Dolly™

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

-

• Sevika gets incredibly smug whenever people realise you’re married. Especially when someone flirts with you and you casually mention your wife. The second the word leaves your mouth, she’s leaning back with that insufferably satisfied smirk spreading across her face, watching the realization hit them in real time.

• She never interrupts or gets jealous in those situations either. If anything, she enjoys it. Loves seeing other people look disappointed the moment they understand you’re taken. And when you naturally drift back to her side afterward, slipping your hand into hers or leaning against her shoulder without thinking, it completely goes to her head.

• The smugness gets even worse if you call her your wife affectionately. “My wife said-“ or “I need to ask my wife first,” and suddenly Sevika’s looking at you like she won something. She tries to act cool about it, but you can always catch the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth and the way her arm immediately hooks tighter around your waist afterward.

• Later, when you’re alone, she absolutely teases you about it too. Low voice in your ear, stupid cocky grin on her face. “Your wife, huh?” Like she still can’t believe she gets to be yours.

• She’s the type to rest her hand on your thigh or waist constantly. Not even consciously. Sitting at a bar, walking side by side, laying in bed, standing behind you while you cook. Her hand always finds you somehow. Sometimes it’s her warm hand lazily rubbing circles into your hip, sometimes it’s the heavier weight of her mechanical one hooked around your waist. She just likes touching you whenever she can. Likes feeling you there with her. Grounding. Real. Hers.

• On rough days, she gets even clingier without realising it. You’ll barely make it a few steps before she reaches out automatically to tug you back between her knees or pull you against her side again. She’s spent so much of her life braced for people to leave that having someone she can hold onto freely still feels almost unreal to her sometimes. So she touches you constantly, soft and instinctive, like reassuring herself you’re still there.

• Sevika absolutely feigns annoyance when you steal her clothes, but the second she catches you prancing around the apartment in your underwear and one of her old button-ups, she suddenly has zero interest in getting it back. In fact, whenever you shower or bathe together, she lays one of her shirts out for you afterward without even mentioning it. Half her wardrobe becomes yours over time, and she secretly loves seeing her clothes on you more than she likes wearing them herself.

• If she wakes up before you, she stays in bed way longer than she normally would just because she likes the weight of you sleeping against her chest. Or she’ll avoid falling asleep some nights, just so she can spend a little while longer with you. Nobody else would believe the terrifying, intimidating Sevika willingly loses hours of sleep because her wife looks cute drooling on her shoulder.

• Sevika is hopelessly weak to sleepy affection. If you wake her up mumbling “love you” against her neck, she’ll immediately pull you closer and act like she wasn’t grumbling two seconds earlier.

• She pretends your shared pets like her more. They do not. She’s just the one who sneaks them scraps under the table.

• She absolutely melts into a puddle of adoration when she catches you snuggling with them. The sight alone is enough to stop her in her tracks, like she’s walked into something too soft and too perfect to interrupt. She stands there for a moment, just watching, her expression easing in a way she rarely lets anyone else see.

• She wants to join you, badly. There’s a quiet pull in her chest that makes her want to cross the room immediately, scoop all of you into her arms, and make herself part of the pile. But she doesn’t. Not right away. She lingers instead, because there’s something about the way you’re already settled and content that makes her hesitate, like stepping in might break the peace.

• So she just observes for a while, leaning against the doorway or the wall, pretending she’s only passing through. Her eyes soften every time one of you shifts closer to the other, and her hand flexes slightly at her side like she’s physically holding herself back.

People loved giving advice.

“Go for a walk.”

“Exercise helps.”

“Fresh air will make you feel better.”

“Just get out of the house.”

As though it was that simple.

As though your body didn’t already protest every movement before your mind had even caught up.

People always spoke as if depression and chronic pain existed separately. As though you could treat one without the other. But for you, they tangled together so tightly that sometimes you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

The pain made everything harder.

The depression made the hard things feel impossible.

Then the guilt arrived because you couldn’t do the things everyone insisted would help.

It was a cruel little cycle.

Sevika understood that better than anyone.

