yourself back. maybe that was the most dangerous part of all this—not them, not the attic, not the years of tension finally collapsing into something tangible. but it was you finally letting yourself want them back.

zayne’s mouth left yours only briefly before he leaned closer again, “quite too much for someone who only wants to prove something, no?” breath warm against your jaw as he buried his face near your neck. the scrape of his breathing against your skin alone nearly made your thoughts dissolve. instinctively, your eyes fluttered shut and your head tilted slightly to the side, exposing more of your neck to him without even realizing it. and zayne’s lips brushed there once, slowly. a quiet breath escaped him against your skin, and the sound alone nearly weakened your spine.

but then reality crashed back in all at once. these weren’t boys anymore. they were men who had spent years wanting you, years imagining this.

before zayne could kiss your neck again, your hand came up against his jaw and pushed him backward firmly.

the movement startled him, his brows furrowed faintly as he looked at you, lips flushed from kissing. zayne genuinely looked caught off guard, and you stared back at him for one second.

if you were losing control tonight, you were at least going to make it fair.

“let me,” you leaned downward instead, toward him. but at the same time, your hips deliberately moved backward against caleb beneath you. you started to grind your ass against his crotch in a slow, circular motion, like you were drawing his name with your hips and his growing bulge as the material. 

instantly, a rough moan caught in his throat as his hands clamped harder around your hips, fingers flexing almost desperately against your skin. “more... a little more...,” caleb muttered under his breath, but you ignored him on purpose. which only made him grip you tighter.

you bent toward zayne and let your lips brush teasingly along the side of his neck, just enough contact to make him inhale sharply.

this time, you were the one watching him carefully, watching the way his composure cracked apart in tiny fractures beneath your touch.

zayne’s eyes lowered, lips parted slightly as you kissed just beneath his jaw once—soft and slow—and you physically saw the tension leave his shoulders, a quiet sigh escaping him, relieved.

beneath you, caleb gave up entirely. “you’re really g-getting bold, huh,” his head tipped backward while his grip on your hips grew bolder, guiding your movements against him with less restraint—every small drag of your ass against his bulge made his breathing rougher, hotter.

zayne stared down at you with slightly wide eyes, his breath hitching in his throat as you leaned forward to press your lips against the sensitive column of his neck. he couldn't believe the sheer boldness of you—the girl who had once fled from them was now claiming them like this. as your lips trailed a searing path down his bobbing adam's apple and over the sharp line of his clavicle, his eyes fluttered shut, and his hands, trembling with a mix of reverence and lust, slid into your hair.

with a low, commanding hum, you pushed against zayne’s chest, forcing him to lean back just enough to create a sliver of space. “lean back.” you say. 

as you moved, your lifted your bum from caleb's crotch, momentarily breaking the contact. instead, you descended upon zayne, your mouth finding the expanse of his chest. you began to leave a trail of blooming hickies across his skin, teeth grazing his pectoral muscles as you worked your way down the hard, defined ridges of his abdomen.

“you’re quite eager to prove it, aren’t you?” zayne murmured, watching the way you kissed him lower. 

and while you did that, your lower body continued its job on caleb. you were dry humping him through his pants with a rhythmic pace, driven by a hunger that had been denied for far too long. it made caleb into a moaning mess beneath you, his strength failing him as he braced one hand against the floorboards to keep from collapsing entirely. his other hand was white knuckled, gripping the hem of your tanktop so tightly the fabric strained.

fuck it, you were far past the point of teasing; the ache between your thighs became a sharp, demanding pulse that demanded satisfaction. driven by instinct, you slid your hand lower, trailing past the ridges of zayne’s toned abs until your fingers hooked into the leather of his belt. you were ready to tear it open, to strip him bare, but a firm, warm hand clamped over yours.

“what exactly are you doing?” zayne rasped.

you paused, fingers still curled in his belt, and you looked up at him with a defiant glint in your eyes. you intentionally stopped grinding your hips against caleb, leaving him momentarily unanchored. “funny,” you retorted, your voice a breathless purr. “for someone who kept on calling me a runaway, you're the one running away now.”

at that, a slow, amused smirk spread across zayne’s face, an expression that made your heart hammer against your ribs. “running?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before returning to your eyes. “you've finally caught me.” without breaking eye contact, he unbuckled his own belt with a decisive clink, tossing the leather aside to clatter against the floorboards.

you were already breathless, a thin thread of saliva glistening on your lip as you watched him. he unbuttoned his pants and shoved his underwear down in one fluid motion. and the moment his manhood sprang free, it nearly slapped against your cheek, a heavy, throbbing weight that made your eyes widen. 

he was... massive. 

“can you actually take this, y/n?” zayne whispered as he began to stroke himself, the rhythmic schlickof his hand against his skin echoing in the small space. he brings the head of his cock dangerously close to your eyes, teasing you with the scent of his musk.

an instinctive, heavy throb pulsed between your legs, and you felt a sudden, overwhelming rush of moisture. you were fucking incredibly wet, your panties clinging to you as you swallowed hard. but before you could find your voice, you felt a shift behind you. the floorboards suddenly creaked under a new weight.

you turned your head slightly, your breath catching in your throat. caleb was moving, his eyes glazed with a raw hunger as he knelt behind you. he was already unbuckling his belt, his movements frantic and desperate. “don’t think you're getting off that easy,” as he released his own huge cock, he leaned in. “how much can you even take from us, huh, pipsqueak?”

he didn't wait for an answer. his hands were suddenly on your hips, pulling your shorts down. when the fabric fell, it revealed your white panties, darkened and translucent from how much you were soaking. the sight of your drenched lace made caleb’s dick twitch violently. he didn't wait to strip you completely; instead, he pressed the hot, blunt head of his length against your entrance, rubbing the damp fabric of your panties against your swollen clit.

“still runnin’ away from this?” he grunted, a low, needy sound. “bet you can’t. you’re too wet.” a high, broken whimper escaped your throat, and your strength gave out, your body collapsing forward until you slumped heavily against zayne’s muscular thighs.

zayne reached down though, his fingers firm and warm as they hooked under your chin to tilt your head back. you were met once again by the intimidating sight of his throbbing manhood. you were too far gone, too lost in the heavy, wet heat of caleb’s dick pressing on you to offer any resistance. when zayne leaned forward, guiding his thick, pulsing head toward your lips, you opened for him instinctively. “open for me.” he pushes into your mouth with a slow force that filled you to the brim.

a soft, helpless moan escaped you around him, and a thin trail of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, glistening in the sunlight. you looked up at him through hazy, hooded eyelids, eyes wide and glazed with unadulterated lust. zayne let out a groan at the sight of you—his beautiful girl now wrapped around his dick. your hands reached up, clutching at the fabric of his pants as he wrapped his fingers around your head, guiding your movements to ensure you felt every vein of his length.

“that’s it... just like that. take it all, y/n. show me how much you want it.” his words came to you like a caress, but below, caleb let out a frustrated, needy grunt, his pace increasing as he felt you getting even wetter, the damp fabric of your panties sliding slickly against your clit with every heavy thrust of his hips.

zayne’s head fell back, his eyes squeezing shut as you began to suck him with a slow, rhythmic pace. he was fighting for control, muscles corded and straining as he fought the irresistible urge to simply slam himself into your throat. instead, he gently pushes his hips upward to meet your mouth. and when you finally took him deep enough that the tip of your nose brushed against the base of his shaft, an uncharacteristic, broken groan tore from his throat, his fingers tightening convulsively in your hair. 

“ahh, fuck,”

caleb watched it happen, and a sting of jealousy immediately came through him. he decided to silently reach down, his slender fingers hooking into the side of your soaked panty to shove the damp fabric aside, exposing your dripping, swollen entrance to the cool air. without a moment's hesitation, he positioned his pulsing cock at your opening and began to push.

you instantly gasped into zayne’s dick. 

“shhh, it’s okay,” he coaxed you.

but caleb hit a wall of resistance nonetheless. you were incredibly tight, your body still reeling from the shock of the sudden attention, and the sheer girth of him was overwhelming. he let out a strained grunt, muscles bunching as he struggled to force his way past your narrow walls. “you're...too small, too tight—” he hissed through gritted teeth, working hard to breach you, while above you, zayne remained a patient man, his hands steadying your head as he waited for your mouth to finally adjust to the weight of him.

to soothe the tension, you reached up to wrap your hand around the base of zayne’s shaft while your mouth continued to worship his tip. you began to bob your head in a frantic, fast motion, your tongue swirling around him with a desperate hunger. the sudden change in pace caught zayne off guard; he let out a choked, startled sound, nearly swallowing his own saliva as he gasped, “slow... slow down, y/n...”

you didn't listen. instead, you treated his massive length like a sweet lollipop, swirling and sucking with a playful fervor. and zayne could do nothing but revel in the sensation, his head tilting back as he shut his eyes tight, a thin string of saliva escaping his parted lips.

he tasted so fucking good in your mouth.

the sight of you so focused on zayne was the final straw for caleb. a low grunt erupted from his chest, before reaching down, his large hands clamping onto your hips with a bruising, painful grip that forced a small gasp from your lips. then, with a sudden surge of strength, he slammed himself forward, driving his entire length into you in one singular thrust.

shit.

“angghh!” you screamed, the sound muffled by the weight of zayne’s dick still filling your mouth. you were finally, blissfully full, but the sensation was immediately followed by a staggering shock. 

the moment caleb buried himself within you, he stiffened violently. a ragged, breathless gasp tore from his lungs as he felt his climax hit him with the force of a tidal wave. he was inside you, fully, and he was already coming.

“shit, shit, shit—” caleb choked out, his voice a  broken mess. trembling, his hips continued to thrust in a desperate, involuntary rhythm, but he couldn't stop. even as he pounded into you, he felt the hot, thick jets of his semen pulsing deep inside your womb, a continuous, unending stream that seemed impossible. 

how could this happen? he had masturbated to you a thousand times, always maintaining a disciplined control, but now, the mere feeling of your heat was undoing him. he couldn't even stop coming; it was as if your body was a vacuum, pulling every drop of his cum from him in one long, continuous release.

thwack! thwack! thwack!

seeing the way his thick cock disappeared into you with every frantic thrust, caleb let out a loud moan. “so tight f’me, you’re going to... kill me,” he hooked a powerful arm beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg high up onto his shoulder to tilt your pelvis back, allowing him to drive into you even deeper. “can you take this, huh? do you still wanna leave us behind after this, hm?” each time his tip slammed against your cervix, your eyes rolled back in your head, your vision blurring as you struggled to keep your grip on zayne’s dick.

but zayne was not about to let you find your footing. seeing caleb’s dominance, he instantly felt competitive. he wasn't just a spectator anymore. he reached down, his fingers tangling firmly in your hair to tilt your head back at a punishing angle, and began to pound his dick into your mouth with a relentless pace. “unghhh...” he groaned, matching caleb’s rhythm. “proving it well, aren’t you?”

at this point, you could do nothing but cry out, your voice breaking into a series of high, desperate moans and whimpers as the two men relentlessly pounded into you, claiming every inch of you as their own.

—

downstairs, life went on completely unaware.

the previous broken speaker suddenly crackled back to life, making the older relatives cheer in relief while somebody loudly complained that they were in the middle of a sad song before the speaker died. immediately, music flooded granny’s front yard again, echoing beneath the afternoon sunlight while barbecue smoke drifted lazily through the air.

children ran around the plastic tables with juice boxes in hand, somebody’s uncle was already tipsy enough to start singing off-key, one of your aunts kept scolding people for stealing food because apparently there were still some late visitors.

granny herself sat proudly near the karaoke television with the microphone in hand, it was only after a few minutes that she suddenly looked around the crowded yard and frowned slightly. “where are those three?” she asked.

one of the younger teenagers nearby nearly choked trying not to laugh. another one immediately elbowed him hard. “they’re probably still playing upstairs,” the girl answered innocently. except the snickering afterward completely ruined the lie.

granny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “what did you children do?”

“nothing!” which obviously meant something.

eventually, after enough threatening looks from the adults, the truth slipped out in pieces.

they had planned on pulling a prank on the three of you by locking the attic. the plan to leave the three of you stuck there “for only a few minutes.” apparently, the younger cousins thought it would be funny after overhearing all the teasing downstairs earlier.

granny sighed so deeply it nearly sounded spiritual. “those poor children,” she muttered while shaking her head.

except she still didn’t go upstairs immediately, because one of the older uncles suddenly begged her to sing another song first. and like always, granny gave in.

and completely unbeknownst to everyone downstairs—something irreversible had already bloomed upstairs in the attic.

not a fight, not an accident, not even just old feelings returning. it was worse than that, warmer than that. something that had spent years quietly burning beneath distance and growing up.

something that had long been marking you under seasons of summer.

a sunburn.

—

Third, no one really knows. It was a mix of students from the second section and those who barely cared about their grades; it didn’t really matter. This was probably a minor subject for them anyway; all they needed to do was show up and do the activity, then fuck off. There was no point in dilly-dallying and socializing; they had places to be. The third area had just the right amount of exposure to the teacher’s eyes; you didn’t have to be acknowledged, as the first two rows did, but whatever, a grade is a grade. 

The final rows… sigh. Where do you even begin? It was notorious for being a taboo area. Whatever you see there, the professor is not paid enough to care. You’ve seen classmates sluggishly enter, smelling like the party they went to beforehand, and take their place somewhere in the row, hungover, bag half-thrown, the contents messy as crumpled papers fell out of their bags, the essay due today probably one of them. Still, they don’t seem to care, so why should you? 

Fuck. 

You were late. Your hair was messily thrown, and you forgot your glasses. It was too late to get back to the dorm and retrieve them, but it didn’t matter. You were going to sit at the front anyway; you weren’t that blind. 

Well, normally, you’d find yourself sitting in the first or second row, but you forgot a key detail.

Today was a midterm. You forgot that a seat at the front wasn’t guaranteed. Not even Zayne could ensure that your seat stays reserved. 

You arrived at the front of the door, huffing as you tried to catch your breath, and you prayed that you could make yourself blend in immediately. 

You open the door to the classroom, wincing at how obnoxiously loud it is, and almost immediately, heads are turning towards you, the source of disruption. You bowed your head, squinting to see if you could see any vacant seats by the front, trying to find your friend, Zayne. 

Unfortunately, you bypassed your mental three seconds to scan the room before you ultimately plopped down on the first chair you saw, which was, unfortunately, in the back row, next to a couple… or not? You didn’t know. But from the way they were discreetly trying to rub each other under the table, you deduce that they were… intimate. 

You ignore them in favor of taking the examination from the T.A who approaches you. 

“Never thought you’d sit back here.” The T.A jests, you give him a half-smile, tone lighthearted. 

“Didn’t think so either.” His smile drops as he realizes who sat beside you. You hear him mutter, good luck, possibly directed at you. You ignore, thinking he was saying it for everyone in the row, a classic T.A assurance. 

With the professor’s instruction, you start your exam. 

Your eyes scanned the text, analyzing every trick question, comparing it to the selected text, and choosing the answer that resonated most. 

The classroom wasn’t quiet. But it wasn’t noisy either; it was filled with the usual student sighing and sounds of despair whenever someone unprepared takes an exam. Pages being turned and pens scratching the paper surface were also humming in the air. 

You were focused on your exam until you weren’t. Your back instinctively straightens at the foreign sound your ears picked up. 

A moan. Not a loud one, a restrained one. Your head snaps towards the source. The couple right beside you. 

The girl was biting the tip of her pen, eyes closed, as his hand was between her thighs. Said thighs were shaking, her lips were quaking as her free hand pitifully held on to the desk. 

The guy beside her looked unbothered, as if the writhing girl beside him didn’t exist, like he wasn’t the cause of the distraction for everyone in the room, or maybe just you, as you looked around quickly to see that no one was paying attention. 

It was the back row, after all. No one gave a fuck. 

But you did. These were your grades that you’re risking. 

You timed it, a little evil on your part. But who cares? What the hell were they thinking? Out in public? With a hundred people in the room? With you beside them? 

You cleared your throat loudly before the couple could finish. 

“Yes, Ms. (L/N)?” The professor acknowledges you. In the corner of your eye, you see the couple pull away from each other, as if the other was on fire. You could see a glare form on the girl’s face as her eyes shot daggers at you. You ignored it and stood up.

“Question 47 does not have the right answer. Will this be considered a bonus question?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence, grabbing at the opportunity to gain an extra point.

The professor furrows his brows as he checks his copy before a look of realization flashes on his face. He clears his throat before he speaks loud enough for the people at the back to hear. 

“Question 47 is now a bonus question.” He confirms, and the class erupts in cheers. 

You sat back down, legs crossing one another as you focused on the remaining questions. You can still feel the burn of a stare on the side of your head, but you paid it no mind. 

Who cares about an orgasm when you bumped up the class score by one point? The least they could do is thank you. 

— — — 

After the exam, you met up with Zayne at your favorite coffee shop, 

“Thank you for that, by the way.” Your head snaps from the manga you were reading. Beside you, Zayne paused in his typing as well, confused at the unfamiliar voice that approached your table. The girl who sat beside you appears. 

You looked at her, eyes closing as you inhaled deeply, knowing that confrontation was coming up, and you were in no mood to entertain. 

“Of course.” You smiled sweetly. “Professor Noah doesn’t often make mistakes, but if he does, just point it out. He’ll remedy it immediately!”

The girl seethes, her hand intertwined with the guy from before as she spits. 

“You know damn well that isn’t what I’m talking about.” She points an accusatory finger at you. You feigned innocence. 

“Then what are you talking about?” 

The girl’s nostrils flare, face reddening with anger, before her boytoy pats her chest comfortingly. “‘Got this, babe.” She relaxes, you cringe. Of course, the man had to speak.

“Why the fuck were you cockblocking us?” Zayne chokes on his iced chocolate at the straightforward accusation. 

You still feigned innocence. 

“What do you mean?” The coy act only seems to tick the couple off as the girl pulls away to slam her freshly manicured hands on the table, a means to intimidate you, but it only serves as entertainment as you fight back a snort. 

“Listen here, virgin.” She spits out, as if the word was acid. “I know that it must be sad and pathetic to be a virgin at your grown age, but that doesn’t mean that you have to ruin the fun for everyone else, you virgin!” 

You cock your head to the side. “Mayhaps, is your favorite word virgin?” 

She raises her hand before she remembers where she is; she settles on huffing, crossing her arms against her chest, and rolling her eyes. 

“I wouldn’t expect a virgin like you to know the joys of sex. Nerds like you would rather fuck a textbook or get wet at the sex parts of an anatomy book.”

You snort, adding fuel to the fire. “Damn, at least make it about my fictional characters.” 

“You sad, pathetic little virg–!” 

“That’s enough.” Zayne’s voice cuts through as he finally speaks up, not wanting to prolong this conversation anymore. “You have no proof that she intentionally—” he coughs, as if the word physically hurts him. “cockblocked you. I suggest you two leave.” 

The man around the girl laughs. “And look who finally decided to talk, Mr. Nice Guy right here.” His eyes lazily flit down to your figure, then back at him, a smirk playing on his face. 

“I see why you’d wait around.” You didn’t like the implication of his words, nor did his girl, as she pushes his arm off her shoulders and storms off. The guy’s jaw dropped in disbelief, not expecting that reaction. He gave the two of you a glare before finally running after her, a dramatic, “Babe! That wasn’t what it sounded like!” ruining the ambience of the cafe. 

You watched the scene, feeling awkward tension rise before shaking it away as you turned back to Zayne. 

He meets your gaze for a second, then goes back to typing on his laptop, another PowerPoint, you presume. 

“So, cockblocking, huh?” You groan, stirring your iced coffee as you recall the prior exam. 

“God.” You rolled your eyes, hands pumping the straw as you tried to mix in the milk to your coffee. “You think they’d at least have some decorum.” 

“So, it’s true?” He responds, not looking away from his laptop. 

“It isn’t my fault that they decided to finger fuck in public. During an exam, no less!” You were frustrated. Your grades have never dropped, and you weren’t about to be distracted just because some rando was moaning as if his fingers were God’s gift to the world. In hindsight, she was trying hard to look attractive; all it did was make her look constipated. 

You chuckle at the thought before looking at Zayne’s focused expression. He wasn’t looking at you, but you knew he was paying attention. 

“I saved you a seat, by the way.” You straightened, a hum escaping your lips in question as Zayne speaks. 

“Beside me, in the front row, the usual.” His eyes flickered to yours, no discernible emotion. “I saved you a seat. You didn’t have to sit at the back.” 

“Ah.” You acknowledge. “I didn’t have my glasses on, and I felt awkward standing for so long; I wasn’t sure if you did.” You sheepishly admit, you hear Zayne sigh, his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose as if you were the cause for his upcoming headache, to which you probably were. 

“I always save you a seat.” 

Right. Circling back to that… never. 