She never looked at you lying in bed until midday and thought, She’s wasting the day.

She looked at you and wondered how much pain you must already be carrying before your feet had even touched the floor.

-

She became very good at recognising which kind of exhaustion you were dealing with.

Sometimes your body was tired.

Sometimes your heart was.

Most days it was both.

She never made you explain which one it was.

-

If she found you awake but staring at the ceiling, she’d simply sit beside you.

One large hand would settle over yours, rubbing slow circles across your knuckles.

“You hurting?”

Sometimes you’d nod.

Sometimes you’d shrug because the answer was more complicated than that.

“Everything feels hard.”

She understood that answer too.

-

She hated hearing people tell you that you just needed to push yourself.

They truly had no idea what they were asking.

There was a difference between feeling a little unmotivated and having to calculate whether having a shower would leave you needing to rest afterwards. Whether making dinner was worth the subsequent pain. If a simple walk would keep you on bed rest for the remainder of the week.

A difference between I don’t feel like it and my body genuinely cannot afford this today.

She wished more people understood that.

-

She celebrated victories nobody else noticed.

Changing into clean clothes.

Eating something.

Opening the curtains.

Sitting outside for five minutes because the weather was nice.

None of those things were “small” when your body fought you every step of the way.

She refused to let anyone, especially you, dismiss them.

“You did it.”

“It was just a shower.”

“You still did it, baby.”

-

When the depression whispered that you were lazy…

Sevika corrected it every single time.

“I’ve seen you force yourself through pain that would’ve put most people back in bed.”

She’d brush your hair away from your face before kissing your forehead.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

-

There were days you apologised for cancelling plans.

Again.

“I wanted to go.”

“I know.”

“I feel like I ruin everything.”

“You didn’t choose this.”

So simple yet certain. It helped more than she would ever know.

She never let you take responsibility for something outside your control.

-

On the days people suggested going for a run or joining a gym, you’d sometimes laugh bitterly.

“If they could spend one day in this body…”

Sevika’s mouth would twitch into a humourless smile.

“They’d stop giving advice.”

-

She never pushed movement because someone claimed it fixed everything.

Instead, she’d ask gentle questions.

“Would stretching your legs for a minute feel okay?”

If the answer was no…

“Alright.”

No disappointment.

No lecture.

No trying to negotiate.

Your answer was enough.

If the answer was yes, she’d help however she could. Sitting beside you while you stretched. Walking at your pace if you wanted to step outside. Turning back the moment your body had enough.

There was never a finish line to reach.

Only listening to what your body needed that day.

-

She became incredibly creative with comfort.

Movie marathons under blankets.

Board games in bed.

Ordering your favourite takeaway.

Reading aloud to you when concentrating hurt too much.

Watching rain through the window together.

She refused to believe joy only counted if it happened outside the house.

-

Some evenings she’d climb into bed behind you before the sun had even gone down.

One arm around your waist.

Her chin resting lightly against your shoulder.

“You know…”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to earn rest.”

You swallowed.

“I haven’t done anything today.”

“You survived today.”

She squeezed you a little closer.

“That’s enough.”

-

She also knew depression had a nasty habit of convincing you that tomorrow would feel exactly the same.

So she never made promises she couldn’t keep.

She never said, “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Instead she’d say,

“We’ll see what tomorrow gives us.”

A pause.

“And whatever it is…”

She pressed another kiss against your temple.

“…you won’t be carrying it alone.”

Because she knew some days the biggest achievement wasn’t getting out for a walk.

It wasn’t cleaning the house.

It wasn’t being productive.

Sometimes the bravest thing you did all day was wake up inside a body that hurt, inside a mind that insisted nothing would ever change, and keep existing anyway.

Sevika never saw that as “doing nothing.”

She saw it for what it was.

A battle nobody else could see.

The first grey hair shouldn’t have meant anything.

It was only a single silver strand tucked amongst the dark hair at Sevika’s temple, so fine you almost missed it as your fingers lazily combed through her hair.

She was stretched across the couch with her head in your lap, one heavy arm draped over your legs after another exhausting shift. Her breathing had already settled into the slow, even rhythm of sleep while the late afternoon sun spilled through the apartment windows, catching the silver thread like spun glass.

Your fingers stopped.

You leaned closer.

No.

For a long moment, you simply stared.

Anyone else would’ve smiled.

Maybe teased her when she woke.

“Getting old?”

She would’ve rolled her eyes and called you dramatic.

Instead, your chest tightened with such crushing force that you had to force yourself to breathe.

One grey hair.

That was all it took.

Because one would become five.

Five would become dozens.

Dozens would become wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, silver spreading through her hair, slower mornings, aching knees after long days at work, hands that wouldn’t feel quite as steady wrapped around yours.

You had watched it happen before.

Again.

And again.

The faces always changed.

The ending never did.

You closed your eyes.

A queen who had promised she’d love you until the stars burned out.

A pirate who had sworn she’d find you in every lifetime.

A woman who had laughed loud enough to fill entire villages.

Centuries had stolen every one of them.

You remembered every funeral.

Every bedside vigil.

Every final breath.

You remembered standing exactly where you stood now, looking exactly the same while everyone else grew older around you.

You had promised yourself you would never love another human.

Then Sevika had looked at you with those sharp diamond eyes and smiled like she’d already decided you were hers.

You never stood a chance.

-

It wasn’t deliberate.

Not at first.

You simply found yourself watching her.

The way she rubbed at her shoulder after lifting heavy crates all day.

The tiny crease between her brows whenever she concentrated.

The laugh lines that deepened when she grinned at you.

You memorised everything.

Every freckle.

Every scar.

Every expression.

As though if you looked long enough, you could preserve her exactly as she was forever.

Sevika noticed.

She caught your eyes lingering across the dinner table more than once.

“What?”

You blinked.

“Hm?”

“You keep staring at me.”

You smiled.

“I like looking at my wife.”

She snorted.

“Creep.”

Normally you would’ve laughed.

This time, your smile barely reached your eyes.

-

Days became weeks.

The fear settled inside you, making home in your heart.

You stopped greeting her at the door.

Stopped curling into her side every evening without thinking.

Some nights, you claimed you weren’t hungry just so you wouldn’t have to sit across from her wondering how many years she had left.

When she reached for your hand, there was sometimes the smallest hesitation before your fingers met hers.

So brief she almost convinced herself she’d imagined it.

Almost.

She noticed you slipping out of bed after she’d fallen asleep.

More than once she woke to find the sheets cold beside her.

She found you standing on the balcony in the early hours of the morning, staring silently at the city lights.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded without turning around.

“Just thinking.”

“What about?”

You smiled over your shoulder.

“Nothing important, my love. Go back to bed.”

She knew you were lying.

Sevika didn’t push.

Not yet.

-

The distance hurt her more than she let on.

She found herself reaching for you more often.

Brushing your shoulder as she passed.

Looping an arm around your waist while making coffee.

Pulling you into her lap whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Every time, you melted into her instinctively.

Every time, a shadow crossed your face afterwards.

Like you’d remembered something terrible.

One evening she cupped your face before you could slip away to wash the dishes.

“You’ve been somewhere else for weeks.”

“I’m right here.”

“No, baby.”

Her thumb stroked your cheek.

“Your body’s here.”

She searched your eyes.

“You aren’t.”

You wanted so badly to tell her.

Instead, you gave her a crooked smile and kissed her forehead.

“I’m okay.”

She watched you walk away.

Neither of you believed the words.

-

The panic arrived without warning.

Rain battered against the apartment windows while thunder rolled somewhere in the distance, the sound distant enough to feel unreal but constant enough to press against the edges of everything.

Sevika came home later than usual, shoulders heavy with exhaustion, already thinking about the simple comfort of finding you curled up on the couch waiting for her. The thought alone was enough to loosen something in her chest, a quiet relief she carried through the front door.

But the apartment greeted her in darkness.

No music. No candles. No soft hum from the kitchen. Only silence, thick and unbroken.

Your shoes were still by the door. Your coat hung exactly where she’d left it that morning.