You cleared your throat as you gestured to the opened manga on your side of the table. “Look, look! A new chapter of Tamon’s B-Side was released this week. We have another Keito appearance!” Zayne scoffs a breath before he nods, typing back on the laptop, furrowing his brows before cursing under his breath. 

“You alright?” You asked, pausing from your panel. 

“Carter hasn’t submitted his part of the paper.” He rolls his eyes. “His previous excuse was that his girlfriend needed him.” You crinkle your nose. Gross. 

“Why is everyone in heat?” You sighed, exasperated. “It’s like they can’t live without sex, it’s pathetic.” You leaned back into your chair. “Surely it can’t be that good, right?” 

Zayne finally looks at you, his face blank, yet his ears reflect a subtle redness. He clears his throat, hand flying to his collar to adjust the already tidy fold. 

“Unfortunately, I do not have a reference, so I cannot answer your question.” You hummed at his textbook answer. Nodding, because what else could you do? 

“Do you… think about it?” You asked, not meeting his eyes as you push the ice cubes in your cup with your straw. 

“What?” 

“Like… sex. Do you think about it?” Zayne coughs into his drink, the second time today. 

“What brought this topic up?” Zayne knew why this topic was being discussed. He just didn’t want to confront it, not yet. 

You shrugged, flipping a page in your manga. “Seems like being a senior means that you’ve slept around or at least have gotten laid once. Feels like I’m missing something.” You say the last part almost like a whisper, praying that Zayne doesn’t hear. 

“Missing something?” He hears. Of course he does. Next time, pray faster. 

“It’s just… Zayne, you know you and I are considered losers, right?” Zayne nods without taking it as an insult. “And we’re voted as most likely to die virgins.” 

“Get on with it.” 

“Don’t you ever… just think about it?” Zayne raises a brow at your words. 

“It?” 

You throw a rolled-up tissue. “You’re smart. You know what I mean!” 

Zayne flicks the tissue off his hand with his forefinger before he looks at you. 

“I cannot say I haven’t.” His answer shocks you, but he quickly backtracks. “It is common to be curious, no?” You hummed, not giving him an answer, deep in thought. 

“What if we do it?” “What?” Zayne expected you to take your words back and apologize, but there was a look in your eye, the same look when you discover a solution, something groundbreaking. 

“Think about it. You’re curious, I’m curious. And we both don’t want to risk catching something, right?”

Zayne knows where you’re going with this; at the same time, he doesn’t. However, he gives a nod, albeit hesitantly. You take it as a sign to continue. 

“–And you’ve heard of horror sex stories, specifically awkward first times where someone comes too quickly or doesn’t know what they’re doing, right?” 

You don’t even wait for Zayne to respond as you reach your conclusion. 

“What I’m saying is–” You clasped your hands together. “We should totally do it.” 

Zayne feels like he’s in a fever dream. 

“(Y/N).” He politely interrupts your masterplan. “Are you sure that this isn’t some type of FOMO?” 

You shake your head. “No, Zayne. It’s perfect. You and I having sex is perfect!” 

He chokes on air. 

“You and I are inexperienced; we won’t know what to expect. This wouldn’t be an awkward first-time story because there’s no expectation. And you trust me, right?”

“I do, but–” “Great! I trust you, too.” 

He almost feels bad for dimming the sparkle in your eye, but one of you had to be rational about this. 

“And what would happen to our friendship after?” Zayne asks, weighing your expression, as if trying to see if you’ve thought about it. “What happens to us after we… hook up.” 

You crinkle your nose in disgust. 

“Hooking up is a gross term, don’t ever describe us like that again.” Zayne huffs out a sarcastic laugh. 

“Then what would we be?” 

Zayne waits to cringe at the term friends with benefits. 

“Researchers!” “Researchers?”

You nod, a mischievous smile on your face. “We’re technically conducting an experiment to confirm a hypothesis. The experiment being sex, and the hypothesis being if it’s actually as good as they say.” 

For the first time in Zayne’s life, he finds himself speechless. You were so confident, you sounded wrong, but what you were saying was technically right. 

But he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t curious—a big one. 

“Fine.” Zayne concedes; you drop your mouth open in shock, not expecting him actually to agree, before a delighted noise escapes. 

“But–” “You need to stop agreeing before you settle your terms, Zayne. You got me excited for no reason.” Zayne ignores that. 

“What if it is actually as good as they say? What then?” You hum, acknowledging your question. 

“Then, if both feelings are mutual, we can continue until graduation. Or until we find someone else to do it with.” The way you casually say that conclusion leaves a sour note in Zayne’s tongue.  

“I see.” Zayne had no further questions, at least, at the moment. “So, we’re friends-with-benefits?” 

You crinkle your nose once more. “I really would prefer we call ourselves researchers,” “(Y/N)--” “Fine, fine! Friends with benefits, whatever.” 

“Then it’s a deal.” You say as you raise a hand, placing it in the middle, a playful smile on your face. 

“I look forward to having sex with you, Zayne.” 

“Must you always be so… vulgar?” He sighs, but his hand comes up, regardless, to shake yours in a transactional tug. “May our hypothesis breed fruitful conclusions.” 

“Zayne—” “I’m aware how bad that sounds. I apologize.” You fight back a giggle. 

This is going to be so fun. 

— — — 

The two of you head off in different ways, not wanting to overwhelm yourselves by planning everything in one sitting. You both agreed that the week after your exams would be ideal to… meet up. Just so your priorities wouldn’t misalign. This was just an experiment; your studies are still more important. 

You set off to your dorm, bag dropping on the floor, and fingers immediately skimming through your mini manga collection, stopping at the book you were looking for, nothing special. Just a favorite of yours to get in the mood. 

You weren’t going to get off, but you needed to study for when you meet Zayne next weekend, and you know that reading a manga with unrealistic body proportions and excessive bodily fluids isn’t the way to “study”. However, it was better than cringing at a pornstar trying to rival the screaming cats outside your dorm at fuck o’clock in the morning. 

On the other hand, Zayne turns his phone off with a cringe. He just finished trying to watch a video called “First time with my best friend!”, a ten-minute compilation with cut scenes every 10 seconds and saliva everywhere, except where it needed to be. It didn’t serve as study material but rather as a waste of time, since nothing was noteworthy or valuable. 

He sighs, turning his phone on again just to click away the incognito tab that displayed a horrifically paused action shot of the stars in action. 

He was never going to figure this out, was he? 

Zayne was starting to regret agreeing. Not because he didn’t want to have sex with you, but he didn’t want to disappoint. He didn’t want a hypothetical of the two of you finding different partners in the future, and you realizing that the experience you had with him was lackluster. 

He couldn’t have that. 

“What’s up with the constipated thinking face, Z?” Zayne opens his eyes, expression blank as he looks at Caleb, who entered his room, most likely forgoing knocking. 

“It’s just my face,” Zayne responds, evenly. 

Caleb scoffs before he walks over to plop on Zayne’s bed, sitting on it. “No, no, that isn’t the blank thinking face, the face I walked in on was reserved for life-altering moments.” 

“Like?” 

“Like when we were ten, and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted ice cream or macarons for dessert, and you ended up thinking for so long that gran and your parents just gave both,” Caleb says, almost immediately. “...meanwhile, I had to stick to one.” 

”Your ability to hold a grudge astounds me.” 

“Anyway.” Caleb brushes him off. “What’s on your mind?” 

Zayne bites his lip, weighing whether to talk about it with his childhood best friend or to find a solution on his own. 

But Caleb wouldn’t judge, right? And he obviously wasn’t a virgin with the way he acts, so if Zayne were to ask, Caleb would have an answer, right? 

“... let’s say, hypothetically–” ”Z, it’s just me, none of that ‘a friend of mine’ bullshit.” Zayne swallows before conceding. 

“What should I expect for the first time having sex?” Zayne states bluntly. 

Caleb chokes on air, his coughing uncontrollable as he sits up from Zayne’s bed, hand grasping his hacking throat as he forces himself to calm down.

Zayne only watches quietly, waiting for Caleb’s drama to calm down. 

“You’---*cough* You’re gonna have sex?!” Caleb sputters, a bit of drool seeping by the side of his lips from his coughing fit. 

“Hypothetically.” “I said don’t give me that hypothetical bullshit!”

Caleb swallows before clearing his throat. “So, who’s the lucky girl, dude? I don’t judge.” 

Zayne shakes his head. “Her name isn’t relevant.” 

“Ah. You mean that chick you’re always with since freshman year? (Y/N), right?” Zayne says nothing, but Caleb didn’t need confirmation; he already knew. “...so, why are you asking me?” 

Zayne shrugged. “You’re quite experienced, no?” Caleb coughs slightly at the straightforward remark before he slouches and relaxes. 

“I mean, I guess. But…” “But…?” 

“If you wanna know my trade secrets, I need a trade that eq—” “What do you want?” “Your biochem notes and assignment, please. I forgot it was due tonight.” Caleb grins. Zayne sighs before he wordlessly throws his notebook and forwards him a copy of his essay. 

“Don’t make it obvious.” “Aye.” 

Caleb clears his throat. “Okay, so what do you wanna know?” 

Zayne stays silent for a few seconds, thinking about what he needs to ask before he settles on: 

“How do I know that she’s enjoying it?” 

Caleb smirks, “You just gotta listen to her sounds, bro. Pay real close attention to her expressions.” He closes his eyes, as if reminiscing. “You have to see her body language too if she enjoys it.” 

Zayne hums, nodding. “And then? What do you think she’d prefer? My tongue or fingers… or my peni—” “Z, my dude. You gotta go with the flow. It won’t feel good if you overthink.”  

Caleb stands up from his bed, Zayne’s notebook close to his chest. “Anyway, time’s running. I gotta cram this before Dr. Lucius cuts my head off.” 

“Don’t copy my conclusion.” Zayne reminds him, Caleb snorts. “We don’t have the same professor, but fine.” 

Caleb leaves Zayne’s room, waving with the notebook in hand, before his room closes with a quiet click. 

Honestly? Zayne’s conversation with his roommate did nothing to quiet the anxiety thrumming in his veins. 

With a sharp inhale, he opens his laptop, preparing to take care of the logistics for your after-exam … festivities. 

— — — 

Zayne blinks twice and finds the exam season over. Well, almost over. He was two questions away from completing his final midterm.  

He wasn’t sure whether it was his nervousness or his anticipation for what was to come. 

He watches as you stand up from your chair, the skirt of your uniform swishing softly with the wind as you walk to submit your exam. You turn around from the teacher’s desk, eyes scanning to find his before one of your eyes drops down to a quick wink. 

A warm shade of red flushes on the apple of Zayne’s cheek. His eyes flit around the room, seeing if anyone was paying attention. Though if they did, they wouldn’t really think twice about it. No one thought twice about the people in the first row. 

You cross the classroom, intentionally walking by his desk, and for a split second, he sees the wind flutter at your skirt, lifting it to reveal baby blue before it's covered by the school skirt. 

Zayne, for his sanity, believes that it was a hallucination. The lingering scent of your perfume, however, was proof that it was real, and you just flashed him. 

And Zayne cannot explain the subtle tightness he feels down there. 

He reverts to focusing on the last two questions, which seemed to be mocking him at this point. The scratching of his pen against the surface of his exam distracted him for the time being. It took two minutes to finish off the exam and another five minutes to review his answers, although, in reality, his eyes were barely focused on the paper. He knew his answers were correct. He was just stalling for time. 

His legs seemed to have a mind of their own as he found himself walking towards the professor’s desk, dropping off the paper and turning around, grabbing his stuff to leave. 

The door behind him clicks shut. He was out in the hallway, eyes scanning, searching for you. 

“Hey, Z.” He jumps at the sound of your voice. His eyes flit over to your figure, who looked at him like nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Maybe he was overthinking it. 

A smile that could only be described as mischievous crosses your face. “You ready?” Nope. Not overthinking it. 

Zayne responds with a nod. You open your phone to book a car to the hotel Zayne booked the week before. 

A regular hotel. Not a cheap hotel where the stains from prior inhabitants left their mark, nor was it a hotel with a butler on your beck and call. Just decent, just normal. That was the smartest option. Away from the risk of being heard from thin dorm walls and the walks of shame, also away from bumping into people you might know. 

The perfect place to conduct their research. The perfect place for plausible deniability.

You feel the eye of the receptionist on the two of you before you could even make your approach. 

“We have a reservation under Li.” You confidently say, meanwhile, Zayne looks around awkwardly, trying hard not to catch the receptionist’s eye.

The receptionist types to confirm the reservation before handing you both a key card. 

“Have a nice stay.” They say, tone devoid of any emotion, but Zayne thinks that the reception knew. 

The two of you walked towards the elevator, waiting a few seconds to see if anyone else would get in, but after seeing that there was no one else, Zayne pressed the room floor. 

Silence fills the metal space as Zayne looks straight ahead, feeling his heart thump nervously against his chest. 

“Are you nervous?” You asked, not looking at him, just at the elevator's digital screen, the floor number count rising. 

“Aren’t you?” Zayne asks back, not giving you an answer. 

You let out a small laugh. “I am.” 

Zayne doesn’t seem to think so. 

“But,” You look down at your shoes, warmth creeping up your face. “Not as much because it’s you. I trust you.” 

His heart seems to calm down at that statement. 

The elevator door opens, and the two of you step out, finding your hotel room almost instantly. Zayne presses the card against the scanner, the quiet click! of the door opening sounded louder to his ears. 

You stepped in first, settling your schoolbag on the floor as you took in the room. It was decent, a queen-sized bed flat in the middle and a TV, which you doubt you’ll be using, mounted on the wall. From behind you, the sound of Zayne rustling through his stuff catches your attention. You turn around, watching as he pulls out an unopened box of condoms from his messenger bag. 

“Straight to the point, huh?” Your voice startles him. He rises quickly, red decorating his cheeks as he sputters out his defense. 

“I– It was just— I was just.” This was one of the rare times that Zayne finds himself stumbling over his words. You cut him off with a laugh as you waved him off. 

“Calm down, Z. I was just kidding.” You say before sitting on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. 

Zayne stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do as the seconds passed by. 

Thankfully, you noticed. You always did. 

You cleared your throat, “Zayne…” 

“Yes?”

“You know we don’t need to do this if you’re uncomfortable, right? I won’t take it persona—""That’s not what it is.” Zayne cuts you off, closing the distance as he stands in front of you. “This is just… adventitious." You smile softly, acknowledging his nerves.

“Z, you have to remember, this is all new to me, too. We’ll figure it out along the way, that’s what the research is for.” You reach out to hold his hand, “I’m on the same boat as you are.”

Zayne closes his eyes and sighs, not out of exasperation, but as a means to ground himself. He nods, eyes opening to look at you fully. 

You looked encouraging, as if this was a completely different situation and not that the two of you were about to have sex. 

“I…” Zayne hesitates. “I don’t know where we should begin.” You pat the space beside you on the bed. 

“How about…” You grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers together. “Kissing?” 

He nods, but stays still, his hand limping against yours. 

The two of you faced each other, not knowing how or when to move. You’ve seen it in movies, but never in a setting where it was premeditated. It almost always just happens. 

You decided to take the lead, knowing that Zayne probably wouldn’t have, and you lean forward. He meets you halfway before your lips meet in an awkward press, the middle of your glasses clinking together awkwardly. 

It lasted a few seconds before you pulled away. When your eyes opened, he was already staring back at you. 

“So…” You smiled cheekily. “How was it?” You wanted to tease the rising redness on the apples of Zayne’s cheek, but you were caught off guard as he closed the distance, his hand on your face. 

“I think… we need more data,” Zayne says, voice barely above a whisper as he stares at your lips. You smiled at the use of the research jargon, but before you could retort, Zayne’s lips met yours again in a deeper, yet still clumsy kiss. 

The room was filled with the sound of lips smacking, your hands refusing to stay idle as it reached up to clasp Zayne’s hand that was on your cheek. Zayne’s other hand snakes its way to your waist, pulling you closer to him. A surprised oof! leaves your lips as you find your body half on his lap. 

Zayne takes it as an opportunity to introduce his tongue. The muscle sliding against your lower lip. You parted your lips, letting him in. 

He was careful, not wanting to overwhelm you, but you seemed to be in your own world as you accidentally shoved your tongue in his mouth, causing him to pull away as a reflex. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” You apologized, eyes wide. Zayne says nothing as he catches his breath. You watched as his eyes flit to your lips, his eyes dark in a way that wasn’t familiar. His gaze invites a flutter in your stomach. A familiar feeling only when you read a manga panel in one of your horny moods. 

Zayne makes the first move, pulling you in, the prior gentleness gone as his tongue enters your mouth, his muscle fighting against yours in a match that neither wanted to concede. Your hands roam, one gripped his hair, the other on his neck, as you kept him pressed to you. His, however, were more mischievous as one settles on your back and the other lies flat against your chest. 

You gasped as Zayne squeezed experimentally on your breast, your back arching at the sudden touch, causing you to pull away. 

“I-I’m sorry I–” Zayne apologizes as you stand up from the bed. You press a finger on his lips. Ensuring his eyes were on you as you made a move to unbutton your uniform. 

“We’re moving a bit too slow, no?” You say, half-teasing, half a statement. 

Zayne watches, entranced, as your fingers show more of your skin. He jolts, standing up as well, as if remembering what was happening as his hand reaches to his tie, loosening it and starting to undress himself as well. 

The two of you watch each other expose yourselves to a state of undress. Zayne feels his cock twitch as he sees the cloth of your skirt fall with a graceless thud. 

“Where the hell have you been hiding that?!” You couldn’t help but exclaim as Zayne removes his polo, revealing abs that hid under school polos and vests. His slacks came off next, and the dark navy color of his boxers was stark against his pale skin. 

Both of you were only in your underwear, standing face to face. Zayne couldn’t help but focus on the way your boobs were snugly hugged by a baby-blue bra, lace embedded with glitter, with a small snowflake resting in the middle, and, of course, the baby-blue panties he'd seen earlier complemented the set perfectly. 

You were no better; your eyes traced every ridge of his body. You were somewhat in disbelief that a man who chugs down milk tea and matcha like it was his lifeline has a body sculpted by the gods. 

“May I?” Zayne asked, You let out an audible ‘huh?’ before you realized he was asking permission to touch your chest. 

You did him one better; you grabbed his hand, settling it onto your boobs, as you tilted up to kiss him. He meets you, more confident this time, yet his hands awkwardly grope at your chest. 

Your hand snakes down, pouting into the kiss once you feel the stubble where his happy trail should be. You pull away, just to confirm. “You shaved?” Zayne huffs against your lips. “I didn’t know your opinion on body hair.”

“Next time,” You kiss him again, muttering against his lips, “keep it.” 

Zayne’s heart stutters at the promise of another time. 

He mutters back a quick noted before he leads you back to the bed. 

You find yourself sitting on his lap, the kissing only intensifying as his hands find their way on the underside of your thigh, pulling you flush against him. You gasped as you felt his length hardening under you. 

None of you commented that the only barrier between the two of you was your underwear. You get off his lap, making him lie beside you on the bed as your upper bodies lean on the headboard. 

“Hey, Z… ” You catch your breath, he was dazed as he let out a hum— his tone was rough, eyes dark, his glasses askew on his head. “Have you ever gotten off?” 

Zayne raises a brow, but he nods nonetheless at your question. 

“Have you ever gotten off to me?” Zayne freezes at the question. He doesn’t know how to respond. 

But, it looked like you weren’t looking for much of an answer as your soft hand trails down his twitching abs. His cock jumps against his boxers as your palm rests there, your eyes trained on the straining muscle. 

“Because I have.” You say, not meaning to be heard by your friend. If Zayne heard, he made no comment on it, but the way his breath hitches should be enough. 

Zayne bumps his head against yours, pushing you down slightly as his hand pushes the waistband of your panties to the side. His fingers were careful, and they twitched once he felt the short hair that surrounds your mound. 

Fuck. It felt heavenly against his fingertips. 

You did not back down as you pushed his boxers down, gasping as his cock sprang out. 

It was big. Not hentai-proportion big, but big enough that your mouth already aches from thinking of taking him. 

You were careful as you pumped his cock at a slow pace. Your eyes were trained on his expressions. He lets out a hiss, eyes fluttering shut. 

“How does it feel?” You asked, Zayne opens his eyes and looks at you with a tight expression. 

“Different.” You hummed at his answer, “spit on your hand.”

“Excuse me?” 

Zayne presses a kiss on your neck, “feels better when wet.” He explains, “based on experience.” 

Your breath hitches, you make a move to move your hair out of the way as you lean down to let out a trail of drool on his cock. 

It twitches as the warmth of your saliva hits him.

He lets out a groan as your hand finds itself back on his cock, pumping it with more ease, his hand twitches as if remembering that he had a mission before he strokes your slit. 

Wet. You were so wet against his touch.  