That alone made her pause.

“Honey?”

Nothing answered her.

Her brow furrowed as she moved through the kitchen, then the living room. Empty. Still. Wrong in a way she couldn’t immediately name.

The balcony was no different.

That was when she noticed the bedroom door sitting slightly ajar.

A faint, uneven sound slipped through the gap. Not loud. Not clear. But enough.

Her stomach dropped.

She crossed the room in a few quick steps and pushed the door open.

You were on the floor beside the bed, curled into yourself as if trying to take up less space in the world. Your knees were pulled tightly to your chest, your breathing sharp and fractured, coming in uneven waves that didn’t seem to reach anywhere calm.

Your hands trembled violently, fingers curling and unclenching as though you couldn’t decide what to hold onto. Tear-stained fabric clung to your face where you had buried it into your sleeves.

You didn’t even register her at first.

“Sweetheart.”

Her voice softened immediately, the panicked edge gone in an instant.

She crossed the room and lowered herself carefully beside you, slow enough not to startle, close enough that her warmth reached you even before she touched you.

You flinched anyway.

“It’s me,” she murmured, steady and low. “I’m here.”

She didn’t reach for you straight away. She knew better than that. Instead, she stayed where she was, close enough for you to find her if you needed to, giving you the choice even in this.

“I’m here,” she said again, quieter this time.

Your breathing only broke further.

“I…”

The word dissolved before it could become anything else.

Your chest tightened sharply. The room tilted at the edges.

Sevika carefully rested her hand against your back. She rubbed slow, steady circles, grounding you in place, keeping you tethered to her.

“There you are,” she murmured. “You’re alright.”

You shook your head violently, the motion small but desperate.

“No.”

Her hand didn’t stop.

It pressed a little more firmly now, anchoring you.

“Look at me.”

It took more than one try before your eyes finally found hers.

“I’ve got you,” she said simply.

Something in that broke you.

You collapsed forward into her, the resistance gone all at once. She caught you immediately, arms wrapping around you with practiced ease, pulling you in until you were tucked tightly against her, your face pressed against the warmth of her chest.

Your sobs came hard and uneven, shaking through your whole body.

One hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading carefully through your hair. The other stayed at your back, tracing slow, grounding circles that never once faltered.

“I’m here,” she whispered again, mouth close to your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That only made your heart ache even further. And she felt it.

But she stayed.

She always stayed.

It took a long time before your breathing began to settle, not because the pain left, but because your body finally stopped fighting against being held.

Only then did she speak again, softer now.

“Tell me what’s hurting you.”

You closed your eyes, still trembling in her arms.

“I saw your first grey hair.”

For a moment, Sevika went still.

“My… what?”

“The one by your temple,” you whispered, voice breaking again as soon as it formed. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Confusion crossed her face first. Then something slower. Something heavier.

Understanding unfurled through her chest, dense and undeniable.

“Wait…”

Your voice cracked before she could finish.

“You’re going to get older.”

She didn’t answer.

“And I’m not.”

The words came out like something already breaking.

“I’ve watched everyone I’ve ever loved grow old,” you whispered, gripping her shirt tightly now, knuckles whitening. “I’ve buried people whose voices I can still hear. My family. My friends. People I thought I had more time with.”

Your breath hitched.

“I can’t do it again.”

Sevika’s expression softened in a way that made her look unbearably human.

“So you’ve been grieving me.”

You nodded once, small and shattered.

“I saw one grey hair…”

A broken sound left you.

“…and all I could see was everything still ahead of you.”

She pulled you closer again, like she could somehow keep you anchored through touch alone.

“You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s selfish.”

You laughed once, but it fell apart halfway through.

“I keep wishing time would stop.”

Your grip tightened again as your voice faltered.

“But it already feels like it never really moves for me.”

Sevika pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and lingering, like she was trying to steady something in both of you.

“So that’s why you’ve been pulling away.”

You nodded, unable to look at her.

“I thought if I loved you less now…”

Your voice cracked.

“…it would hurt less later.”