“Oh my god, that feels so weird.” You giggled, reaching up to place a kiss on his temple as you quickened your pace, your boobs right below Zayne’s lips. He dips down, mouthing at the exposed mound. He uses his other hand to pull your bra down, freeing a nipple which he immediately encloses with his mouth. “Bad weird?” he asks against your skin. 

You giggled. “Great weird, actually.” 

Your back arches as he sucks on your nipple; his other hand continues to spread your wetness against his fingers. 

The tip of his finger accidentally brushes your clit, and you shudder. Zayne feels this and pulls away. 

“Too much?” You shake your head, bucking your hips up to chase after his fingers, and your hand takes hold of his face. 

“Not enough.” You correct as you pull him down, mouth meeting his parted lips as you press your body closer to his, your tongues intertwining as you focus on pleasuring each other. 

The kiss was messy, sloppy. Inexperienced tongues trying to gain the upper hand while quiet sounds of pleasure escape your lips. 

Zayne takes it a step further as he presses harder against your clit, rubbing it in smooth circles. 

An abrupt moan leaves your lips as you arch your back, pressing your boobs closer to his chest, your eyes flit to a close. 

It felt so… foreign. It didn’t feel that way when you rubbed yourself. You’ve always psyched yourself out, even when alone. It always felt uncomfortable and wrong somehow. You’ve even followed a manga panel by panel, trying to replicate the implied feeling, only to be disappointed at how exaggerated the artist made the drawings. 

You were too into thinking that you didn’t notice Zayne freeze for a second beside you. 

You moaned right into his ear, and he could feel his cock harden even more if it were possible. His tongue presses harder against yours, his fingers rubbing harder, faster, trying to make you moan like that again. 

What he didn’t realize was that his mind was going into a haze, his hips were bucking in time with your pumping, the glasses on your faces were bumping against each other, but none of you cared. Moans transferred from your lips to his as the two of you chased an unfamiliar release. 

You can feel Zayne’s cock twitch against your hold, his abs flexing. You were faring no better; you could feel your clit throb, and normally, this is when you’d stop. However, your pussy wasn’t in your hands; it was in Zayne’s, and he’d be damned if he didn’t see you cum for him. 

“‘s feels so weird, Z.” You whimpered against his lips. Zayne hisses, feeling himself near release. 

He wanted you to come first, really. But when your other hand reaches down to grope at his balls, amping the stimulations on his cock, he couldn’t help the way his back arches and his body shudders, cum spurting all over your hand and down the sides of his shaft. 

Zayne was mortified. His biggest fear was coming true. He came like a pathetic, inexperienced virgin, and you were always going to remember him as su— A curious hum snaps him out of his thoughts. 

Your eyes were glassy, half-lidded as you stared at your cum stained hand. You lifted it to the warm light of the room, watching as his come connects your fingers. A burning red floods Zayne’s face.

You looked at him, before looking back down at your fingers, your tongue lolling out to taste his release. 

Zayne’s eyes widened at the display. 

You take in the tips of your stained fingers, humming softly at the taste, before you push the rest inside. You moan as his sticky cum envelops your tongue. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was entranced by the way your fingers were pumping in and out of your mouth and how it looked like you enjoyed it. 

Your free hand snakes its way to the middle of your thighs before Zayne’s hand shoves it away. 

With a surprised gasp, you find your legs draped against either of his shoulders as he looks into your eyes, gauging your reaction. 

Your eyes were wide in surprise, fingers halfway in your mouth as you stared back at him. 

“Your turn,” Zayne says lowly. His eyes flickered to your throbbing hole, his tongue unconsciously licking his lips at the sight of your wetness oozing out. 

Without waiting for a response, he leans in, placing a noisy kiss on your puffy clit. Your hand flies to his now messy hair. 

“Zayne…” You moan out as his tongue traces every bump it encounters, his nose bumps into your clit as his tongue flickers against your hole. 

“...good…” “Huh?” You pull at Zayne’s hair, and he resists as he mumbles against your pussy, louder.

“You taste so good.” 

Zayne wasn’t expecting a lot but was pleasantly surprised to find himself chasing after the taste of your dribbling pussy. His eyes flickered to yours to see your reaction. Your lower lip was trapped between your teeth as your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up to chase his tongue. 

He caresses your thighs before he teases one of his fingers to your hole, not stopping in his ministrations. 

“Z–Zayne—ahhn—Z!” You pull on his hair, pushing on his head onto your core. 

You were surprised because you didn’t expect Zayne to eat you out with so much vigor. He had no technique, but he was enthusiastic. Every time you let out a sound of pleasure, he’d focus on that spot until you felt an unfamiliar tightening in your lower stomach. 

“Zayne… feels weird.” You moan out, chest heaving as you try to wriggle out of his grip. 

He doesn’t let you. 

He only smothers his face in your pussy, slamming his fingers inside of you, muffled come. come. come. spoken against your skin.

Your eyes close, a loud moan leaving your mouth as your back arches, your hands tightening against the tresses of his messy hair. 

“Z-Zayne, fuck!”

Your thighs spasm as you feel liquid gush out of your pussy. Zayne groans at the sudden warmth enveloping the lower half of his face as his tongue does its best to clean you up. 

You pulled on his hair, dragging him up and smashing your lips together, making you taste one another as his hands dart to remove your bra. 

If you weren’t in the heat of the moment, you would’ve teased him for fumbling, but you couldn’t care less as you pulled down his boxers and your panties. 

His hard length presses against your bare pussy, the two of you still moaning against each other’s mouths before his hands reach towards the nightstand to rip out a condom from the packaging. 

“Shit.” Zayne pulls away, cursing lowly. A sound that makes a flutter settle in your stomach. 

You looked at the condom with intrigue as you took it from Zayne’s hand, placing the tip of the condom inside your mouth as you moved towards his hard cock. 

His eyes were locked on yours as you dipped down, mouth enveloping the tip of his cock, the condom covering the shaft as you moved down. 

Zayne’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you, speechless. His hand rests on your head as you swallow around his cock in the guise of putting on a condom. He bucks his hips once, pulling you away once he hears you gag. 

The sight has him bewitched. 

You looked back at him with teary, red eyes, a string of spit connecting your lips to the tip of his covered cock. 

You looked wrecked, and he hasn’t even put it in yet. 

You looked beautiful. 

He pulls you up, your back meets the soft hotel bed as his hands cage your body from either side. 

“Ready for the main event?” You couldn’t help but tease him. Zayne scoffs out a laugh, leaning down to suck on your tongue, biting it softly just until he hears you hiss. 

He looks down to see your parts pressed together. He moves to tease his sensitive cock against your twitching clit. The condom dulls his sensations for a small percent but he ignores it. Not today. 

You open your legs, spreading them for him as he teases your slit. 

“Are you sure?” Zayne asked, nerves on fire. 

This was the finale to the build-up of an hour of foreplay. 

You nod. 

“Fuck me, Zayne.” 

His cock twitches at your words. He presses the covered tip into your hole, breaching your tightness. 

You took in a deep breath, feeling discomfort almost immediately. Zayne notices and pauses. You reached up to splay your hands at his back, shaking your head. 

“It’s okay, continue.” Zayne furrows his brow. 

“Are you sure?” 

You nod at his question, “slowly, please.”

Zayne nods, pushing in slower, 

The room was filled with heavy breathing. He can feel your pussy tightening up, not wanting another inch to push in. 

He leans down, whispering a breathless “relax” in your ear. The sound was sexy, confident, and did nothing to help you relax as you let out a moan at his tone. 

“Holy shit, we’re really doing this.” You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer so you could leave kiss marks on the expanse of his neck. 

Zayne pushes the final inch in, the two of you staying still as your lips kiss every inch of skin of his that you can reach. 

“You’re…” Zayne hisses out, breathing heavily. “You’re so tight.” 

“You’re throbbing in me.” You giggled. “I can feel everything.” 

A few seconds pass, the discomfort dulling. 

“You can move.” You breathe out, bracing yourself. 

Zayne nods. He braces himself on the bed, planting his weight on his forearms before he pulls out, only to push in immediately. 

The two of you let out a surprised noise; the feeling was strange yet not uncomfortable. It takes a minute for Zayne to find his rhythm, and when he does, you immediately feel it. 

How deeply he was thrusting against you. 

You let out a moan, back arching as his hips thrusted, his hand reaches to ground your back as his head dips down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, tongue playing with the tip. 

You giggled. What a freak. You never thought that Zayne had a thing for boobs, but you learn new things every day. 

And you learned that you liked Zayne looking like this. 

His brows were knitted in concentration. His mouth was occupied with your tits, and he forewent holding himself up, his body pressing against yours, so he could play with your other. 

“Z,” You pull his head away, making him face you. “Hm?” His voice was an octave you had never heard before. Hot.

“Can I ride you?” His eyes widened, before he could conjure a response, you took the opportunity of his shock to switch your positions, and you were now straddling his lower body.

His hands make their way to your waist. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You ignore him as you move your hips against his cock that bobbed in the air. 

“Relax, Zayne. It’ll be fun.” You smiled. Zayne thinks you look beautiful. 

You let out a startled gasp as you make the mistake of taking him all in in one move. Zayne groans as his cock is enveloped in your warmth. The sudden tightness made his cock pulse like crazy, and he couldn’t stop himself from bucking twice. 

He was overwhelmed. The taste of you was still present in his tongue, his body was hot and sweaty, your soft skin was contrasting against the hard planes of his abs, and you looked so enthusiastic about everything that he couldn’t stop the feeling of it all.

A groan fills the air, not from you, but from Zayne, who accidentally releases into the condom. You realize what was happening, a mischievous grin on your face as you grind down on his already stimulated cock. 

“It’s okay, Zayne.” You leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Felt good, huh?” 

Zayne was mortified. 

On both occasions where the two of you should’ve come together, he came first, both times.  

Once you realized that Zayne wasn’t sharing in your humor, you leaned down to press a kiss on his cheek. “It’s okay, Z—” “This is… not an ideal situation for me.” Zayne cuts you off.

You looked at him with a comforting smile on your face. “Not ideal, sure.” You agreed with a hum as you pulled out, eyes trained on the cum filled condom. 

Your mouth waters, wanting to taste his release once more, but you clear your throat, going back to the topic. 

“--but really fucking hot, Zayne.” You admit, reaching over to tie the used condom, tossing it behind you, somewhere in the room, before pulling out a new one, but not before leaning down to lick down Zayne’s dick that twitches under your tongue. 

“We can stop now, if you want, Z.” You reassure him with a smile that makes his heart stutter against his chest. 

You cleared your throat, putting on your best scientist voice. 

“We have gathered sufficient data, and the thesis has reached a conclusion. Sex does feel go–”“No.”

You let out a yelp, eyes wide as you find yourself back on the bed with Zayne looming over you. He takes hold of the condom, “You didn’t cum yet.” 

You were confused. “You made me squirt.” 

“Not from my cock.” Zayne clarifies, eyes dark as he places the condom on himself. 

“Zayne, it’s okay—” “We cannot reach a conclusion if the variables are not satisfied.” You want to argue, say that a thesis doesn’t work like that, and whatever result is enough of a result. 

He was acting out of selfish intent, and you were in no way complaining. 

You giggled, letting him tease the tip of his cock to your wet, edged pussy. 

“Then let’s reach the conclusion together, Z.” 

He pushes in, a concentrated expression on his face as he focuses on your pleasure. His hips thrust in a steady pattern. Hard, deep, consistent. 

His hand squeezes one of your boobs, the fat seeping through his fingers as he watches your face contort with pleasure. 

Moans tumble out of your lips as your clit gets grazed every time Zayne pulls out. Your hand snakes down to relieve your puffy pearl that was begging for attention, only for Zayne to move your hands away. 

Before you can say anything, you feel a warm, wet sensation hit your clit. 

He spat on you. 

His fingers came down immediately, massaging your clit in a messy pattern, your moans get louder, back arching as you try to match the slamming of his hips. 

He groans, feeling you tighten against him, your body squirming underneath him, trying to grapple with anything to ground yourself. You settle on the sheets beside you, fist tightening against the duvet until your knuckles turn white. 

Zayne sees this and pins one of your hands down, leaning down so he can place a sloppy kiss on your mouth, tongue messily clashing against each other as your muffled sounds get louder. 

You moan his name against his lips, and his hips stutter for a split second before he pounds harder, reaching your womb without even meaning to. 

“Zayne… ‘m so– ahhn!–sosososo close. Please!” Your words were music to his ears. He couldn’t help but let out a groan as his lips ventured south, sucking down a mark under your jaw, not stopping until you let out a hiss and his mouth leaves a shade of bruise purple. 

“Cum for me.” He mutters, not that he needed to ask, because your body seizes almost right after, a shrill moan leaving your lips as you feel your soul leave your body. 

Your back crashes on the bed, exhausted, boneless, as you try catching your breath. Zayne hisses and his hips still, you feel warmth inside your pussy yet it gets blocked by the condom. 

Zayne pulls out, and with an uncharacteristic ungracefulness, he plops down beside you, taking off the condom and tying it up, letting it fall on the floor as the two of you catch your breath. 

You were blissed out; you didn’t expect the sex to feel like an out-of-body experience. Your breathing manages to even out. Finally coming back to the world, only to realize that your hand was still intertwined with Zayne. 

You make no move to let go, neither does he.

The room was silent, as if it were letting you feel the weight of your actions. 

You fucked your best friend. You liked it. You wanted to do it again… for research!

“Are you okay?” Zayne asks after a moment, rising up to inspect your body, scanning the sweat and drool-stained skin. His breath hitches, but he wills himself to stop his thoughts from getting hard once more. 

“I get it.” You answered, not really answering his question, but a question that was in both of your minds. 

“I get the hype.” You grinned, turning on your body to face his, your breasts spilling to the side due to gravity, which makes Zayne choke in his gaze. “Sex is awesome.”

Zayne sighs, but he doesn’t disagree; instead, he lies back down and faces you, both your eyes sneaking glances at each other before yours stop at his kiss-bitten lips. 

“Hey, Z?” “Hm?”

“Can we kiss again?” Zayne doesn’t answer with words; instead, he meets you halfway as your lips meet in a gentle, sweet kiss. 

A kiss no friend should ever share with another. Good thing the two of you were researchers. 

“Zayne…” you pull away, huffing slightly, body molding against his as you feel his dick hardening against your thigh once more. 

“...yes?” 

“There are still four condoms in the pack.” You grinned suggestively. 

He lets out a laugh before he towers over you once again, his arm already reaching out to the box beside the bed. 

One more time. (Maybe four.)

For research.  

note/s: introductory chapter for d freaks, chapter two is much more depraved than this i promise :> anw how was it bc i blacked out writing this LMAOOO also sadly, im not gonna be putting a header anm (unless i find a vague one) in risk of being flagged again this app hates to see me goon

You were six years old the first time you saw Sylus Qin.

It had been a beautiful spring afternoon, the kind where the sun hung warm and golden in a cloudless sky and the palace gardens were in full bloom. You’d been playing alone among the peonies—your attendants watching from a respectful distance as always—when you’d heard voices approaching along the gravel path.

Men’s voices. Your father’s, you’d recognized immediately, and another you didn’t know.

Curious, you’d peered around the large ornamental rock you’d been using as a fortress in your imaginary game, and that’s when you’d seen him.

A boy. Older than you—maybe ten, you’d guessed, though you’d learned later he was actually ten—being led through the gardens by your father and the Master of Arms. He’d been dressed in the simple training clothes of a junior squire, his silver hair—even then, that striking silver—pulled back from his face, and his red eyes had been wide as he’d taken in the splendor of the imperial gardens.

Red eyes. You’d never seen eyes that color before.

He must have felt your stare because his gaze had suddenly shifted, landing directly on you where you’d been trying to hide behind your rock.

You’d frozen, caught.

For a moment, you’d just looked at each other—this strange silver-haired boy with crimson eyes and you, the princess who was supposed to be too dignified to spy on people.

Then you’d smiled and waved.

He’d blinked, clearly surprised, and glanced at the adults with him as if asking permission. But they’d been deep in conversation about training schedules or weapons or something equally boring, not paying attention to either of you.

So you’d waved again, more insistently this time, and gestured for him to come over.

He’d hesitated for only a second before slipping away from the group, moving with a quietness that had impressed you even then, and approaching your rock fortress.

“Hi,” you’d whispered, grinning up at him. “I’m—”

“The princess,” he said, and his voice had been soft, a little awed. “I know. Everyone knows.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sylus. Sylus Qin.” He’d bowed, stiff and formal in the way someone had clearly taught him to bow to royalty. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”

You’d wrinkled your nose. “That’s too many words. Just call me by my name. And you don’t have to bow like that. It looks uncomfortable.”

His lips had twitched, almost smiling. “I’m supposed to bow to royalty.”

“But we’re going to be friends,” you announced with the absolute confidence of a six-year-old who’d decided she liked someone. “Friends don’t bow to each other. That’s silly.”

“Friends?” He’d sounded uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if princesses were allowed to have friends who were trainee squires.

“Yes! Do you want to play tag?” You hadn’t waited for an answer, just reached out and tagged his arm. “You’re it!”

And then you’d taken off running through the gardens, laughing, and after a moment of shocked hesitation, you’d heard him laugh too and give chase.

That was how it had started. How you’d met the boy who would become the most important person in your world.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

The years that followed had been filled with stolen moments.

Sylus had been training to become a palace guard, working under the Master of Arms with single-minded determination that had impressed everyone. But whenever he’d had free time—and sometimes even when he shouldn’t have—he’d found his way to wherever you were.

He’d played with you in the gardens, climbed trees to retrieve kites you’d gotten stuck, helped you catch fireflies in the summer evenings. He’d sat with you during tedious lessons when your tutors had allowed it, and he’d carried you on his shoulders when you’d gotten tired during walks through the palace grounds.

Your attendants had been scandalized at first—a princess shouldn’t be so familiar with a mere trainee—but your father had allowed it. Had even encouraged it, you’d learned later. He’d seen the way Sylus watched over you even then, the way he’d positioned himself between you and anything that might hurt you, and he’d known.

This boy would protect his daughter with his life.

As you’d grown older, the games had changed but the connection had remained. You’d watch him train sometimes, hiding behind pillars or in doorways, mesmerized by the way he moved—the grace and power, the absolute focus. He’d always known you were there. Would sometimes show off a little, executing a particularly impressive combination or disarming his sparring partner with a flourish that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He’d been fourteen when you’d first realized you were in love with him.

You’d been ten, and you’d been crying in your chambers after one of the court ladies had pulled too hard while dressing your hair for some ceremony. It had hurt, and worse, the woman had scolded you for fidgeting, had called you difficult and ungrateful in a tone that had made you feel small and ashamed.

Sylus had found you in the gardens afterward, still sniffling, your elaborate hairstyle already falling apart.

“Hey,” he’d said softly, sitting beside you on the stone bench. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

You’d told him, the words tumbling out between tears, and he’d listened with such patience, such genuine concern, that it had made you cry harder.

“Come here,” he’d said finally, and he’d turned you around so your back was to him. “Let me fix it.”

“You don’t know how to—”

“My mother taught me,” he’d said quietly. “Before she… she worked in a kitchen, but she also helped the estate healer sometimes. She said a man should know gentleness, not just strength. That included learning how to braid hair.”

His fingers had been so careful as they’d worked through your tangles, so gentle that it hadn’t hurt at all. And as he’d braided and arranged your hair with surprising skill, he’d talked to you—told you stories about his mother, about his training, about anything and everything to distract you from your tears.

By the time he’d finished, you’d stopped crying. And when you’d turned to look at him, had seen the soft concern in his red eyes, the small smile on his lips as he’d admired his handiwork, something in your chest had shifted.

Oh, you’d thought. Oh no.

Because you’d realized in that moment that you loved him. Not the way you loved your parents or your friends, but something bigger, something that made your heart race and your cheeks flush and your stomach do strange fluttery things.

You’d been ten years old, and you’d fallen completely, irrevocably in love with a fourteen-year-old trainee who’d learned to braid hair from his mother and who’d never once made you feel like you were too much or too difficult or too anything.

What you hadn’t known—what you wouldn’t learn for years—was that Sylus had fallen in that moment too.

He’d been holding back tears of his own as he’d braided your hair, thinking of his mother who’d died just a year before, whose gentle teachings he’d been trying desperately to honor. And when you’d turned to look at him with those trusting eyes, still damp with tears but smiling now, something in his carefully controlled heart had cracked wide open.

He’d been too young to understand it fully, but he’d known: this girl, this princess he’d been assigned to protect, had become the center of his entire world.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

The years had continued to pass, and the feelings had only grown stronger.

You’d been twelve when you’d first seen him truly fight.

Bandits had attacked the royal caravan during a trip to a neighboring province. You’d been terrified, frozen in the carriage as you’d heard shouts and the clash of steel. Then the door had been ripped open and a man with a scarred face and wild eyes had reached for you—

And Sylus had appeared like something out of legend.

He’d been sixteen, still technically in training but already more skilled than many full knights. He’d pulled the bandit away from you with one hand and put his sword through the man’s chest with the other, and the cold efficiency of it had stolen your breath.

Then he’d turned to you, and his expression had completely changed—from that deadly warrior to the gentle boy you knew, concern flooding his red eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he’d asked, checking you over with shaking hands. “Did he touch you? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you’d managed, though you’d been trembling. “You saved me.”

“Always,” he’d said, and the intensity in his voice had made something warm bloom in your chest. “I’ll always save you.”

After that day, he’d been officially assigned to your personal guard rotation despite his young age. Your father had seen what you’d already known: there was no one better suited to protect you.

But the new official capacity had changed things between you. Where before you’d had freedom to just be friends, now there were expectations, protocols. He’d started calling you “Princess” more often than your name, had stopped seeking you out during his free time, had maintained a careful distance that had made your heart ache.

You’d been thirteen the first time you’d truly understood what it meant to miss someone who was standing right beside you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been fifteen when you’d first felt the magnetic pull.

It had been late evening, and you’d been studying in the palace library—or pretending to study, at least. Sylus had been stationed outside as your guard, but you’d insisted he come inside because it had been winter and the hallways were freezing.

He’d sat near the fireplace, supposedly watching the door but actually reading one of the military strategy texts you’d seen him glance at longingly. You’d been pretending to focus on your own book but really watching him—the way the firelight had painted gold across his silver hair, the way his brow had furrowed in concentration, the way his lips had moved slightly as he’d read.

Beautiful, you’d thought. He’s so beautiful.

At some point, you’d both looked up at the same time, and your eyes had met across the room.

The air had felt charged, electric. Neither of you had moved, but you’d felt pulled toward him like a string was tied between your hearts. You’d seen his throat work as he’d swallowed, seen the way his eyes had darkened, and you’d known—somehow you’d known—that if you stood up and crossed to him, if you’d closed the distance between you, something would have happened.

Something irreversible.

But you’d been fifteen and he’d been nineteen and he was your guard and you were a princess, and there were so many reasons why you couldn’t.

So you’d looked away first, breaking the moment, and you’d heard his quiet exhale like he’d been holding his breath.

It had become a pattern after that. These moments where you’d get too close, where the air would shimmer with possibility, where you’d almost—almost—let yourselves cross that invisible line.

But you never did.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been seventeen when you’d realized he was pulling away.

The cuddling that had been so natural when you were children—him letting you fall asleep against his shoulder during long carriage rides, carrying you when you’d gotten sick, letting you seek comfort in his presence—had gradually stopped.

You’d try to lean against him and he’d shift away. You’d reach for his hand and he’d find a reason to move. You’d ask him to stay and talk with you like he used to, and he’d make excuses about duty and propriety.

It had hurt. Gods, it had hurt so much, and you hadn’t understood why.

You’d thought maybe he’d finally seen you clearly—seen that you were in love with him—and had been trying to distance himself because he didn’t feel the same. Or worse, because he’d felt sorry for you.

The truth, which you hadn’t known, was that Sylus’s feelings had grown beyond what he could safely control. Every casual touch had become torture. Every time you’d smiled at him, every time you’d said his name, every time you’d looked at him with those trusting eyes, it had been harder and harder to maintain his composure.

He’d been twenty-two and desperately in love with a eighteen-year-old princess he was sworn to protect, and the wanting had been consuming him. The desire to touch you, to hold you, to tell you everything he felt—it had been overwhelming. And worse, the thoughts had become less innocent. The way his body had responded to your proximity, the dreams he’d had that had left him aching and ashamed—he’d hated himself for it.

So he’d pulled away. Had tried to put distance between you and his inappropriate feelings. Had tried to be nothing more than your guard, nothing more than what was proper and right.

It had been killing him, but he’d thought it was necessary.

What he hadn’t realized was that his distance had been killing you too.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been nineteen when you’d almost kissed him.

It had been your birthday celebration—a small, private thing, not the grand ball the court would throw later in the week. Just you and a handful of people you actually cared about. Sylus had been there in his capacity as your guard, standing near the wall with his usual vigilant posture.

But you’d been drinking wine—more than you probably should have—and the alcohol had made you bold.

You’d crossed to him, aware of people watching but not caring, and you’d grabbed his hand.

“Dance with me,” you’d said.

“Princess, I don’t think—”

“It’s my birthday,” you’d insisted. “And I want to dance with you. Please?”

He’d hesitated, clearly torn, but you’d pulled on his hand and he’d finally, finally given in.

You’d danced—a proper, formal dance, his hand at your waist and yours on his shoulder, the appropriate distance maintained between you. But it had felt anything but appropriate. Every place his body had touched yours had burned. His red eyes had been locked on your face, intense and wanting, and you’d felt dizzy with something that had nothing to do with the wine.

The music had slowed, or maybe you’d both just stopped paying attention to it. You’d been swaying together, closer than you should have been, his hand sliding lower on your back, your fingers threading into the hair at his nape.

“Princess,” he’d whispered, and his voice had been rough, strained. “We shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care,” you’d whispered back. You’d been looking at his lips, watching them form words, wanting to feel them against yours with an intensity that had stolen your breath.

You’d started to lean in. He’d started to lean in too, his eyes already closing, his head tilting—

“Your Highness!” One of your attendants had called, breaking the moment. “The cake is ready!”

You’d both jerked apart like you’d been burned. Sylus had stepped back immediately, his expression shuttering, and you’d wanted to scream with frustration.

So close. You’d been so close.

But the moment had passed, and Sylus had bowed and excused himself, and you’d been left standing there with your heart hammering and the taste of almost on your lips.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been twenty when you’d overheard the conversation that had shattered something in you.

Two of the palace guards had been talking in the hallway outside your chambers, not realizing you were right inside the slightly-ajar door.

“Qin’s got it rough,” one had said. “Being assigned to the Princess full-time. Must be exhausting, never having a moment to himself.”

“At least the pay is good,” the other had replied. “And it’s prestigious, being the Princess’s personal guard. Opens doors for advancement.”

“True. Though between you and me, I don’t think he had much choice. The King specifically requested him for the position. Not like he could refuse even if he wanted to.”

“Think he ever gets tired of it? Following her around constantly?”

“Probably. But he’s too professional to show it. That’s why he’s the best.”

You’d stood there, frozen, as their voices had faded down the hallway.

Duty. That’s all you were to him. A prestigious assignment he couldn’t refuse. A job that paid well and looked good for his career.

All those moments between you—the dancing, the almost-kisses, the way he’d held you—it had all been in your head. He’d been professional. Doing his duty. Nothing more.

The realization had crushed you.

You’d cried yourself to sleep that night, mourning something you’d never actually had.

What you hadn’t known was that Sylus had heard that same conversation from the other end of the hallway. Had heard those guards reduce his deepest feelings to mere professional obligation, and had been grateful.

Because if everyone thought he was just doing his duty, if no one suspected the truth of how desperately in love with you he was, then maybe he could keep serving as your guard. Could keep being near you, even if he could never have you.

It had been better this way, he’d told himself. Better that you thought his care was merely professional.

Even if the lie had hurt worse than any blade.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

You’d been twenty-three when you’d started receiving serious marriage proposals.

Noble sons, foreign dignitaries, wealthy merchants seeking to elevate their status—they’d come in a steady stream, and you’d rejected every single one. Your father had been patient at first, understanding your reluctance to marry young, but as you’d approached your mid-twenties, the pressure had increased.

You’d had to sit through countless meetings with potential suitors, had to smile and make polite conversation with men who’d looked at you like a prize to be won. And through it all, Sylus had been there, standing behind your chair or near the door, his face carefully neutral.

You’d watched him sometimes during those meetings, trying to gauge his reaction. Did it bother him to see other men courting you? Did he care at all?

His expression had never changed. Professional. Detached. Doing his duty.

It had hurt worse than any outright rejection.

What you hadn’t seen was the way his hands had clenched behind his back, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks. The way his jaw had ached from keeping his expression neutral when everything in him had wanted to remove these men from your presence by force.

The way he’d gone back to his quarters after each of these meetings and destroyed training dummies, imagining them as every suitor who’d dared to think they were worthy of you.

You’d never seen the way he’d broken down the night he’d heard rumors that your father was losing patience, that he might arrange a marriage without your consent if you continued to refuse everyone.

The night he’d realized he might actually lose you. That you might belong to someone else, and he’d have to stand by and watch it happen because he was nothing. No one. Just a guard with no title and no prospects and no right to love someone so far above him.

You’d been twenty-six when Zou Cheng had proposed.

And that’s when everything had changed.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

The walk back to your chambers had been suffocatingly silent.

Sylus had fallen into step behind you the moment you’d dismissed yourself from the receiving hall, his presence a steady shadow at your back. You’d kept your chin high, your expression carefully neutral as you’d passed through the corridors of the palace, aware of the eyes that followed you—servants, courtiers, guards. Word of your rejection of Zou Cheng’s proposal would already be spreading through the palace like wildfire, and you refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you rattled.

But the moment your chamber doors closed behind you and Sylus, the carefully constructed composure shattered.

Your hands were shaking as you turned to face the room, breath coming shorter, faster. The tears you’d been holding back since Zou Cheng had smiled at you with that entitled, predatory expression were burning at the backs of your eyes.

Your attendants looked up from where they’d been preparing your afternoon tea, concern immediate on their faces.

“Please,” you managed, your voice strained but still kind, still soft. “I need some time alone. Thank you.”

They bowed quickly, sensing your distress, and filed out with worried glances over their shoulders. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving only you and Sylus in the spacious chamber.

He stood near the entrance, his tall frame relaxed but alert in the way it always was—like he could spring into action at a moment’s notice. Today he wore robes of deep red silk with gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs, the formal attire of the imperial guard when not in full armour. The crimson fabric brought out the color of his eyes, made his long silver hair seem to glow in the filtered sunlight. His sword hung at his side, the leather of the scabbard worn smooth from years of use. His expression was carefully neutral, but those red eyes watched you with an intensity that made your chest ache.

The moment you knew you were truly alone with him, the dam broke.

“It was completely awful, Sy. A disastrous show. A freaking outrage. Did you see the way that Zou Cheng was looking at me? The way he could barely compose himself as I declined his proposal? I should’ve slapped him when he tried to come on to me. He’s a fucking disgrace,” you grumbled, pacing around your luxurious and elegant bedroom.

The chamber was a reflection of imperial refinement—walls adorned with hand-painted silk panels depicting cherry blossoms in full bloom, their delicate pink petals seeming to drift across the fabric. Latticed windows of dark wood filtered the afternoon sunlight into soft, golden beams that pooled across polished floors. Carved wooden screens separated different areas of the spacious room, and your canopy bed was draped in layers of flowing silk in shades of cream and rose. The palace itself was a sprawling masterpiece of red lacquered pillars, sweeping golden-tiled roofs that curved toward the heavens, and tranquil courtyards where ancient trees stood guard over stone pathways and lotus ponds.

You’d smiled at your bodyguard—your knight—Sylus Qin that morning as he’d escorted you down to meet Zou Cheng, nervous energy making your hands tremble slightly as you’d adjusted your hair. You’d asked him softly if you looked beautiful, needing that reassurance before facing another suitor you had no interest in. He’d glanced at you with those striking crimson eyes, something flickering in their depths before he’d smiled to himself and responded with a quiet, “Yes, Princess.” You could have sworn his pale cheeks had flushed slightly, that he’d looked away as if composing himself, though maybe that was just wishful thinking—your heart projecting feelings onto him that he’d never expressed.

Now, as you paced, your pink hanfu swished around your legs, the delicate peonies embroidered into the fabric catching the light. A few strands of hair had come loose from your carefully arranged style, the jade pins your attendants had spent an hour placing now slightly askew from your agitated movements.

“Princess,” Sylus said quietly, his deep voice cutting through your spiraling anger like a knife through silk. He hadn’t moved from his position near the door, but something in his tone made you pause mid-step, turning to look at him.

His jaw was tight, you noticed. The muscle there flexing almost imperceptibly as he watched you pace. His hand had drifted to rest on the pommel of his sword—not threateningly, but like he needed something solid to anchor himself to.

“You had every right to refuse him,” he continued, his voice carefully measured, professional. “Zou Cheng is…” He paused, and you saw the way his fingers tightened fractionally on the sword hilt. “He’s not worthy of you. His behavior was inappropriate and disrespectful.”

You laughed, but it came out bitter and sharp. “Inappropriate? Sy, he practically cornered me when you stepped back to give us ‘privacy.’ He put his hand on my waist and told me I should reconsider, that a woman of my ‘particular situation’ couldn’t afford to be so selective.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last words, the tears threatening again. “Like I’m some kind of burden to be offloaded. Like I should be grateful for his attention.”

Something dangerous flashed across Sylus’s face—there and gone so quickly you almost missed it. His eyes darkened, the red seeming to burn brighter for just a moment. His other hand flexed at his side, and you watched his throat work as he swallowed whatever his immediate reaction had been.

“He touched you?” The words came out quieter than before, but there was an edge to them that made your breath catch. Not anger at you—never at you—but something cold and lethal simmering beneath his controlled exterior.

“Just my waist,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself. “But the way he looked at me, Sy. Like… like he was already imagining…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, shuddering.

Sylus was silent for a long moment, and when you looked at him again, his expression had smoothed into that professional mask he wore so well. But his eyes—gods, his eyes were still burning with something that made your heart race.

“If he ever touches you again,” he said, voice low and absolutely certain, “he’ll lose the hand. I don’t care what his rank is.”

The fierce protectiveness in his tone sent warmth flooding through your chest, chasing away some of the coldness Zou Cheng’s attentions had left behind. This was why you loved him, you thought helplessly. This steadfast devotion, the way he made you feel safe and valued and—

You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought. He was your knight. Your protector. These feelings he showed you were duty, nothing more. No matter how much you wished otherwise.

“Come here, sweetie,” Sylus said softly, and the endearment made your chest ache. He moved away from the door finally, crossing to you with that fluid grace that came from years of training. When he reached you, he lifted one hand slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted, before gently tucking one of the loose strands of hair behind your ear. “You’re trembling.”

His touch was so careful, so tender, that the tears finally spilled over.

“I’m just so tired of this,” you whispered, looking up at him. At this distance, you could see the way his silver hair caught the light, the sharp lines of his face softened by concern. “Every week it’s another proposal from another man who sees me as a political opportunity or a prize to be won. None of them actually want me. They want what I represent.”

“Then they’re all fools,” Sylus murmured, his hand still hovering near your face, like he wanted to touch you again but didn’t trust himself to. “You are… so much more than what you represent, Princess.”

The way he said it, the quiet intensity in his voice, made you wonder—just for a moment—if maybe you weren’t imagining everything after all.

You wiped at your tears quickly, embarrassed by the show of emotion even though it was just Sylus. He’d seen you cry before—too many times over the years—but it still made you feel vulnerable in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice still thick. “I shouldn’t be falling apart like this. Especially not today—the Lantern Festival is tonight and I need to…” You gestured vaguely at yourself, at your tear-stained face and disheveled hair. “I can’t go looking like I’ve been crying over that bastard.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Sylus said firmly, finally dropping his hand back to his side, though he seemed reluctant to do so. “And for what it’s worth, you could never look anything less than beautiful.”

Your breath caught at the words, at the way he said them—so matter-of-fact, like he was stating an undeniable truth rather than offering a compliment. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

“I… thank you,” you managed, your heart doing complicated things in your chest. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some composure. “I should change. The pink is pretty, but it’s too associated with this morning’s disaster. I can’t wear it to the festival.”

You moved toward the carved wooden screen in the corner of your chamber where your attendants had already laid out your festival attire—a stunning hanfu in deep crimson and gold, far more elaborate than what you currently wore. The color of celebration and good fortune.

“It’ll just be a moment,” you called over your shoulder as you disappeared behind the screen, already reaching for the pins in your hair.

You heard rather than saw Sylus move to stand near the window, giving you privacy while still remaining in the room. It was familiar, this dance you’d done countless times over the years. Him always nearby, always vigilant, but never crossing certain invisible lines.

Your fingers fumbled slightly with the fastenings of your pink hanfu as you thought about those lines. About how desperately you wanted him to cross them, to acknowledge that there was something between you beyond duty and childhood friendship. But he never did. He was too honorable, too bound by his position as your protector.

And you were too afraid of losing even this—his presence, his steadiness, his gentle words—to ever push for more.

The crimson hanfu slipped over your shoulders like water, the silk cool against your skin. The embroidery was exquisite—golden phoenixes and lotus flowers swirling across the fabric in intricate patterns. The sleeves were long and flowing, edged with gold trim, and the outer robe was secured with an ornate sash that took you a moment to tie properly.

You stepped out from behind the screen, smoothing your hands over the fabric. “Could you…?” You gestured to your hair, which you’d taken down completely, letting it fall loose around your shoulders. “I have the lotus clip for the festival, but I can’t quite get it positioned right on my own.”

Sylus turned from the window, and you watched his eyes widen fractionally as he took in your appearance. That look again—the one that made your heart race, that made you think maybe, possibly, he felt something too.

“Of course, kitten,” he said softly, crossing to you. The endearment, different from the others, always made you melt a little. He only used it in private moments like these, and you hoarded each instance like precious treasure.

You sat at your vanity and handed him the white lotus hair clip—a beautiful piece carved from jade, with delicate petals that seemed almost translucent in the light. Your hands brushed as he took it from you, and you could have sworn you felt him tremble.

His fingers were impossibly gentle as they gathered your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine that you desperately hoped he couldn’t see. He worked in focused silence, arranging your hair with surprising skill for a warrior.

“Where did you learn to do this?” you asked quietly, watching him in the mirror.

A small, fond smile tugged at his lips—the kind of smile that only appeared when he let his guard down around you. “I’ve been doing this since we were little, remember?” His voice was soft, almost nostalgic. “You used to sit still for maybe thirty seconds before getting distracted by a butterfly or a bird, and I’d have to start all over again.”

Your chest warmed at the memory, at the reminder of all those years you’d spent together. Back when things had been simpler, before duty and propriety had built walls between you.

“I was a terrible student,” you admitted, smiling at his reflection.

“You were seven,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. “And even then, you never sat still unless it was something you truly cared about.” His fingers worked through a particularly stubborn tangle with infinite patience. “I learned to be quick about it.”

“There,” he murmured, stepping back slightly. The lotus clip was positioned perfectly, securing part of your hair while letting the rest cascade down your back. His eyes met yours in the mirror, and for a moment—just a moment—you saw something raw and unguarded there.

Want. Longing.

Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by that professional warmth.

“Beautiful,” he said quietly. “You’ll be the most radiant person at the festival.”

You stood, turning to face him directly rather than through the mirror. “Will you stay close tonight?” you asked, hating how vulnerable you sounded. “After this morning with Zou Cheng, I just… I’d feel better knowing you were nearby.”

“Always, Princess,” Sylus promised, and the intensity in his voice made you believe him. “I’ll be right beside you the entire time. Nothing will happen to you. I swear it.”

If only you’d known then how impossible that promise would be to keep.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ ☾*:･

read the rest on ao3 <3

The cathedral doors opened with a sound like thunder.

Music swelled—the traditional processional, played by the kingdom’s finest musicians. Through the gap in the doors, you could see it all: hundreds of faces turning toward you, the long silk runner stretching impossibly far, candles flickering in elaborate candelabras, flowers—white lilies and orchids, traditional and proper, just as Sungki, your fiancé had insisted—cascading from every surface.

And at the end of that endless aisle, Lord Pak Sungki himself.

Tall and handsome in his formal attire, dark hair perfectly styled, that pleasant, charming smile fixed on his face as he watched you. Everything your parents had hoped for in a match—a powerful nobleman from a wealthy province, politically connected, respected throughout the kingdom. On paper, he was perfect. Your father had practically glowed with pride when the proposal came. Your mother had wept with joy.

Waiting.

Your father appeared at your side, offering his arm. His eyes were bright with unshed tears of pride. He leaned close and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You’ve made me so proud,” he whispered. “You’re doing the right thing. For yourself. For all of us.”

The right thing.

Your hand curled around his arm, and you felt the tremble in your fingers even through the layers of silk and lace. He patted your hand absently, mistaking your fear for excitement, and then you were moving forward.

One step. Then another.

Cold feet, you told yourself desperately as faces blurred around you. Just cold feet. Every bride feels this way.

But the knot of dread in your chest said otherwise.

The faces around you smiled—noble houses from every corner of the kingdom, all dressed in their finest, all here to witness the crown princess bind herself to Lord Pak Sungki. You recognized some of them—distant cousins, your mother’s ladies-in-waiting, advisors to your father. They looked so happy for you, nodding approvingly, their expressions soft with sentiment.

Another step. Closer to Sungki. Closer to your future.