Her hand moved gently through your hair again.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

She rested her forehead against yours.

“You’ve been carrying something that was never meant to be carried alone.”

“I know.”

“It didn’t work?”

You shook your head, face crumpling as a disappointed breath slipped out of you. The last of your resistance fell away. Whatever hope you had left, collapsing in.

“No.”

Her thumb brushed another tear away.

She was quiet for several moments, holding you close, before carefully speaking again.

“What if there was another option?”

You frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“What if…” she exhaled slowly, choosing each word. “…you turned me.”

You went still.

Then shook your head immediately.

“No.”

“Hear me out.”

“No, Sevika.”

You pulled back just enough to see her face properly.

“I won’t.”

“You haven’t even-”

“I won’t.”

Your voice broke around the edges.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“I understand more than you think.”

“It hurts.”

“I know.”

“It changes you.”

“I know.”

“I’d be asking you to endure something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

Sevika’s eyes glistened as she watched you come apart in front of her, each fractured word seeming to break something inside of her too. Her heart aching as she watched you struggle to carry a grief you’d never meant for her to see.

“I’d have to watch you suffer because of me.”

You were crying again now.

“I’d have to bring you to the edge of death.”

Your hands shook violently.

“I would be making you into something that has to live forever.”

A choked sob escaped your lips.

“A monster.”

Sevika’s expression hardened.

“I’ve been married to you for years.”

She gently took your face between her hands.

“You have never been a monster.”

The way you looked at her incredulously damn near broke her heart.

“You only believe that because you love me.”

“I believe it because it’s true. Because I know you,” she added, softer now. “And I know what you are.”

You closed your eyes.

“You’d be giving up everything.”

“I would.”

“The people you’d outlive.”

Her determined gaze never left you.

“The loneliness.”

“I know.”

“The centuries.”

She nodded once.

“I’ve thought about all of it.”

A quiet beat.

“More than once.”

You opened your eyes again, searching her face.

“I’ve been thinking about it for months,” she admitted.

Your breath caught.

“What?”

“I noticed the way you looked at me,” she said gently. “Like you were already saying goodbye.”

Her hands tightened slightly around yours.

“And I kept asking myself what I’d choose.”

Her voice softened further.

“And every time I pictured a life without you at the end of it…”

She shook her head faintly.

“…it felt far lonelier than immortality ever could.”

Tears gathered in your eyes again.

“I don’t want forever because I’m afraid of dying.”

Sevika leaned forward until her forehead rested against yours.

Her voice was steady, certain.

“I want it because you’re my home. You’re the only place I’ve ever felt like I belong.”

-

Neither of you decided that night.

You promised each other you wouldn’t.

Instead, you talked.

The days blurred into one another, then stretched into weeks spent circling the same decision.

Every fear was spoken aloud between you, no matter how heavy it felt once it left your mouth. Every question was answered honestly, even the ones that made it harder to breathe afterwards, even the ones neither of you wanted to sit with for too long.

There were moments of silence too, long and thoughtful, where the weight of what you were considering settled between you like something almost tangible. But neither of you ran from it. Not anymore.

You told her things you had never once spoken out loud, not in all the centuries you had lived. Stories you had kept buried beneath everything else, because naming them made them real in a way you were never sure you could survive.

The first person you had lost. The way it had felt like something inside you had broken and never fully healed. The way every loss after that had carved its own hollow space inside you until you stopped believing anything could ever stay.

Centuries that should have felt full, but instead stretched on endlessly empty in ways you never knew how to explain.

The hunger that came with what you were. The grief that never dulled, only changed shape. The guilt of still being here, still continuing, while everyone you had ever loved eventually wasn’t.

Sevika listened to all of it without once interrupting you.

Sometimes her eyes would shine with tears she didn’t try to hide, as if she refused to let you carry any of it alone in the moment you were finally giving it voice. Other times she would simply sit with you in silence, her hand wrapped around yours, thumb moving in slow, grounding circles as though reminding you that you were still here, still present, still tethered to something real.

More than once, the words would catch in your throat and you would ask her to reconsider, voice breaking under the weight of everything you feared she would lose.

And more than once, she would lift your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles with a patience that never wavered, even when your doubt did.

“I’m not walking into this blindly, sweetheart,” she would say softly, her voice steady in a way that made your chest ache. “I’m choosing this knowing exactly what it means.”

-

Several weeks later, the bedroom glowed beneath the soft light of scattered candles, their flames dancing lazily against the walls as though even they understood the need for gentleness. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of melted wax and the familiar traces of Sevika that had long since become home.

The silence between you carried its own kind of tenderness, saying everything neither of you could quite put into words. The room was so quiet you could hear Sevika’s heartbeat from where you stood, its warm, steady rhythm echoing through the silence. It was so wonderfully, painfully human that your chest ached with every beat.

She had changed into the same shirt she’d worn the day the two of you first met. It was worn softer now, the fabric faded from years of washing, but you recognised it immediately.

You looked at her for a long moment before your voice found you.

“Why that one?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, impossibly fond.

“It felt right.”

The answer was so achingly simple that your composure threatened to splinter. Your eyes stung as you crossed the room, stopping just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from her without quite touching.

“You can still change your mind,” you whispered, your voice barely louder than the flickering candles. “We can walk away. We can pretend we never had this conversation.”

Her gaze never left yours.

“So can you.”

Neither of you spoke after that.

The quiet settled between you, cradling everything your hearts already understood and your voices no longer needed to say. Every conversation you’d shared over the past weeks lingered there. Every fear confessed in the middle of the night. Every tear. Every reassurance. Every chance you’d given her to leave.

Then Sevika closed the distance.

She slipped her hands into yours as naturally as she had a thousand times before, her thumbs brushing slow, familiar strokes across your knuckles until your trembling eased, if only a little.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she murmured.

Your throat tightened painfully.

“I love you.”

The words came out fragile, almost afraid, carrying every lifetime you’d lived before her and every lifetime you hoped would come after.

A smile softened Sevika’s face, the same crooked smile that had stolen your heart years ago and somehow still managed to make it skip.

“I know,” she whispered, lifting one of your hands to press a lingering kiss against your fingertips. “I love you too.”

You reached for her face with shaking hands, cradling her as though she were something infinitely precious. Your thumbs traced every familiar line, every scar, every curve you had committed to memory long ago, trying desperately to hold onto the feeling of warm skin beneath your palms. You searched her face as if you could preserve this version of her forever, knowing that in only a few moments, everything would begin to change.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, tears slipping free despite yourself. “For everything this will ask of you.”

Sevika leaned into your touch without hesitation, closing her eyes for a brief moment as your palms cupped her cheeks.

“No, darling girl.”

Her voice wrapped around you with the same quiet certainty that had carried you through every storm.

“I’m grateful for everything it will give us.”

She opened her eyes again, smiling with a tenderness that stole the air from your lungs before gently brushing away one of your tears with the back of her fingers.

“You’ve carried forever by yourself for long enough.”

Another tear escaped before you could stop it.

“You don’t have to anymore.”

The words settled deep inside you, somewhere the centuries of loneliness had never quite managed to reach.

Sevika stepped closer until there wasn’t even the smallest space between your bodies. She rested her forehead against yours, her arms wrapped around you as though she wanted you to feel just as held as she did.

“I trust you,” she whispered.

You closed your eyes, a soft scarlet glow lingering beneath your lashes.

Your fangs descended.

Your breath caught as your arms slowly wrapped around her, holding her with all the care in the world, afraid that if you loosened your grip for even a second, you’d lose the courage to do what she’d asked of you.

You pressed one last lingering kiss beneath her jaw, letting your lips rest there for a moment longer than necessary, silently saying goodbye to the woman whose heartbeat you had fallen asleep listening to so many nights before.

For most of your relationship, Sevika never questioned the eye patch.

You wore it every day. Sometimes it was plain black, sometimes decorated with little details you’d added yourself, but it was such a constant part of your appearance that she eventually stopped noticing it altogether. If there was a story behind it, she assumed you’d tell her when you were ready. Sevika wasn’t the type to pry, especially when it came to things that were clearly personal.