You remembered the flowers. That moment weeks ago when you’d excitedly shown him your sketches—forget-me-nots for true love, roses for devotion. Small and personal and yours. He’d barely glanced at them before sliding them aside, explaining that the wedding planner had already selected lilies and orchids. Traditional. Proper. He’d smiled that charming, empty smile and kissed your forehead like you were a child who’d suggested something adorably naive.

You’ll thank me when you see how elegant everything looks, he’d said.

You’d told yourself he was right. That you were being silly and sentimental.

But those weren’t your flowers lining the aisle. Nothing about this wedding was yours.

Three more steps.

Your throat felt tight. The bodice of your gown seemed to constrict around your ribs despite being perfectly fitted. The cathedral suddenly felt suffocating, too hot despite the cool spring air drifting through the windows.

You thought about your study. Your sanctuary in the eastern wing where morning light streamed through tall windows, where your books waited—poetry and history and philosophy. Your escapes. Your companions. Your joy.

You won’t have time for that anymore, Sungki had said when you’d mentioned wanting to keep that space. He’d actually laughed. Explained with that patient, condescending tone that you’d have proper duties now—managing the household, hosting dignitaries, producing heirs. Besides, he needed that wing for his personal guards. Security concerns.

We’ll get you some nice poetry collections for your sitting room instead. Something pretty to display.

Like you were a doll to be arranged in his perfect house.

You’d wanted to argue, to insist that those books weren’t decoration, that you were perfectly capable of managing duties and keeping the things that made you you. But you’d swallowed it down. Smiled. Nodded.

Because he was right, wasn’t he? You were being childish. Selfish.

So why does it feel like I’m losing myself?

Two more steps.

Sungki’s smile widened as you drew closer, and something about it made your skin crawl. His eyes tracked your every movement—not with love or even affection, but with something else. Something that made you think of hunters watching trapped prey.

Possessive. Satisfied. Triumphant.

Like he’d already won something.

Like you were already his.

Every decision about this wedding had been his. The flowers. The music. The guest list. Every opinion you’d voiced had been gently, charmingly dismissed. Trust me, he’d say. I know best.

And everyone had agreed with him. Your parents, the wedding planner, the entire court. Lord Pak Sungki was such a good match. So respectful. So proper. You were so lucky.

But every bride didn’t wake up at night with a racing heart and a primal urge to run, did they?

Every bride didn’t flinch—just slightly, just for a moment—when her fiancé touched her, even though he’d never been anything but gentlemanly.

Every bride didn’t feel like she was watching her future through thick glass, happening to someone else, some other version of herself who was braver or stupider or simply more resigned to her fate.

One more step.

Your father guided you up to the altar, and you felt his hand slip away from yours. He was giving you away. Literally placing your hand in Sungki’s, transferring you like property to be traded.

Sungki’s fingers closed around yours.

Warm. Firm. Just slightly too tight, his thumb pressing against your pulse point as if measuring your heartbeat, counting the moments until you belonged to him completely.

Your breath caught. Panic clawed at your throat.

You’d tried to talk to your mother once. Just once. Started to express your uncertainty, your doubts, the feeling that something was wrong—

But her face had gone cold immediately. That look she got when you were being difficult.

Not sure about what, exactly? About securing your kingdom’s future? About fulfilling your duty as crown princess? About making the most advantageous match anyone could hope for?

She’d told you she’d been frightened before marrying your father too, but she’d done her duty. You would do the same.

The conversation ended there.

And now here you stood, hand trapped in Sungki’s grip, about to speak vows that would bind you to him forever.

The officiant began to speak, his voice resonating through the vaulted space, echoing off stone and stained glass. Words about duty and honor and the sanctity of marriage. About two houses joining. About the future of the kingdom. About binding oaths and unbreakable vows.

Nothing about love. Nothing about choice.

Nothing about you.

You stared at Sungki’s chest, unable to meet his eyes, unable to do anything but stand there as the world closed in around you like a fist. Your heart hammered against your ribs so hard it hurt, a desperate rhythm that screamed run run run even though there was nowhere to go.

The officiant’s words washed over you, meaningless sounds that sealed your fate with every syllable.

“And do you, Lord Pak Sungki, take this woman—”

The rest was drowned out by the roaring in your ears, blood rushing so loud you could barely hear anything else. You watched as if from very far away as Sungki’s lips moved, forming words you couldn’t hear over your own thundering pulse.

But you saw his expression. That gleam in his dark eyes. The way his grip on your hand tightened just a fraction more.

Possessive. Victorious. Final.

No, something inside you whispered desperately. No, please, not like this—

Then the officiant turned to you.

His mouth was moving. Everyone was looking at you. Waiting. The entire cathedral holding its breath for your answer, for the words that would end everything, that would close the door on any other future you might have had.

Say it, you thought, your throat tight with unshed tears. Just say the words and it will be over. You can stop fighting. Stop doubting. Stop hurting. Just surrender and—

But your lips wouldn’t move. Your voice had died somewhere deep in your chest, smothered by the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“And do you—”

Then the stained glass window exploded.

The sound was deafening—not just glass shattering but the scream of stone cracking, ancient masonry giving way under impossible force. The explosion of noise hit you like a physical blow. Screams erupted from every corner of the cathedral, high and terrified and primal. Your father’s arms wrapped around you instantly, trying to shield you, but something massive and dark blotted out the sun streaming through the destroyed window.

A dragon.

Your mind couldn’t process it at first. Dragons were legends. Stories. Things that hadn’t existed for centuries, if they’d ever existed at all.

But this was real.

Black scales that seemed to drink in light itself, so dark they looked like pieces of night given form. Crimson markings traced along its body—across its chest, down its legs, along the membrane of its wings—glowing like embers, like veins of fire running through living stone. The wings themselves almost spanned the entire width of the cathedral, massive and powerful, sending pews toppling like children’s toys as they beat the air with each movement.

And its eyes—

Burning red eyes, bright as forge-fire, bright as blood, locked onto you with an intensity that stole what little breath you had left.

Not with hunger. Not with malice.

With purpose.

Chaos exploded around you. People were running, shoving, trampling each other in their blind panic to escape. Guards shouted orders that no one heard, drawing swords that looked pathetic and small compared to the creature descending into the cathedral like a living nightmare. Your father was yelling something—your name maybe, or orders, or prayers—pulling you backward toward a side exit, but your legs wouldn’t move.

You were frozen. Rooted to the ground. Staring up at this impossible thing that shouldn’t exist, that couldn’t exist, and yet was here, real and terrifying and—

The dragon’s massive head swung toward you with frightening precision, as if it knew exactly where you were, as if you were the only thing in this cathedral that mattered. Those red eyes met yours, and something passed between you in that moment—something you couldn’t name, couldn’t understand, that felt like recognition even though that made no sense.

Then everything happened at once.

Guards rushed forward with spears and swords, their armor clanking, their screams brave and desperate and utterly futile. Your father tried to drag you toward safety, his grip bruising on your arm. Through the chaos, you caught a glimpse of Sungki—your almost-husband, the man who was supposed to protect you—shoving through the crowd in the opposite direction, using nobles as shields, protecting himself and only himself.

Not even looking back at you.

The dragon moved.

It was so fast for something so massive, defying physics and logic and everything you thought you knew about how the world worked. Its tail swept aside a line of advancing guards like they weighed nothing, sending them tumbling into pews. One wing stretched out, blocking the path of guests trying to flee through the main doors, corralling them away from its target.

Away from you.

Because it was coming straight for you, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

A scream built in your throat but stuck there, trapped behind shock and terror. The creature was enormous—death itself given form, a force of nature, unstoppable and terrifying and beautiful in the way that avalanches and lightning strikes are beautiful—and it was reaching for you—

Your father shoved you behind him, drawing his ceremonial sword with shaking hands. “Stay back!” he roared at the dragon, his voice cracking. “You’ll have to go through me first!”

The dragon paused.

For one impossible moment, it looked at your father—this small, brave man with his useless sword—and something like regret flickered across its massive face.

Then it moved again, but carefully this time, deliberately. One claw extended past your father, moving slowly enough that he could see it coming, could dodge out of the way as those massive talons—each one longer than your forearm, curved and wickedly sharp—reached for you with impossible, heartbreaking gentleness.

“No!” Your father swung his sword. The blade connected with the dragon’s scales and shattered like glass.

The dragon didn’t even flinch. Those claws closed around you—around your waist, your shoulders, cradling you like something precious and fragile—and lifted.

Your feet left the ground. Your father’s desperate fingers slipped from your arm. You heard him scream your name, heard your mother’s answering wail from somewhere in the crowd, heard guards shouting and weapons clattering and the world descending into absolute chaos—

But it didn’t matter because you were rising, the dragon’s wings beating once, twice, with such power that the remaining windows shattered outward and the candelabras toppled and everything that wasn’t nailed down went flying.

And then you were through the broken window, out into the open air, the cathedral falling away beneath you with dizzying speed.

You were airborne.

“No!” The word finally tore from your throat, raw and desperate. Your hands scrabbled uselessly at the claws holding you, but they might as well have been carved from mountain stone. “No, no, no—put me down! Put me down!!”

The dragon climbed higher, powerful wings carrying you up and up and up until the cathedral looked like a child’s toy below. You caught a dizzying glimpse of the chaos you’d left behind—overturned pews, your wedding guests scattering like ants, guards streaming out of the building, tiny figures pointing up at the sky. At you.

Your kingdom spread out below like a map. The castle where you’d spent your entire life. The city where you’d walked among your people. The forests where you’d ridden as a girl. All of it shrinking, becoming distant, being stolen away from you with every beat of the dragon’s wings.

“Help!” You screamed it with everything you had, until your throat burned and your voice cracked. “Somebody help me!”

But there was no one. Just sky and clouds and wind whipping your veil away, sending it spiraling down like a white flag of surrender.

“Please!” Tears streamed down your face, hot against your wind-chilled cheeks. Your whole body shook—with terror, with shock, with the adrenaline that flooded your veins and made your heart feel like it might explode. “Please, I don’t—I don’t understand—why are you doing this?”

The dragon’s head turned, one massive eye focusing on you with disturbing intelligence. The crimson glow softened somehow, the harsh fire banking to something almost… gentle.

Then it spoke.

“You are safe.”

The voice rumbled through its entire body, so deep you felt it in your bones, in your chest, vibrating through the claws that held you. It wasn’t quite words—more like meaning translated directly into your mind, bypassing language entirely.

Male. Definitely male. And… concerned?

“I will not harm you,” it continued, and this time you heard something underneath the words. Something that sounded almost like… an apology? “I know you are frightened. I am sorry. But you are safe now.”

Safe? SAFE?

“You kidnapped me!” Your voice cracked on the words, high and broken and edged with hysteria. “You destroyed my wedding—you—my parents—” A sob cut you off. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. “How is any of this safe?”

The dragon’s eye closed briefly, something like pain flickering across its massive features. When it spoke again, its voice was softer, gentler, almost… tender.

“The wedding would have been your death.”

The words hit you like a slap. “What? No—no, that’s—Sungki wouldn’t—”

“I will explain everything,” the dragon promised. “When we arrive. When you are calm enough to hear it. But please—” and here its voice became almost pleading, “please believe that I am not your enemy. I know what you have lost today. I know what I have taken from you. But I swear to you—on everything I am—that I did this to save you.”

You wanted to scream at it that it was lying, that nothing about this made sense, that you didn’t need saving. But the words wouldn’t come. Because some traitorous part of you—that same part that had been screaming at you to run during the ceremony—whispered that maybe, just maybe, this creature was telling the truth.

And that thought was somehow more terrifying than anything else.

“Where are you taking me?” You tried to sound commanding, tried to channel every ounce of royal authority you possessed, but it came out as a broken, desperate whisper. “What do you want from me?”

“Somewhere you cannot be reached. Somewhere you will be protected.” The dragon adjusted its grip slightly, and you tensed—but the movement was so careful, so deliberate, like it was terrified of hurting you. “I want nothing from you except your safety. I swear it.”

One massive wing shifted, curving slightly to block the worst of the wind from hitting you directly. The cold air had been making you shiver violently—whether from temperature or shock, you couldn’t tell—but now the dragon’s own body heat radiated through its scales, warming you. Protecting you even from discomfort.

It was such a gentle gesture from something so fearsome that it broke something inside you.

A sob tore from your throat. Then another. And suddenly you were crying in earnest—great heaving sobs that shook your whole body. For your ruined wedding. For your terrified parents. For the life you’d just lost. For the fear that still gripped your heart. For the confusion that made your head spin.

For everything.

“Breathe,” the dragon murmured, its voice impossibly soft for something so large. “Just breathe. You are safe. I have you.”

But you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but cry and shake and feel like your entire world had just shattered into a thousand pieces that you’d never be able to put back together.

Your vision started to blur—not just from tears but from something else. The adrenaline that had been keeping you conscious, keeping you fighting, began to drain away like water through your fingers. The crash came hard and fast, leaving behind a crushing wave of exhaustion so complete you couldn’t fight it.

“I don’t—” Your voice sounded distant to your own ears, weak and fading. “I can’t—”

The dragon made a concerned sound, a low rumble that might have been soothing if you could focus on it. You felt one claw shift, adjusting its hold so you were cradled more securely against its chest, where its heart beat slow and steady—so much calmer than your own racing pulse.

“Rest,” it said gently. “I will keep you safe. I promise.”

Your eyes fluttered closed. You tried to fight it, tried to stay conscious, to stay alert, because surely falling asleep in the grip of a dragon was the worst possible thing you could do—

But your body had other ideas.

The world tilted and swayed. The wind became a distant roar. Even your fear felt far away now, muffled by the grey fog creeping in at the edges of your consciousness.

The last thing you registered before darkness took you completely was warmth. The steady beat of the dragon’s heart. The gentle, protective curve of its claws around you.

And those burning red eyes, glancing down one more time to ensure you were secure, that soft glow of concern the last thing you saw before everything went black.

⋆°.☾⋆. 𓆩 𓆪 ೃ࿔:⋆

You woke to the sensation of descending.

For one blissful, disoriented moment, you didn’t remember. Your mind was blank, floating in that space between sleep and waking where nothing had happened yet, where the world was still safe and familiar.

Then awareness crashed back in with brutal clarity.

The wedding. The dragon. The kidnapping.

Your eyes snapped open with a gasp, and immediately you wished they hadn’t.

You were still in the air. Still caught in those massive claws. The ground was rising up to meet you—or rather, you were falling toward it, the dragon’s wings spreading wide to slow your descent. Wind whipped around you, colder now, carrying the scent of pine and stone and something wild you couldn’t name.

Terror jolted through you like lightning. You struggled instinctively, a choked sound escaping your throat.

“Easy.” The dragon’s voice rumbled through you immediately, and the claws around you tightened just slightly—not restraining, but steadying. “Easy. I am landing. You are safe.”

Safe. That word again. As if being stolen away by a creature from nightmares could ever be considered safe.

But you couldn’t fight. Couldn’t do anything but squeeze your eyes shut and try not to scream as the world tilted and swayed. You felt the powerful downbeat of wings, once, twice, and then—

Impact.

The dragon landed with surprising grace for something so massive, the shock of contact with the ground barely jostling you in its grip. Those careful claws held you steady, absorbing the movement so you felt only the smallest jar.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You could hear your own ragged breathing, feel your heart slamming against your ribs. The dragon’s chest rose and fell beneath you with deep, measured breaths—so much calmer than your own panicked gasps.

Then, slowly, carefully, the claws began to open.

You were lowered toward the ground with such deliberate gentleness that it almost broke you. Like you were something precious. Something that might shatter if handled too roughly.

Your feet touched stone—cold even through your wedding slippers. The claws released you completely, withdrawing with careful precision, and suddenly you were standing on your own again.

Your legs nearly gave out.

You stumbled, and immediately—immediately—one massive claw moved back toward you, not grabbing but hovering close, ready to catch you if you fell. You flinched away from it with a sharp cry, and the claw stopped instantly, retreating.

“Forgive me.” The dragon’s voice was soft, pained. “I did not mean to frighten you further.”

You couldn’t respond. Couldn’t do anything but stand there shaking, your arms wrapped around yourself, trying desperately to understand where you were. What was happening. How any of this could be real.

You were in a courtyard of some kind. Ancient stone stretched around you—cracked and weathered with age, overgrown with moss and climbing vines. Crumbling walls rose on all sides, and ahead of you stood a tower. Tall and narrow, built from grey stone that had once been magnificent but now showed the wear of centuries. Windows dotted its length like dark, watchful eyes.

It looked abandoned. Forgotten.

A prison.

“Where—” Your voice came out as barely a whisper, broken and hoarse from screaming. You swallowed hard and tried again. “Where am I?”

The dragon shifted, and you spun toward it with a gasp. It was even more terrifying on the ground somehow—massive beyond comprehension, all black scales and crimson markings and those burning red eyes that watched you with far too much intelligence.

But it held perfectly still. Didn’t move toward you. Didn’t crowd you.

Just… watched. Waited.

“Somewhere safe,” it said finally. “Somewhere hidden. Somewhere he cannot reach you.”

He. Sungki.

The name sent a confusing tangle of emotions through you. Relief that you’d escaped that wedding, that suffocating future. But also—anger. Grief. Terror at what you’d lost, what had been taken from you, even if you hadn’t wanted it.

“My parents,” you choked out. Tears burned your eyes again, threatening to spill over. “They’ll think I’m dead. They’ll think you—that you killed me—”

Something that looked horrifyingly like anguish crossed the dragon’s face. Its head lowered slightly, those red eyes dimming with what you would swear was guilt.

“They will think you're kidnapped,” it said quietly. “And they will search. But they will not find you here. No one will.” It paused, and when it spoke again, its voice was gentler. “I am sorry for the pain this causes them. I am sorry for the pain it causes you. But your life is worth more than their peace of mind. Worth more than anything.”

The conviction in those words shook you. This creature—this dragon—spoke about your life like it was something sacred. Something worth destroying a kingdom’s peace to protect.

It made no sense.

“Why?” The word burst from you, desperate and demanding. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.” The answer was immediate, firm. “I want nothing from you except your continued existence.”

You stared at him, trying to find the lie, the trick, the hidden meaning. But those red eyes met yours with devastating honesty.

“Lord Pak Sungki,” the dragon continued, and something dark crept into its voice—something cold and dangerous that made the air feel heavier, “has killed before. Three wives, all of noble birth. All died within the first year of marriage. Falls from towers. Sudden illnesses. Tragic accidents.” The last two words dripped with bitter sarcasm. “You would have been the fourth.”

The words hit you like physical blows. “No. No, that’s—” But your protest died in your throat.

Because you remembered now. Remembered rumors, whispered in corners when people thought you weren’t listening. Talk of Sungki’s previous marriages. His terrible luck. How tragic it was that such a good man kept losing wives to misfortune.

You’d dismissed it. Told yourself it was just gossip, just coincidence, just—

Just your instincts screaming at you that something was wrong.

Your knees gave out.

You hit the stone hard, your elaborate wedding gown pooling around you like a puddle of silk and pearls. A sob tore from your throat—and then another, and another. Everything you’d been holding back, all the fear and confusion and grief and rage, came pouring out in great heaving gasps that shook your entire body.

The dragon made a low, distressed sound.

“Please,” he said, and the anguish in its voice was so genuine it cut through even your breakdown. “Please do not cry. I cannot bear it.”

But you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t do anything but weep into your hands while this creature that had stolen you away watched with what looked horrifyingly like a breaking heart.

You felt movement—careful, cautious. Looked up through blurred vision to see the dragon lowering itself to the ground, folding its massive body down until its head was level with yours. Still giving you space. Still not touching.

Those red eyes were so close now. You could see the concern in them. The pain. The desperate need to comfort you warring with the fear of frightening you more.

“I know you do not believe me,” it said softly. “I know I am a monster in your eyes. But I swear to you—on my life, on everything I am—that I would never harm you. That keeping you safe is the only thing that matters to me.”

Something in its voice made your breath catch. Something that sounded like… devotion. Like your life mattered more to this creature than its own.

Why? Why would a dragon care if one human princess lived or died?

“You will stay here,” it continued gently, gesturing with its massive head toward the tower. “In the tower. Everything you need is there—food, water, clothing, books, comfort. You will be safe within its walls. Protected.”

Protected. Or imprisoned.

“And if I want to leave?” Your voice came out small, broken.

The dragon’s eyes dimmed with sorrow. “You cannot. Not yet. Not until—” It stopped, seemed to struggle with something. “Not until the threat has passed. Please understand. This is not a cage. This is a sanctuary.”

You looked at the tower. At the ancient stone and dark windows. At what would be your prison, no matter how kindly it was framed.

Then you looked back at the dragon, at this impossible creature that claimed to have saved you, that watched you with such careful concern it made your chest ache.

You didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“Come,” the dragon said quietly, rising to its feet with fluid grace. “Let me show you. And then—” It hesitated. “Then I will leave you in peace. I know you need time. I understand.”

It began walking toward the tower, those massive legs carrying it forward with surprising quiet. After a moment, you realized it expected you to follow.

You looked back the way you’d come—at the sky that had carried you here, at the impossible distance between you and home.

Then, with shaking legs and a heart full of fear and confusion and the tiniest, most traitorous spark of curiosity, you stood.

And followed the dragon into the tower.

⋆°.☾⋆. 𓆩 𓆪 ೃ࿔*:⋆ 

The tower’s entrance loomed before you—a heavy wooden door, ancient but sturdy, set into stone that had weathered centuries. The dragon reached forward with one careful claw and pushed it open. The hinges creaked softly, a sound that seemed too small, too normal for this impossible situation.

Beyond the doorway, a spiral staircase wound upward into darkness.

The dragon paused at the threshold, its massive form blocking most of the fading daylight. It turned those red eyes on you, and for a moment you saw something in them—hesitation? Uncertainty? As if it wasn’t sure how to proceed, how to make this easier for you when nothing about this could possibly be easy.

“The stairs lead up,” he spoke quietly. “To your… to the living quarters. Everything is prepared for you there.”

Your living quarters. As if this was a choice. As if you’d asked to be brought here.

But you said nothing. Just stared at those stairs disappearing into shadow, your heart racing with a different kind of fear now. What waited up there? What had this creature prepared?

The dragon seemed to sense your terror because it shifted, angling its body away slightly, making itself smaller somehow despite its size. “I will go first,” it offered. “So you can see. So you know I speak the truth.”

Without waiting for your response—what response could you possibly give?—it began to climb. The staircase was wide enough for its bulk, though barely. You heard the scrape of claws on stone, the whisper of scales against the walls, and then it disappeared around the curve of the stairs.

Leaving you alone in the doorway.

You could run. The thought struck you with sudden clarity. The dragon was ahead of you now, out of sight. You could turn around, flee across the courtyard, try to find a way out of this abandoned place—

But to where? You had no idea where you were. No idea how far you’d flown or in what direction. And even if you somehow made it beyond these walls, what then? The dragon would find you easily. You’d seen how fast it moved.

No. You were trapped here, whether you went up those stairs willingly or had to be carried.

At least if you walked, you kept some shred of dignity.

Taking a shaking breath, you gathered your ruined wedding gown in trembling hands and stepped into the tower. The stone was cold beneath your slippers, and the stairwell felt oppressive, the walls too close, the air too still. Each step echoed softly as you climbed, following the path the dragon had taken.

Up and up and up. Your legs burned. Your lungs ached. The gown was heavy, cumbersome, designed for standing still and looking beautiful, not for climbing endless stairs in a forgotten tower. Sweat dampened your skin beneath all the layers of silk and pearls.

Finally, the stairs opened up into a large circular room.

You stopped on the top step, breath catching.

The space was… not what you expected.

Soft evening light poured through tall windows—real glass, clean and intact despite the tower’s abandoned exterior. The room was enormous, taking up the entire width of the tower at this level. And it was furnished. Not with dusty relics or moldering furniture, but with actual, livable pieces.

A bed stood against one curved wall—large and sturdy, piled with what looked like soft blankets and pillows. Real pillows, not moth-eaten remnants. Near one of the windows sat a small table with two chairs, simple but well-made. Bookshelves lined another section of wall, and your heart stuttered when you saw they weren’t empty. Books filled them, spines of different colors and sizes.

Tapestries hung on the walls—faded but beautiful, depicting forests and mountains and skies full of stars. They softened the stone, made the space feel less like a prison cell and more like… like a room. A place someone might actually live.

The dragon waited on the far side of the space, pressed against the wall as if trying to take up as little room as possible. Those red eyes watched you carefully, gauging your reaction.

“This is the main living area,” it said softly. “There is more. A bathing room through that door—” one claw gestured toward a doorway you hadn’t noticed, “—with running water. It still works. I made certain of it.”

You took a tentative step into the room, your eyes darting around, trying to process everything. This wasn’t some dungeon. This was… prepared. Maintained. As if someone had known you were coming and had tried to make it comfortable.

“The kitchen is one level down,” the dragon continued, its voice careful, almost gentle. “Stocked with food. Bread, dried fruits, preserves, things that will keep. Fresh water from a spring that feeds into the tower. You will not go hungry.”

Your throat felt tight. You moved toward the bookshelves, drawn despite yourself. Your fingers trailed along the spines—poetry, history, philosophy. Stories and myths and scholarly texts. The kinds of books you loved. The kinds of books Sungki had dismissed as wastes of time.

“I was not certain what you would prefer,” the dragon said, and something in its voice made you turn to look at it. There was uncertainty there. Almost… nervousness? “So I brought many kinds. If these do not please you, I can bring others.”

“You… brought these?” Your voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “For me?”

The dragon’s eyes dimmed slightly, and it lowered its head. “I wanted you to have comfort. Things that might… help. During your time here.”

During your imprisonment, it meant. But it had tried to make that imprisonment bearable.

You didn’t know what to feel about that. Gratitude felt wrong—this creature had kidnapped you. But the gesture was undeniably… kind. Thoughtful in a way that made your chest ache with confusion.

You turned away, moving toward the windows. The view took your breath away—mountains stretched into the distance, their peaks touched with the gold of sunset. Forest spread below, dark green and vast and utterly empty of any signs of civilization. No roads. No villages. Nothing but wilderness for as far as you could see.

Truly, no one would find you here.

“You can see for miles,” the dragon said quietly. “No one approaches without being seen. You are safe here. Protected.”

Protected. That word again. As if these walls and this isolation were for your benefit rather than your captivity.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling the weight of everything—the gown, the day, the fear, the impossible strangeness of standing in a tower room with a dragon who spoke of protection while keeping you prisoner.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, your eyes still fixed on the mountains. “Why go to all this trouble? If you truly just wanted to save me from Sungki, you could have… warned my parents. Sent word somehow. You didn’t have to take me. You didn’t have to—” Your voice cracked. “—to do any of this.”

The dragon was silent for a long moment. When it finally spoke, its voice was heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. “They would not have believed me. No one would have. Lord Pak Sungki is respected, trusted. A dragon’s word against his?” A bitter sound, almost like a laugh. “They would have called it madness. Locked you in your room until the wedding to keep you ‘safe’ from the monster trying to steal you away.”

You knew, with sick certainty, that he was right. Your parents had dismissed your doubts. They never would have believed a dragon’s warning.

“This was the only way,” he continued softly. “I am sorry it had to be this way. I am sorry for your fear, for your pain. But I am not sorry for saving your life.”

You turned to face it then, this massive creature who had upended your entire existence. “How long?” you demanded. “How long do you expect me to stay here?”

The dragon’s eyes met yours, and you saw genuine regret in them. “I do not know,” it admitted. “Until Sungki gives up his search, perhaps. Until he finds another target. Until—” It stopped, as if the words were difficult. “Until you are no longer in danger.”

“So indefinitely.” Your voice was flat, hollow. “You’re keeping me here indefinitely.”

“I am keeping you alive,” the dragon said, and there was steel beneath the gentleness now. “That is worth any price. Even your hatred of me.”

The conviction in those words sent a shiver through you. This creature truly believed what it was saying. Truly thought your life was worth all of this—the kidnapping, the imprisonment, your terror and pain.

Why? The question burned in your mind, but you were too exhausted, too overwhelmed to voice it.

As if sensing your breaking point, the dragon moved toward the stairs. “I will leave you now,” he said quietly. “You need rest. Time to… adjust. The door will not lock from the outside—you can move freely within the tower. But please—” and here its voice became almost pleading, “please do not try to leave. The forest is dangerous, and you do not know the way. You could be hurt.”

It paused at the top of the stairs, looking back at you one last time. In the fading light, those red eyes almost looked… sad.

“I know you do not believe this now,” it said softly. “But I promise you—everything I have done, I have done to protect you. I hope, one day, you will understand that.”

Then it descended the stairs, and you were alone.

Alone in a tower room that was far too comfortable to be a prison and far too isolated to be anything else.

You stood there as darkness fell outside the windows, as the room grew dim and shadows stretched across the floor. Stood there until your legs finally gave out and you sank onto the bed, still in your ruined wedding gown, and let yourself cry for everything you’d lost.

For the life you’d never get back.

For the future you’d never have.

And, in some small, traitorous part of your heart—for the wedding you’d been saved from, even if the salvation had come at such a terrible price.

⋆°.☾⋆. 𓆩 𓆪 ೃ࿔*:⋆

You woke to sunlight streaming through the windows.

For the second time in as many days, there was that blissful moment of confusion—where you didn’t remember, where your mind was blessedly blank. Then reality drifted back, slower this time, less like a crashing wave and more like the tide coming in.

The wedding. The dragon. The tower.

You were still wearing your wedding gown. The fabric was hopelessly wrinkled now, uncomfortable where you’d slept on it, pearls pressing into your skin. Your hair had come loose from its elaborate styling, pins scattered across the pillow. You felt rumpled and stiff, but not as devastated as you’d expected to feel.

Maybe you were still in shock. Or maybe you were simply too exhausted for hysteria.

Slowly, you sat up and looked around the room. It looked different in daylight—softer, almost pleasant with morning sun painting everything warm and golden. The books on the shelves caught the light. The tapestries showed their faded beauty more clearly. Through the windows, you could see clear blue sky and the distant mountains touched with pink from the sunrise.

It was, objectively, quite beautiful.

That thought felt strange. Wrong, somehow. You were supposed to be terrified, supposed to be plotting escape. Instead, you just felt… tired. Confused. Uncertain about everything.

You stood and moved to the window, looking out at the view. Forest and mountains stretched endlessly in every direction, painted in morning light. No roads. No villages. No signs of any other people anywhere.

So even if you wanted to leave, where would you go?

The thought wasn’t panicked, just… practical. Observational. You tucked it away to think about later, when your mind felt less foggy.

For now, you needed to do something normal. Something that would help you feel more like yourself.

The bathing room. The dragon had mentioned it yesterday. You should wash, get out of this dress, clear your head.

The door opened easily, revealing a space larger than you’d expected. A copper tub dominated one wall, and there was a small hearth built into the corner—and to your surprise, a fire burned there, crackling softly. Someone had lit it recently. The dragon must have done it before you woke, which meant it had been in the tower this morning while you slept.

That should have frightened you. Instead, you just felt… strange. It had lit a fire so you could have warm water.

A large pot sat on a hook over the flames, and when you checked, it was full of water, already steaming slightly. Enough to fill the tub partway, at least. There was a bucket nearby for cold water from the basin to mix in.

The dragon had thought of everything.

You stared at the steaming pot for a long moment, trying to sort through your feelings about that. It was kind, wasn’t it? Thoughtful. But also presumptuous—assuming you’d want to bathe, assuming you’d stay, assuming it had any right to prepare these things for you.

Then again, you did want to bathe. So maybe you should just… accept the kindness and think about the rest later.

Working carefully, you used the bucket to transfer the hot water to the tub, mixing it with cold until the temperature felt right. Steam rose from the surface, and the sight of it made you realize just how much you wanted this—to be clean, to feel normal, to have this one small comfort.

Someone had left clothes folded on a bench near the tub. You picked up the dress—simple linen in soft blue, well-made but nothing fancy. Practical. The kind of thing a merchant’s daughter might wear, not a princess.

There were slippers too. Stockings. Even a plain wool shawl.

All in approximately your size.

You set them down, pushing away thoughts of how the dragon might know your size, how long it might have been planning this. Those thoughts led nowhere useful.

Instead, you focused on the immediate problem: getting out of this wedding gown.

That proved more difficult than expected. The gown had dozens of tiny buttons down the back, most of which you couldn’t reach. At court, you’d always had attendants to help with dressing and undressing. You’d never realized how dependent you were on that help until now.

After several minutes of struggling and stretching and nearly dislocating your shoulder trying to reach the highest buttons, you gave up on doing this properly. You’d just have to leave some fastened and pull the whole thing over your head.

It took more struggling—and you definitely heard some stitches pop—but finally, finally, you managed to wrestle yourself free.

The gown lay in a heap on the floor, and you left it there, not wanting to look at it.

The bath was heaven. Pure, simple heaven. You sank into the warm water with a sigh, letting it soothe your sore muscles and wash away the grime and sweat from yesterday. There was plain soap on a small shelf—nothing fancy, but it smelled clean, like herbs. You scrubbed your skin until it felt fresh again, worked the soap through your hair to wash away all the pins and powder and perfume from the wedding styling.

When you finally emerged and dried yourself with the towel that had been left on the bench, you felt substantially more human. The simple dress was comfortable, easy to move in. The slippers fit reasonably well. You left your hair loose to dry, too tired to braid it properly.

Looking at yourself in the small mirror on the wall, you barely recognized the person staring back. No elaborate gown. No jewelry. No carefully styled hair. Just… you. Plain and simple.

It should have felt diminishing. Instead, it felt almost like relief. You pushed that thought away too and left the bathing room.

The main living area felt different now that you were clean and dressed in fresh clothes. Less like a prison cell, more like… well. A room. Just a room in a tower where you happened to be staying.

Where you were being kept, you corrected yourself. This wasn’t a visit. This was captivity, no matter how comfortable.

Your stomach growled, reminding you that you’d eaten nothing since yesterday morning. The dragon had mentioned a kitchen one level down.

You found the stairs and descended carefully. The stone was cool under your slippers, the stairwell dimly lit but not dark. After a full spiral, you reached the kitchen level.

It was smaller than the main room but surprisingly well-equipped. A hearth with a fire burning low—the dragon must have lit this one too. Shelves lined with provisions. You investigated them with growing curiosity: jars of preserves, dried fruits, wheels of cheese wrapped in cloth, several loaves of bread that smelled fresh. A barrel of water. Even bundles of dried herbs hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

Not just supplies. A fully functional kitchen.

You cut yourself some bread and cheese, eating slowly while you processed this. The dragon hadn’t just thrown you in an empty tower with some basic food. It had prepared this place. Stocked it carefully. Made sure you’d have everything you needed.

Why?

That question kept circling in your mind. Why go to all this trouble for one person? Why care so much about keeping you safe? You were just one princess out of many in the world. What made your life worth all this effort?

You couldn’t figure it out, and thinking about it too hard made your head hurt. So you finished eating and continued exploring instead.

The next level down held storage—more supplies, neatly organized. Firewood stacked along one wall. Extra blankets in a chest. Candles. Oil for lamps. Everything maintained and ready.

Finally, you reached the bottom of the tower and stood before the entrance door.

Your heart beat a little faster as you looked at it. The dragon had said it wouldn’t lock from the outside. That you could move freely within the tower. But surely that was a lie. Surely it would have secured the door somehow.

Almost without meaning to, your hand reached for the iron ring handle.

You pulled.

The door opened.

Just like that. Easily. No resistance.

You stood frozen, staring at the widening gap, at the courtyard beyond bathed in morning sunlight. The dragon had told the truth. You weren’t locked in.

For a moment, you considered stepping outside. Just to see. Just to prove you could.

But then you remembered the view from the window—the endless forest, the mountains, the complete absence of any civilization. Where would you even go? You had no idea which direction led to anything, how far you’d have to walk, what dangers lurked in those woods.

The dragon had said the forest was dangerous. That you could be hurt.

Was that true? Or just something to keep you here?

You didn’t know. Couldn’t know without trying. And trying seemed… unwise. At least for now.

Maybe later, when you’d had time to think, to plan. When you weren’t so tired and confused.

You let the door close and stood there, hand still on the handle, trying to understand how you felt about this. You weren’t locked in, but you also couldn’t really leave. It was a strange kind of freedom—or a strange kind of captivity. You weren’t sure which.

A sound from outside interrupted your thoughts. Heavy footsteps. Claws on stone.

The dragon was coming back.

Your stomach fluttered with something you couldn’t quite name. Not terror, exactly. Just… nervousness. Uncertainty. You stepped back from the door as it began to open.

The dragon pushed it inward carefully, and those red eyes found you immediately. Something flickered in them—surprise, maybe? Then what looked almost like relief.

“Good morning,” it said, its deep voice softer than yesterday. Then, noticing you standing so close to the door, “Ah. You tried it. I am glad—now you know I spoke the truth.”

“I can’t really leave though,” you said. It wasn’t angry, just… stating a fact. “Can I? There’s nowhere to go.”

The dragon’s expression shifted—guilt, definitely guilt. It lowered its massive head slightly. “No,” it admitted quietly. “The tower is isolated. I chose it for that reason. But you are not locked in—you can go outside, walk the courtyard, even explore the nearby area if you wish. I only ask that you do not venture into the deep forest. It truly is dangerous.”

You studied its face, trying to read those alien features. It seemed sincere. But then, it had seemed sincere about everything, and you still didn’t understand why any of this was happening.

“I brought provisions,” the dragon continued, gesturing behind itself with one wing. You noticed the bundle now—cloth-wrapped packages. “Fresh things. Eggs, jam, bread from a village, vegetables. I thought… I hoped you might prefer them to only preserved food.”

It had gone to a village. Flown however many miles to get you fresh bread and eggs.

“Thank you,” you said automatically, then felt strange for thanking your captor. But it was kind, wasn’t it? Even if everything else about this was wrong.

The dragon’s eyes brightened slightly at your thanks, and it carefully picked up the bundle, bringing it inside and setting it gently on the floor. “I will bring more in a few days,” it said. “Whatever you need. If there is anything you want—books, supplies, anything—tell me and I will get it for you.”

You wanted to ask for freedom. For answers. For everything to make sense. But you were too tired for that conversation. And the dragon looked almost… hopeful. Like your simple thank you had meant something to it.

“I should go,” it said after a moment of silence. “Let you have space. But if you need anything—truly, anything—just call. I will be close enough to hear.”

“You’re staying nearby?” The question came out before you could stop it.

“Yes.” The answer was immediate, firm. “I would not leave you unprotected. I will remain close. Always.”

Always. Like a guard. Or a warden.

Or something else you couldn’t quite name.

The dragon moved toward the door, then paused, looking back. Those red eyes met yours, and there was something in them—something almost vulnerable.

“I know this is difficult,” it said softly. “I know you do not understand. But I promise—everything I do is to keep you safe. One day, I hope you will believe that.”

Then it was gone, the door closing gently behind it, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a bundle of fresh provisions and more questions than answers.

You stood there for a long moment, then finally gathered the bundle and carried it up to the kitchen.

The dragon had brought eggs. Jam and fresh bread that was still slightly warm. Vegetables. Even a small pot of honey.

You set them out on the shelf, organizing them carefully, trying not to think about what it meant that a dragon was bringing you breakfast like some kind of devoted attendant.

Trying not to think about how, despite everything, some small part of you had actually been grateful for the gesture—or about the small flutter of warmth you’d felt when the dragon’s eyes had brightened at your thanks.

⋆°.☾⋆. 𓆩 𓆪 ೃ࿔*:⋆

[A Few Days Later]

The days developed a rhythm, strange as that seemed.

You woke with the sun. Found that a fire had already been lit in the bathing room hearth—the dragon came early, before you woke, silent as a ghost despite its size. You’d bathe, dress in one of the simple gowns it had provided (there were several now, in different colors, all comfortable and well-made). Eat breakfast in the kitchen, usually bread and cheese and fruit, sometimes the eggs the dragon had brought.

Then the day stretched before you, empty and waiting to be filled.

You read. The books the dragon had chosen were genuinely interesting—not just random volumes grabbed to fill shelves, but carefully selected. Poetry that made your chest ache. Histories of kingdoms you’d only heard about in passing. Philosophical texts that made you think. Stories that let you escape, at least for a while, into other worlds where princesses weren’t locked in towers.

You explored the tower thoroughly, learning every corner. Found that the dragon maintained everything meticulously. The fires never went out completely—it must tend them when you weren’t looking. The water barrel stayed full. Supplies appeared on the kitchen shelves before you ran low.

It was taking care of you. Providing for you. All while keeping its distance.

You saw it every few days. It would arrive in the morning or evening, always announcing itself with those heavy footsteps so it wouldn’t startle you. Always bringing something—fresh food, more firewood, once a thick cloak when the weather turned colder.

The conversations were brief. Careful.

“Good morning. I brought apples from an orchard to the south. And more bread.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you need anything? Is there anything you lack?”

“No. Everything is… fine.”

“Good. That is good.”

And then it would leave, and you’d be alone again.

You should have hated this. Should have spent every moment plotting escape or raging against your captivity. But instead, you found yourself… adjusting. The anger that had burned so hot that first day had banked to confused embers. You were still frightened, still uncertain, still desperate to understand why—but the sharp edges of panic had worn smooth.

Maybe that should have worried you. This acceptance. But you were too tired to fight something you couldn’t change, and the dragon had been true to every promise it made. You weren’t locked in. You weren’t harmed. You were, in the strangest way possible, safe.