Months later, sitting together in your shared bedroom, you found yourself staring at your hands instead of the book you’d been pretending to read. The conversation had drifted off naturally, leaving the room quiet, and suddenly the secret you’d been carrying felt heavier than usual.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked.

Sevika immediately looked up from what she was doing. The tension in your voice was enough to make her set everything aside and focus entirely on you.

“Of course, baby. What is it?”

You swallowed hard. “The eye patch.”

Her brow furrowed slightly.

“What about it?”

You rubbed your palms against your knees, trying to calm your nerves. “I don’t wear it because of an injury.”

The words hung in the air. Sevika didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. She simply waited.

“I was born with strabismus,” you continued quietly. “My eye drifts when I relax it. If I look up or down, if I’m tired, sometimes if I’m not paying attention. I’ve dealt with it my entire life.”

The admission felt awful the moment it left your mouth. You hated how vulnerable it sounded, hated how quickly old embarrassment resurfaced. Years of stares, questions and careless comments had left you painfully aware of it. The eye patch had started as a way to avoid attention and eventually became something you felt safer hiding behind.

You laughed nervously and looked away. “Most people find it unsettling.”

The expression on Sevika’s face softened immediately.

“Who told you that?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t really need to. The answer was years and years of people noticing.

Sevika sighed and shifted closer. “Honey, you don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”

“I do. I want to.”

The words surprised even you, but they were true. You’d spent so much of your relationship trusting her with everything else. Somehow this remained the one thing you’d never managed to share.

With slightly shaking hands, you reached up and removed the eye patch.

Instantly, every instinct screamed at you to look away. Your stomach twisted as you waited for her reaction, already imagining disappointment, discomfort or that subtle shift people sometimes got when they noticed.

Instead, Sevika simply looked at you.

You searched her face for shock, disgust, anything that might signal she’d started seeing you differently. None of it was there.

Her gaze moved across your face with the same affection it always held, as though nothing had changed.

Finally, she let out a small huff of disbelief.

“That’s what you’ve been worrying about?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Sweetheart.” Her hand came up to cup your cheek. “You looked like you were about to confess to murder.”

Despite yourself, a startled laugh escaped you.

Sevika’s thumb brushed gently across your skin. “I mean it. I don’t care.”

Your eyes immediately started burning.

“I do.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I know you do.”

There wasn’t a trace of judgment in her voice. Only understanding.

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss beside your eye before resting her forehead against yours.

“I look at you every day and see the same woman I’ve always seen. The woman I fell in love with. This doesn’t change that.”

A tear slipped free before you could stop it.

“You don’t think it’s ugly?”

The question came out smaller than you intended.

Sevika looked genuinely confused.

“No.”

You searched her face for any sign she was lying and found none.

“No?” you repeated.

“No.” Her answer was immediate. “It’s just part of you.”

The simplicity of it nearly hurt.

Years of hiding. Years of carefully controlling photographs, avoiding certain angles and making sure people never saw your eye drift if you could help it. You had built it into something enormous inside your head, something shameful and impossible to ignore.

Sevika looked at you as though it was no more remarkable than the colour of your hair.

She wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against her side, pressing a kiss into your temple.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you’ve spent way too many years being cruel to yourself over something that never made you any less beautiful.”

You buried your face against her shoulder, overwhelmed by the relief washing through you.

Sevika simply held you there, steady and warm, her fingers slowly combing through your hair.

And when your eye drifted as you relaxed against her, she didn’t react at all.

She just kept holding you, as though nothing had changed.

• Your car breaking down in the middle of traffic should have been enough to ruin the entire day. You were already apologising, already spiralling over being late, already trying to figure out five different solutions at once. Sevika just rested a hand on your shoulder before climbing out.

“Pop the bonnet.”

While you worried about everyone honking behind you, she calmly directed traffic with one hand, pushed the car somewhere safe with the other, then called roadside assistance. By the time you started apologising again, she’d already found the nearest café, ordered you both something to drink, and shrugged.