Even if safe meant alone.

By the fourth day, you’d started talking to yourself just to hear a voice. By the fifth, you’d caught yourself actually looking forward to the dragon’s visits, just for the brief moment of company, the sound of another living being.

By the sixth day, you’d started wondering about it. This creature that stole you away but treated you so carefully. That spoke with such conviction about protecting you. That brought you apples and honey and books as if it wanted nothing more than your comfort.

Why?

The question haunted you, but you never asked. The conversations were too brief, too careful. You didn’t know how to bridge that gap—how to ask a dragon why it cared whether you lived or died.

On the seventh day, everything changed.

You were in the main living area, curled in the chair by the window with a book of poetry, when you heard the familiar sound of footsteps. The dragon was coming earlier than usual—it was barely past dawn.

You set the book aside and moved to the stairs, descending to meet it. You’d learned it was easier this way, greeting it at the entrance rather than making it climb to your level. The staircase was wide enough for its bulk, but only just, and you could tell it found the space uncomfortable.

The door opened, and the dragon ducked its massive head inside. Those red eyes found you immediately, and something in them looked… different. Nervous? Uncertain?

“Good morning,” it said quietly. “I… I have something for you. Something I thought you might like.”

It held something carefully in one claw—a book, you realized. Smaller than the others, bound in dark leather that looked old but well-maintained.

You came closer, curious despite yourself. “Another book?”

“Yes. But this one is… specific.” The dragon’s voice was softer now, almost hesitant. It held the book out toward you. “I thought you would enjoy it.”

You took it carefully, turning it over in your hands. The leather was soft, worn smooth by time and handling. There was no title on the cover, but when you opened it, you recognized the text immediately.

Your breath caught.

The Odyssey of Stars.

It was an old epic poem, written centuries ago by a traveling bard. A story about wanderers and lost souls finding their way home through impossible odds. You’d heard about this book years ago from a visiting scholar, had searched for a copy in the royal library, had asked merchants and book dealers if they’d ever seen it.

It was rare. Incredibly rare. Most copies had been lost to time, and the few that remained were held in private collections or monastery libraries, far from public access.

You’d wanted to read this for years.

“How did you…” Your voice came out as barely a whisper. You looked up at the dragon, confusion and something else—something dangerously close to wonder—flooding through you. “How did you know I wanted this?”

The dragon’s eyes dimmed slightly, and it shifted its weight. “I… I knew you searched for it. That you wanted to read it.”

“But I never told you that.” Your heart was racing now, your mind spinning. “I never said anything about this book. How could you possibly know?”

The dragon was quiet for a long moment, and you could see the conflict in its expression—wanting to explain, but uncertain how. Or perhaps uncertain if it should.

“I have watched over you,” it said finally, so softly you almost didn’t hear. “For longer than you know. I learned what brought you joy. What you wished for. What you needed.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. Watched over you. For longer than you knew. How long? Months? Years? How much of your life had this creature observed, learning your wants and wishes while you remained completely unaware of its existence?

The book trembled in your hands. You should feel violated. Frightened. Angry that something had been watching you without your knowledge.

But instead, you felt…

Your eyes burned. Your throat went tight. Because this creature—this dragon that had stolen you away from everything you knew—had remembered that you wanted this book. Had somehow found one of the rarest texts in the kingdom. Had brought it to you because it thought it would bring you joy.

“I…” You tried to find words, but they wouldn’t come. Your vision blurred with tears you didn’t understand. Gratitude and confusion and fear and something too complicated to name all tangled together in your chest until you couldn’t breathe.

You clutched the book to your chest and just stood there, speechless, as tears slipped down your cheeks.

“I am sorry,” the dragon said quickly, and there was panic in its voice now. “I did not mean to upset you. Please—I only wanted—I thought—”

But it stopped, seeming to realize that nothing it said would help. You could see the anguish in those red eyes, the desperate wish to comfort you warring with the knowledge that its presence might be making things worse.

“I will leave you,” it said quietly. “I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

And then it was gone, the door closing behind it with a soft thud, leaving you standing there with tears streaming down your face and a book you’d wanted for years pressed against your heart.

By the time you’d gathered yourself enough to think clearly, to realize you had a dozen questions you desperately needed to ask, the dragon was already gone. You could hear nothing from outside—no footsteps, no wing beats. Just silence.

You looked down at the book in your hands. Ran your fingers over the worn leather cover.

It had remembered. It had known.

And you didn’t know what to do with the strange warmth blooming in your chest—gratitude and confusion tangled so tightly you couldn’t separate them, leaving you feeling seen and known in a way that terrified and comforted you in equal measure.

A long time ago, you realized that to take down Ever, you needed to sever all its ties to power and money; you needed to starve them. Knowing that Sylus also wanted this, you used Onychinus, until now, to steal allies away from Ever. Your outstanding work as a physicist, chief of protocore technology, helped you get ahead of them with two steps, but this made some of their friends more defensive. N109 Zone was powerful, yet Ever had ties in Linkon City and other places that were better viewed – places at light, not such as N109 Zone. This might as well be seen as a weak point.

You needed something more.

Sylus wasn’t stupid, nor did he lack money, still his goal sat with the hunter. Destroying Ever was now second place, meant to happen in the pace of his beloved.

However, you weren’t that patient. You had no need to match anyone’s pace. At least, not after reading her files.

All the suffering she went through, every test, every death – it reminded you of that little girl and other thousands of kids and people that went through the same thing. It’s been a long time since you last cried, the pills keep you in check and you’ve also grown colder. Anger, though, was the only thing you could still feel at its rawest form.

You were sure that even after Ever, there will be others to do the same thing, but your only hope was that you’ll get so high above them that you’ll stop it as much as you can from happening.

In all that chaos, there was only one file left unopened – Philip’s. There was something that stopped you from reading it for over a year. Looking at it, a sense of dread awakens.

No, not today. Maybe tomorrow.

Sighing, you get up, grabbing your cigarette pack.

Your back garden was coming together beautifully. Your muscles were tired from gardening all day, but the serene view of the flowers made it all worth it. The smoke burns your throat as it enters. When you exhale it feels like the stress from everything leaves your body.

Bing. Bing.

The phone in your pocket notifies you of some new unexpected messages.

Hunter: Hii

Hunter: Wanna hang out tomorrow?

You: Yeah, sure

You: Where do you want us to meet?

Hunter: Cat café? 1 p.m.?

You: See you there

This came as a surprise. Last time you saw her, she didn’t seem too fond of you, so you left it as it was. Hope makes its way in your mind – maybe she didn’t hate you, maybe you’ll be friends.

Once inside, you pick all the documents up and put them back, hide the scheme behind the wooden plank that was beautifully carved with the scene of a dragon sleeping in a field of flowers. The first time you saw it, a strange feeling of familiarity surfaced. Now it was the center piece of your living room.

In the kitchen there was a half empty bottle of red wine and, against better judgement, you pour yourself another glass, and another, and then you open another bottle. Music starts playing in your house as you dance softly. The now open curtains allow the moonlight to pass through, giving you an almost ethereal glow together with the low lights of the room.

Sylus watches through Mephisto as your body moves in ways that he never seen – so easy, so at ease. When he danced with you, it felt like a mathematical equation – sure, almost rigid. But now? Dressed in wool pajamas, hair messy from the shower, it was so vulnerable and delicate. Your hands held so much grace as your hips slowly swayed to the music and he could see your lips moving, mumbling the lyrics. What song were you listening and singing to? What or who were you thinking about when you were caressing your body so slow?

The thought of someone in your mind when you were this vulnerable upset him more than he already was. If you danced it meant that your wound was almost healed, then. Sylus sighs and his eyes fall on the carved wood behind you. He zooms in. A breath gets stuck in his throat.

That can’t be. That definitely can’t be what he thinks it is. It must be a coincidence.

Awfully weird coincidence, but one nonetheless.

Sylus just continues to watch you until you fall asleep, a little more after that.

His feelings are a turmoil. Your serene face, brings him some crumb of peace, but thoughts run wild in his head. The only thing he misses the most is your laugh, especially at his sarcastic jokes.

Sylus may not understand many things right now, yet he understands that you’ve become the backbone of everything he owns. A selfish thought urges him to own you too, but he keeps telling himself that his heart is somewhere else.

So, he just watches, hoping your warmth will bless him again.

Linkon City is awfully busy at this hour. Besides the hellish ride until here, people also don’t seem to know how to walk very well, almost all bumping or being close to bump into you.

As you enter the café, you see her sitting down playing with her hands, deep in thought. You get your sunglasses off and walk towards her after getting your caramel latte.

“Hi there”, you say making her jump in surprise.

“Oh, hi!”, her smile is shining brightly at the sight of you. “How do you feel? It’s been some time since we last seen each other…”

“I’m good, it’s almost healed. It wasn’t that deep anyway.”, you answer taking a sip, “why did you want to meet?”

Your direct question dims the brightness of her expression.

“Well… I felt bad for acting like that. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. It just… Everything was kinda weird at that time and I didn’t feel safe with any of you around me, but… you saved my life, tried to be nice”, she looks you in the eyes. “I guess, I would like to try to be friends with you.”

You expected many things, but not necessarily this. For a moment, all your guards drop down. How long has it been since you’ve made a real friend? How long has it been since someone sincerely asked for forgiveness and actually seemed to want your presence for something else other than to climb the ladder?

A shy smile makes its way on your features.

“There’s no need to… It’s alright. I understand you. I would’ve acted the same in your place probably.”

Seeing the ice around you melt, makes her bubbly presence to appear once more. Talk comes natural between you two – school, funny experiences, work related things and of course gossip. It may not be nice to, but the truth is that gossip unites people, even if the other doesn’t know personally the ones you are talking about.

After the coffee is done, you decide to go around shops – looking around for silly cute things. There are some that make their way into the bag you are carrying. This outing is a breath of fresh air, making your shoulders relax slightly and work to get out of your mind. You feel like any twenty something enjoying the good weather.

Walking besides her, you stop abruptly as she salutes a guy. He is tall, green eyes sharp as a blade behind his glasses scan you before returning to the Hunter. Looking at her, you see a faint blush coating her cheeks, her eyes lighting up, taking his presence in. Even if you were blind, the effect this man has on her would be impossible to ignore. This comes as a shocking discovery you don’t really know what to think about. The idea that Sylus was after her, but her affections surely sat somewhere else both rip your heart and bring you some kind of calmness.

Fate is one for jokes – dark ones, though jokes nonetheless.

At the end of your outing, she stops you, scrambling for something in her purse, then stretches her hand towards you with a small bag in it.

“You can see it as a peace offering, if you will”, she chirps awkwardly.

You take it and are at a loss of words. Without thinking you outstretch your arms slightly and the Hunter takes the sign and gives you a hug. She isn’t much taller than you, just enough, giving you a sense of warmth when her arms encircle your body happily.

The friendship between you two blooms beautifully, naturally, yet in small steps. Your lives are full of stress and fight, but Miss Hunter makes her way through your free time and you in hers. Before you had two old friends you went out regularly with, now there are three. The same could be said about her.

Sylus can only watch from the sideways as you continue for months to be strictly formal with him, yet spend time so much in others presence – the twins, Philip, Miss Hunter, your friends. There are times when he finds all of you in one place hanging out or breaking havoc. Miss Hunter talks and spends time with him, but it doesn’t really bring him the happiness he thought he would get. There’s nothing familiar about her besides a weird energy he can’t figure out – maybe the Aether core is acting up, yet how could he be deceived by this?

Besides this, how did he end so alone, while you are closer lately to Miss Hunter than him? Everyone gets to see you more, talk to you more than him. Did he upset you so much? The tender moments with you from the past come to his mind, and his soul feels agitated and unsettled. He misses your scent, your touch from patching him up or helping him dress, the small caresses, the nights from difficult missions when you would sleep so close. Why is he even thinking this?

Why is everything so confusing? Where is he going wrong?

The engine goes off and you take the keys out of the contact. The image of the shop you got so used to welcomes you. You enter silently and hear voices coming from the main room. Philip talks to the Hunter, but what he tells her is unintelligible to you until you come closer, still hidden by the shadows.

It’s true that they might’ve been talking for a long time, still you catch just enough. Here is the unwanted answer why you didn’t want to open his file and read about him, why you never asked Sylus about him. In the back of your mind, you knew that he might’ve done … things. Things that would hurt you to know, but what you hear plunges deep in your heart.

He’s telling her about the experiments in Gaia, the ones involving her and in which he took part. You should’ve known. In her files is true that no names were mentioned and you had to search for everyone separately – they were good at hiding tracks. But this hit too deep. Thinking about how vulnerable you were to him, telling him about what you witnessed, only for him to be just the same kind of devil.

The things around you become blurry until the Hunter exits the room and sees you. There must be something wrong with you as her eyes hold an ocean of worry.

“Take care, dear”, you shrug her of with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

Your image and voice startle the shop owner. You wait for the door to the exit to open and close before you start.

“Can you please tell me why none of you has the actual balls to say the fucking truth?”, your cold and calm voice chills him to the core.

He knew it you will find about it sometime. Philip always kept in mind that he’ll have to tell you, but when his eyes found you, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I’m sorry, I…I tried… I wanted to- “

Your lips were forming a scowl and your eyes… the eyes that were always tired and somehow dreamy – now were full of an anger so hot and violent that it threatened to spill.  He couldn’t miss how hard you started to shake.

“Liar! A fucking coward! I was crying and losing my goddamn mind and you lied to me! Not once, not twice, every day for the past years!”, the yell shook him. “They were children, Philip! How could you do that?!”

Silence. The words coming from your mouth hit him like a ton of bricks. Before he can stop himself, the tension breaks his mind and logic.

“You know what, punk? How can you sleep at night when you work here with me? In this hellhole, making weapons of mass destruction? How much blood is on your hands? Haven’t you done worse things than me? You believe yourself all that righteous?”

For a moment, everything stays still.

“You’ve been a lap dog for Sylus and you dare to call me spineless? You ask me how could I do that? Look at you, what have you done? What good have you done?”, he continues to scream, the same word not crossing his mind twice.

When he looks at you again, the weight of what he said almost crushes him. Eyes wide, lips parted, body limp – you look at him. Regret starts to claw at his heart. But the damage was already done.

“Is that what you really think of me?”, you whisper.

The question picks at the open wound he cut himself.

No answer comes. What is there left to say? Is there anything that would make you, the daughter he never had, not leave right now? All that was left was watching you gather your things, trying not to cry and smash the door closed. Your car leaves with a screech and for the first time in years the emptiness that surrounds him feels like lead. The silence makes anything too loud. He can hear his own heart breaking.

Perhaps sins are always after you until they come get you. Each of us gets to pay for what they’ve done by losing what we hold the closest to our heart.

The fight with Philip had as a result an emptiness that you haven’t felt in a long, long time. You couldn’t cry, you couldn’t do anything. You were just frozen in place. All you could do was use it to your advantage – you moved your main place of operating in the building assigned to research, something you were being pressed to do for a long time. Your office was cold, devoid of any speck of personality and warmth. It was all you needed.

Work was the only thing you could do.

The realization that indeed you were some kind of monster not so different from the ones you were fighting against came as a weird liberation.

The door opens and his red eyes welcome you.

“I see that you’ve made yourself… at home’’, he says looking around and observing nothing of yours besides your coat and purse on a sofa. “Have you become a minimalist?”

Your cold gaze follows him settle down in front of you.

“You could say that. What do you need? The reports for this month are not ready yet, I’ll send them to you when they are.”

Sylus seems to contemplate, fixing you with his gaze.

“How long do you plan to do this?”

“Do what?”

He chuckles unamused, letting his head hang slightly to the side. Sylus didn’t know what he was expecting from this meeting. It’s been days since he last saw you, and an unsettling feel in his chest urged him to come see you. Your image was one of a statue, no feeling, warmth. He wanted so bad to get closer to you, hold your hand. He would take anything you would give him.

Without warning a bludgeoning pain fires through your head and you bend. Your heart beat spikes and a tremor gets a hold of your body. Without intention a whimper escapes you, but you don’t even hear it. Sylus is at your side in milliseconds, eyes wide, hands caressing your back. His voice somehow makes his way to you, but it’s as if you are underwater.

You’ve been having this kind of headaches for a few months, ever since that small device kept beeping annoyingly and showing you weird fluctuations that made no sense. However, with each one they get worse and more debilitating. No pill helps, nothing. You’ve tried every migraine trick and every time they proved to be useless.

This time, the pain spreads to your spine, in your bones. Your nerves feel like being fried and more whimpers fall from your lips.

“What’s wrong? How long have you been like this?”, you get to hear somewhat more clearly. Sylus’s hand makes contact with your forehead. “You are burning up.”

When you feel his arms trying to scoop you up, you stop him.

“No… It’s…It’s going to pass.”

Sylus keeps his hand on your forehead and back of the neck, seeing that it makes it a little bit better. His heart also drums in his chest. How could he miss something like this? A little annoyance sparks as he sees your stubbornness to refuse his help. He could give you the best doctors, best treatments, everything you needed; however, you resume to crawling away, licking all your wounds alone. It drives him crazy.

After a while, your muscles relax as the pain becomes better. Sylus also notices your temperature slowly dropping. You turn your head to him, seeing him sitting to your level, eyes wide and alert, searching for any signs – either good or bad. His hands scoop your face before he can stop them and surprise is written on your face. Your hand finds his and gets it away with slight hesitation.

“I have to work, if there’s nothing you need, please leave”, you say above a whisper.

The ringing of the phone wakes you up from your deep slumber.

“Sorry to wake you up, but I need you to accompany Miss Hunter on a mission, because I can’t. The twins will be around for reinforcement”, Sylus’s deep voice makes you alert the second you hear it. “I’ll send you the details.”

He hangs up as you jump from the bed to prepare. It’s been a while since you’ve worn your combat clothes, yet they feel like a second skin. You check your guns and other weapons and get on the way.

The mission should be easy: extraction of a very valuable protocore stolen from Hunter’s Association from some clandestine crime organization. It takes place in an abandoned shed close to a forest, some miles away from the N109 Zone. A bad feeling creeps up on you, shivers down your spine – something is wrong.

When you get there, the Hunter is expecting you. You discuss the plan together with the twins. They will monitor everything from afar, as you make your way to the target, get the protocore and get out. Yet, the moment you set foot in the abandoned building besides the shed, the heavy air awakens a strange feeling inside you. Even though the twins said that somewhere on the third level should be the protocore based on the level of energy they see on the devices. Just as when you found the safe, the small thread of energy tells you that indeed there is something on the third level, but nothing such as what you are searching for.

Your friend is unaware of your thoughts and only tries to understand why are you stalling, as she uses her watch to show her the way. You open your flashlight and prepare your gun and advance, trying to bury the dreadful feeling. The moment you take the first step on the first level, the headache starts in lenient waves, but the more you walk towards the target, the worst it gets. By the second level you are sweating and trembling. The Hunter walks besides you, using her own flashlight to look around.

Before ascending to the third level your coms come alive and Kieran’s voice breaks the silence.

“Uh, guys, something is not right, the energy level changes and is no longer resembling what we are looking for…”, the connection disappears. The coms are dead. Your pain gets worse.

You and your friend look at eachother, talking through stares what is to be done until a crack gets your attention – footsteps. Before you two get the time to do anything a shower of bullets starts firing towards you from an adjacent hallway. It doesn’t take long to realize that they are slowly encircling you. Trying to keep the two of you alive you see your escape in a door that seems to be an emergency exit. You start firing your own bullets to clear the path towards the exit and grab the Hunter that also fires as many bullets as she can.

The mission was another trap.

You run as fast as possible, jump stairs, but they just keep coming. When trying to get out of the building you realize that the entrance is blocked so you just go for the entrance to the shed. In your mind, the only hope is the forest. While hunting with your grandfather, the forest has become your biggest ally. It would provide enough protection and hiding places, giving you more chances to not be seen, yet see others. Hope disappears fast when you see the door locked, but it’s nothing two bullets can’t solve.

The forest is dark and the soil is slippery from the numerous rains in the past week. You try to get her to a safe spot under some big rocks, but she seems too trigger happy to leave you alone. You can see the twins running towards you through the trees, but they are still too far away. Your running comes to a halt as you see all around you masked men with guns aimed at you and the Hunter. There was no need to fire anymore. It was a game over. The weapons in their hands catch your attention – they look like the new technology of Ever. Looking at their uniforms, you realize they are all men of Ever.

The pain in your head is unbearable, burning sensations going from the top of your head to your toes. She takes her place behind you, staying back-to-back with you. Fear radiates through from her. From behind the trees, you can see some man carrying some type of big metal boxes – they look more like caskets.

You now understand – the reason why Sylus had a problem and couldn’t come just now, why they got you here – they wanted to capture the two of you.

As they close in, your pain gets worse and worse until you tremble so bad that almost can’t stand. The danger, the idea of what could happen if they get their hands on her, on you; the twins running towards you and surely being petrified – it all becomes too much and a limit is reached.

It feels like your whole being is torn apart as everything blows up. The armed men turn into powder together with the guns, reduced to nothing in a blink of an eye, trees are uprooted and broken. Every cell of your body is burning so bad that your brain chooses to black out. Nothingness welcomes you as you try to cover the Hunter with your body. The only priorities are her and the twins.

Sylus watches everything through Mephisto from the beginning to the end and all he can do is leave everything behind him and hurrying towards the disaster. His moves are automatic, his brain frozen in uncertainty and shock. Whatever happens around him until he gets there is a blur. When he sets foot on the ground, his mouth goes dry. The destruction is incredible. The shed isn’t there anymore, half the building is also gone. The forest is a mess.

The air feels electric and a smell awakens his senses like a cold slap across his face.

He runs. He runs like a man that could have lost everything. Sylus doesn’t feel the scratches from the branches, nor the burning sensation in his chest from the effort. He doesn’t feel anything other than the pain that might come true if he doesn’t find all of you alive.

The first he finds are the twins and his heart skips a beat. Confusion and relief wash over him as he sees them getting up, patting the dust off their clothes. There are no wounds on them which makes no sense momentarily to him. Sylus just keeps running towards the center of the explosion, bracing himself for what he may find. His entire body trembles with an emotion he doesn’t permit himself to feel.

When he gets there, he sees a hole in the soil, big enough for two people. He sees the Hunter slowly coming to her sense, but the only question is – where are you? As he gets closer, he sees an unconscious figure laying halfway on Miss Hunter. She is trying to wake you up by calling your name and gently moving you. Sylus doesn’t miss a beat, helping her to turn you on your back and the sight makes his heart stop – pale skin, no sign of breathing. His fingers search for your pulse, but there is no sign of it. Your smell awakens a deep hurt in his soul and he loses his senses. The scenes are fragmented as he is frenzied to feel your pulse again. His hands press your chest and his lips find yours to exhale life into you. Sylus doesn’t know for how long he does this. He doesn’t understand what and how happened, all he knows is that he needs you alive.

The girl is still in shock, tears streaming down her face looking at you and the disheveled boss of Onychinus that tries so hard to give you back life with the same hands he took countless of others.

There’s no response. With every second in which you don’t breathe, fear and hopelessness eat at all of them. Until… Something faint, almost shy, can be felt on the side of your neck. The color doesn’t come back to your skin, but the pulse is there, faint, but there nonetheless. Sylus puts his hand above your lips to feel a small gush of air coming from you.

Relief is a small word for what he feels. The twins try to get you away to take you to the hospital, but a growl escapes Sylus without the intention to, and his hands grab you. He scoops you up and gets in the car. The ride is tense. He keeps you caged to his chest, slowly rocking from side to side. His ear is close to your lips and the hand that cradles your head keeps the finger tips pressed to your pulse. It feels like every second is an infinity.

Yet you breath, so it means that you wouldn’t leave him all alone, right?

It was painful seeing him look up every couple of minutes, his eyes scanning the bleachers left and right, up and down. Looking for her. But she was nowhere to be found.

He tried suppressing the sinking feeling in his stomach. But try as he might, even though you were far away and staring at him from your seat in the crowd, you could tell he was counting the seconds, waiting for her to show up. You knew him too well.

It was pitiful really, you couldn’t help but compare him to a lost puppy, separated from its owner, the barely noticeable hurt in his eyes making your heart squeeze with ache. You wished you could do something to help. But really, what could you do? 

You had already done the best you could: text her. Just now remembering the messages you sent her half an hour ago, you reach for your phone and unlock it.

Still no response. You let out a sigh as you shut your phone off and shove it back into your pocket.

The loud blow of the referee’s whistle makes your head snap back up to the court. He calls for halftime, and you watch the players slowly making their way back to the locker rooms. 

Standing up from your seat, you excuse yourself as you shuffle through the people sitting in your row. Finally onto the stairs, you make your way down and call out to Caleb just as he’s about to walk into the locker room. 

With the white towel around his neck, he wipes at his slick forehead as he turns to face you. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” you unconsciously scan him from head to toe briefly. He has one hand on his hip, while the other still tightly grips his towel. His Jersey sticks to his body in certain areas from the sweat. You clear your throat for a moment and look back up at his face. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, rather dismissively. His attention elsewhere, evidently.

You hesitate for a second before speaking up. “I sent her a message.” 

His gaze trails back to yours instantly. “What’d she say?”

“... She hasn’t responded yet. Sorry.” 

You immediately notice the plain-as-day disappointment in his face at your words. Your eyebrows furrow in response, as if you could feel the helplessness swirling in his heart.

“Don’t apologize.” he finally looks at you— really looks at you.

“I’m sure she’s fine. Something probably came up– or maybe her phone died.” You rambled, trying to make him feel better.

“Yeah, maybe.” he shrugged absentmindedly.

You let out a dejected sigh, staring up at him. “Caleb?”

He swipes the towel against his forehead one last time and meets your eyes. “Hm?”

“You don’t need her to play well.” you try to speak firmly, but your hands tremble slightly behind your back. “I mean, I know having a friend’s support helps, but–” you feel the words get stuck in your throat. You pause for a moment to collect yourself, trying to ignore his piercing gaze. “What I’m trying to say is that you’ve been training for weeks. And I know you can do this– we all do.”

When you finally look back up at him, he seems less distracted. His eyes widen ever so slightly, and his lips part. You feel yourself flushing under his stare, looking down at your shoes, unable to keep eye contact. Caleb opens his mouth to speak, but you hear one of his teammate’s shouting for him, startling you.

“Caleb, coach is calling for you!” 

You take a couple of steps back, looking back up at him with a sheepish gaze. “Good luck,” you mouth with a smile before regaining your spot amongst the crowd.

You miss the way his hand twitched at his side, holding back from taking your hand and stopping you. He stays frozen in place before snapping out of it and finally making his way back to the locker room.

Despite his coach’s light scolding on his lack of focus, it didn’t make it any better. His thoughts lingered on Mc, and then onto the game, and eventually circled back to you. Although he didn’t know what exactly to think—or what he was feeling—about the latter.

You think back on your words to him just now. As much as you tried to sound encouraging, you couldn’t even convince yourself. Honestly speaking, with the way things were going at the moment, you had trouble imagining your school’s team winning this game. 

You try to shake the thoughts off, however. You really wanted to believe in him.

The halftime show ends, and both teams exit the locker rooms, repositioning themselves on the court. The referee signals the third quarter’s commencement, and you watch as the players immediately spring into action.

Unfortunately, you were right. Your school lost.

It was a defeat that stung especially because the match took place in your school’s gym. Home defeats were considered slightly humiliating after all. 

You tried cheering yourself up. The rivaling school hadn’t won by that large of a margin. Besides, this was a league tournament, so there was still a chance at redemption.

But all this information suddenly seemed meaningless the moment your eyes landed on the team captain. 

Caleb looked dejected. Clearly, this was the cherry on top for him tonight. You felt your lips purse into a tight line as you looked away, and grabbed your phone once more. 

Your fingers moved before you could even think, looking for a way to fix this situation. Even though it wasn’t yours to fix.

It never was. You always felt like you had to help everyone, to put everyone before you. And of course, this was especially true with Caleb. As much as you didn’t want to admit it— he was your weakness. You weren’t even sure when you started feeling this way for him, or how he consistently managed to keep making you fall even deeper for him. 

You knew he was off-limits. Out of your league. 

Basketball team captain and ace, straight A student, every teacher’s pet, beloved by both boys and girls. Especially girls. The amount of love letters and homemade treats he received in a single week was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. A guy as good-looking, kind, smart, and funny as him should only exist on paper. He seemed too perfect to be true. He had to have a weakness. 

And he did. 

Just like he was your weakness, Mc was his. 

You knew about their confusing relationship way before you’d fallen for him. Like many others, you thought them to be a couple, only to learn they weren’t. Which didn’t seem to make sense to you considering the longing look he always gave her when she wasn’t looking, and the way his body always seemed to instinctively lean towards her no matter how close they were— like she had some sort of gravitational pull on him. 

You would never act on your feelings. You made a promise to yourself not to, and you’d keep it. Suppressing your feelings didn’t come easy, however. It was truly gruelling to try and ignore the way your heart would pinch wherever you saw them together. They looked perfect for each other. You almost felt ashamed, or embarrassed for having a crush on Caleb. 

But what choice did you really have? Despite the fact you knew he was the kind of person to be nice to everyone, you couldn’t help the sensation of the tips of your ears heating up whenever he’d call out your name in the hallways. Or when he’d buy you your favourite vending machine snack after a bad day. Or when he’d listen to music and show you the song you recommended to him, telling you it reminds him of you whenever he hears it. Caleb was impossible not to fall in love with. 

You let out a soft sigh, shaking your head as if it could help rid you of these thoughts and look down at your phone screen. Before you have the time to start typing a message to Mc, she finally replies. 

Oh, that’s why she never showed up.

You raise your head back up and notice all the people slowly leaving the gymnasium. You stand up and take your time leaving the bleachers, not particularly in a rush since you were leaving with Caleb.

A couple of minutes later, you spot him making his way out of the locker room, this time changed back into his school uniform. You notice the way his hair is still wet, the ends sticking to his forehead. He briefly eyes the stands, looking for you. When the two of you make eye contact, he smiles half-heartedly.

Walking down the steps, you eventually reach him. 

“Hope I didn’t make you wait long.” 

You shake your head in response, instinctively clasping your hands together behind your back. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sore. And undeserving of my titles,” he chuckles, although the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Your eyebrows furrow. “Don’t beat yourself up. You had a bad day, stuff like that happens.”

He pauses for a moment, eyeing you. “... thanks for showing up. And sticking until the end.”

You don’t miss the underlying message beneath his words. “Oh, by the way–” you slip your hand into your pocket to grab your phone, and the second you grasp it, you feel it vibrate. You open it and see the new messages.

Caleb speaks again, garnering your attention. “Did she finally reply?” his eyes light up.

You glance down at your screen again.

Please don’t tell Caleb.

You feel a weight sink down from your stomach to your feet, as you slowly look back at Caleb. 

“Uh, no. Just my mom. She’s asking when I’ll get home.”

His shoulders deflate, but he instantly recovers with another half-smile. A moment of silence passes before he speaks again. “... I’d better get you home then, yeah?”

You nod hesitantly, already feeling the guilt eat away at you as the two of you leave the gym.

You walk side by side with him outside, the cold seeping into your bones. Your hands are deeply shoved into the pockets of your light jacket, shielding themselves from the autumn winds. 

However, the frost doesn’t even compare to the gnawing feeling at your chest. You couldn’t help the remorse you felt for lying straight to Caleb’s face. Although you know you weren’t necessarily at fault, it still sucked to see him being so disappointed.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” he waves his large hand in front of you.

You snap out of it, looking up at him. “Oh… sorry.”

“You’re freezing, I can hear your teeth clattering even with your mouth closed.” he says, a soft laugh escaping him.

“Shut up.” you shove him lightly with your shoulder, struggling to contain your smile.

He laughs louder, before resuming in a calmer tone. “... I told you to switch jackets. It’s getting cold and this one won’t do the job as well anymore.”

You look down at yourself. “Yeah, I know, but I really like this jacket. It’s cute.” you shrug. 

“You should care more about practicality than looks.”

“You’re a guy, of course you don’t get it.” you playfully roll your eyes at him. “I just want to look cute, you know?”

He chuckles lightly, shaking his head at you, almost in disbelief. “You don’t need that flimsy jacket for that.”

Your smile softens into a stunned expression once you process his words. Noticing he’s stopped walking, you do the same, and slowly look up at him.

Before you can even question him on what he meant by that, you notice the dark expression clouding over his face, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere behind you. Immediately, your conversation on your jacket is forgotten. 

Curious, you follow his gaze, and eventually notice a small coffee shop with a glass window.

And through that window, you see two familiar figures.

Your heart sinks, and you look back at Caleb, quiet.

He takes a moment, but eventually speaks up, his tone firm—almost intimidating—and his eyes still glued on the two people.

“What are they doing.” he asks, and you can feel the anger, confusion and hurt laced in his words. 

You stay frozen, unsure if he was even asking you in the first place. Your lips part to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.

A beat of silence passes, and Caleb starts walking again. This time making a straight line towards the coffee shop.

You immediately break out of your stunned state and follow him. “Wait, Caleb don’t do anything stupid–” you try to reason with him, but in vain.

He calmly opens the door—not forgetting to keep it open for you—and walks towards where Mc and Zayne are sat down.

“Make sure to divide the sum out the total—” Zayne points to Mc’s notebook, but stops speaking once he looks up and is met with Caleb’s looming figure, hovering over them. 

Mc quirks a brow at her last-minute tutor and turns around. Her eyes immediately go wide. “Caleb—”

“So this is what you were doing?” He speaks calmly. “I was worried something had happened to you.” he states, this time more firmly. 

“Hold on,” she stands up from her seat, ready to start explaining herself, but once she does so, she spots you behind Caleb. Your hands tremble slightly, and your whole posture makes it seem like you were trying your hardest to make yourself as small as possible. “Y/N… I asked you not to tell him, why would you do that?” she asks you, almost bewildered and hurt.

Caleb’s eyebrows furrow deeper into his already present frown. He looks back at you, confused, and you can tell from his eyes he wants an explanation, but before you can provide him one, he turns back to Mc.

“Leave her out of this, she hasn’t told me anything. This is between you and me.” He steps in front of you, as if to block you from her field of view.

Mc mirrors his frown. She sighs before speaking up again. “Whatever– I didn’t do anything wrong. We’re just studying.”

“Didn’t do anything wrong? Mc, you had me thinking something bad happened to you. What do you expect me to think when you don’t reply to any of my messages—”

“Nothing!” she interjects, her tone of voice coming out slightly louder than she intended, and it showed. “You’re not supposed to think of anything, okay? You’re constantly worrying about me, and frankly, it’s getting old. I’m not a little girl anymore, Caleb. I can take care of myself.” She folds her arms over her chest.

You notice the way his jaw tenses, and his fists tighten. He inhales slowly, and then exhales. “Fine, then.” 

Caleb turns around to face you. He gently reaches for your hand, and once he sees you don’t refuse it, he mutters a soft “Let’s go,” before calmly walking out. 

The two of you walk down the sidewalk and pass multiple shops, now considerably far from the café.

You notice his haste, and stop dead in your tracks, tugging him back with your hand to stop him. He turns to you.

“... We should hurry. Your mom’s probably worried.”

You wince internally at his words. “Don’t worry, she didn’t actually text me earlier it was—” you start, but interrupt yourself.

You look up to see him and notice the realization wash over his face. “Oh,”

“Yeah…” You look away awkwardly, your free hand playing with the seam of your jacket, feeling the need to get some weight off your chest. “Caleb, I’m really sorry for lying to you.” you say, in a quieter tone.

A heavy sigh escapes his body. “It’s fine. You were looking out for your friend.”

“But I hurt you in the process, and that’s not fine.” you take a step closer to him, your hands still linked.

The brunette stares at you, stunned. The silence drags on for so long, your words start to ring in your head incessantly, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

Well there goes being subtle about your feelings.

However, before you even have the time to drown in your overthinking, you find yourself gingerly being pulled into a hug.

His hands move slowly, with one resting on your lower back, and the other on your shoulder. The closer he moves, the further his face buries itself into the crook of your neck. And you could’ve sworn he had breathed you in just now. 

“Thanks… for always being there for me.” he sighs, his voice barely audible. 

It was painful, to think he’d be so grateful for you simply looking out for him. It really made you wonder if the people he cared about put as much effort as he did in their relationships.

You hesitate for a moment, but eventually let your arms wrap around his middle, giving him light and reassuring pats. “Of course.” you whisper back, hoping you sound calm and composed because you definitely weren’t on the inside.

The two of you stay in that position for a little bit. Although you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you really didn’t want him to pull away. Even with all that time you’ve unconsciously spent staring at him and wondering what having him felt like, none of it compared to the real thing. 

“... you’re so warm.” you say, before you can stop yourself. 

He chuckles lightly, the sound vibrating through his chest, and echoing against your own body. You could really get used to this. 

Seeing how easy it is for you to physically feel his laughter, you wonder if he can just as easily feel your heartbeat hammering into your chest. Or if he could perhaps the warmth emanating from your cheeks, a stark contrast from the cold.

His laughter dies down, and he eventually pulls away. “You sure it’s not just you that’s cold?” 

You shrug in response, too dazed to think of something witty enough to retort with.

“Let’s get you home before you get frostbite, okay?” he moves and starts shrugging his coat off, draping it around your form before you could protest– and frankly, you couldn’t even be bothered to. The fabric was just as warm as him, and it carried his scent as well. You’d be stupid to refuse it.

“Okay,” you finally respond, and resume walking side by side with him.

part 1 | part 2 (coming soon...)

a/n: first lads fic, kinda nervous hehe... anyway, reblogs and likes are both appreciated :)

there's a quiet knock on the door and soon, caleb's concerned face is right in front of you. his gaze is stern and alert, ready to carry you to the car and speed to the nearest hospital.

"is it your heart? where does it hurt?"

there's a faint note of authoritativeness in his voice, one that reminds you of the interrogation he made you go through when you first saw each other in skyhaven. the vulnerability that you feel right now causes this memory to bring tears to your eyes, and before you know it, they flow down your cheeks like a warm river.

"pips, talk to me," he lifts your chin and forces you to look at him. the fear you see in his eyes stirs a wave of embarrassment, and so you scrunch up your face, trying to cover it with one hand.

"you're going to be mad," you mumble but caleb is quick to reassure you.

"i promise i won't get mad, baby, alright? just tell me what happened so i can help you."

you sigh. you got this. "i was… shaving…"

"did you cut yourself?"

"mhm."

caleb's gaze slides to the inside of the shower stall and stops at the abandoned razor on the floor, a faint pink puddle, and a trail of short dark hairs. the first conclusions already form in his head but he lets you continue.

"there was so much blood and it wouldn't let up— and…" you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to be brave for just a few seconds. you blurt out the next sentence so fast that it takes your boyfriend a second to understand the meaning of what you actually just said. "i'm afraid i cut off my clit, please take a look at her, caleb."

the next fifteen seconds are filled with complete silence. you both still and you can easily hear the neighbours' kids playing in their backyard and the tv that's playing downstairs.

caleb doesn't say a word, but his eyes tear you a new one. you held countless conversations about how much you love each others' bush and practically begged each other not to touch it. caleb nods, presses his lips into a faint line, and gets up to wash his hands thoroughly.

"okay, i'm going to take a look now. tell me if it hurts," he says once he's settled back down in front of you, his hand replacing yours on the towel you press to your poor pussy.

"be gentle—"

"of course."

"what if i nicked her—"

"we'll deal with it together, alright? don't panic. we'll see the best specialists if we need to—"

"will you still love me without her?"

caleb bites the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing and nods. "how about you let me take a look first?"

you agree and brace yourself for the worst news of your life.

"i won't touch without letting you know first," caleb reassures you, his voice calm and steady. you nod and seconds later, caleb is on his stomach between your legs, inspecting your abused and vulnerable pussy. the silence is unbearable but you withstand it, not wanting to distract him. "it doesn't look that bad. my favourite little miss is exactly where she should be."

you let out the air you didn't know you were holding. the tension in your body finally lets up, the adrenaline wears down, and a wave of pain washes over you, reminding you that you hit your head rather hard while trying to inspect your injury immediately after it happened. you hum when caleb says something, too focus on the pain to actually care.

you regret that seconds later when the unexpected touch of caleb's fingers spreading your folds surprises you so much that you reflexively close your legs around him, your knees trapping his poor head.

"jesus, what was that for?" he moans in pain, massaging the tender areas with his fingers.

meanwhile, you start burning with shame.

"caleb, i'm so so sorry," you say, swallowing the laugh that threatens to escape your lips once you realise how ridiculous the situation is. you tend to his bruises by pressing tons of kisses to his head, whispering apologies while your face and ears are being flooded with a crimson wave of embarrassment. "so so so freaking sorry, honey, i promise i'll make it up to you, i'll—"

you slap a hand against your lips and caleb immediately stops sulking.

"what is it? does it hurt?"

you shake your head but fail to stop the giggles from leaving your lips. the absurdity of the situation gets to you, the shame, stress, and fear spill out in the form of a hearty laughter and soon, caleb joins in, his laugh setting your heart at ease.

"imagine having to explain this in the er," you chuckle, wiping tears that slipped from the outer corner of your eyes.

"that's divine punishment for undressing your pussy, by the way," caleb grins as he sits next to you, his back propped against a cold wall. "never do that again. or ask me for help."

you turn your head to look him in the eye and soon, another wave of laughter echoes in your home.