“Cars break. World kept turning.”

• The coffee machine choosing that morning to sputter, hiss, and finally die after both of you had barely slept earned nothing more than a long stare from Sevika. Then she unplugged it, muttered, “Traitor,” under her breath, and reached for the kettle instead.

Ten minutes later you had instant coffee in your hands, breakfast on a plate, and she’d already looked up replacement parts. You were still mourning the machine while she’d completely adapted.

• You both slept through three alarms and woke up forty minutes later than you should have. You jolted upright in a panic while Sevika blinked once at the clock, rubbed her face, and immediately switched into problem-solving mode.

“You shower. I’ll call.”

By the time you were dressed, she’d already rearranged schedules, sent messages, packed your bag, and somehow still had time to kiss your forehead before walking out the door.

“See? Crisis downgraded.”

• Grocery bags splitting across the market floor and sending fruit rolling everywhere barely even registered for her. Before you could feel embarrassed, Sevika was already crouching beside you, picking everything up with complete indifference to the people walking past. If someone stopped to help, she’d thank them. If someone laughed, she’d ignore them. Then she’d hand you an unbruised apple with a tiny grin.

“Good catch.”

• The power going out halfway through making dinner only earned a sigh. She lit candles without making a fuss, checked the fuse box, confirmed it wasn’t your house, then declared the meal officially became “whatever doesn’t need electricity.”

Somehow you ended up eating sandwiches by candlelight while listening to the rain, and what had started as an inconvenience slowly became one of your favourite evenings together.

• If you accidentally locked your keys inside the house, she’d never join in the panic. She’d pat her pockets, produce her own keys with a raised eyebrow, and unlock the door without saying a word.

If both sets were inside? She’d call a locksmith, sit beside you on the front step, and start talking about completely unrelated things until they arrived because she knew giving your brain something else to focus on stopped anxiety from taking over.

• Flight delayed by four hours? She’d simply lean back in the airport chair and ask if you wanted to wander around. She’d find chargers, snacks, somewhere comfortable to sit, and somehow turn an airport into a place to people-watch together. You’d forget you were supposed to be miserable.

• Burnt dinner happened more often than either of you would admit. The smoke alarm would scream, you’d groan in defeat, and Sevika would already be opening windows with one hand while fanning the alarm with a tea towel.

Once the smoke cleared, she’d wrap an arm around your waist, look at the blackened pan, and say, “Takeaway was sounding better anyway.”

• She had a remarkable ability to make problems feel smaller simply because she never matched your panic. If your voice climbed an octave, hers got softer. If your thoughts started racing ahead to every possible worst-case scenario, she’d gently bring you back to the next step.

“We’ll deal with this one first.”

It was never dismissive. She simply refused to let your mind carry ten problems when only one actually existed.

• One of your favourite things about being married to her was that she never treated inconvenience like failure. A bad day wasn’t proof you’d done something wrong. A broken appliance wasn’t the universe punishing you. Missing a meeting wasn’t the end of your career. Things happened. Plans changed. You adjusted and kept going. She carried that belief so naturally, that over time, you found yourself borrowing it too.

• Even when she was exhausted herself, she somehow made everything feel possible. She’d squeeze your hand, bump her shoulder against yours, and give you that small, reassuring smile that always settled something inside your chest.

“We’ll figure it out.”

• Nobody understands how you and Sevika ended up together. You’re all sunshine, excitement, and endless optimism. She’s intimidating, grumpy, and looks like she’d rather bite someone than speak to them. The running joke around Zaun is that Sevika accidentally adopted you and somehow ended up married instead.

• You make friends everywhere. It doesn’t matter whether someone is a bartender, a chem-runner, a gang member, or an old woman feeding pigeons. Within five minutes you’re chatting away like you’ve known them for years. Half the people in Zaun know you by name, and the other half have probably been given a compliment by you at some point.

• You genuinely see the best in everyone. Sometimes to a frustrating degree. Someone is rude and you assume they’re having a bad day. Someone steals from you and you’re worried they must have been desperate.

Sevika thinks you’re far too trusting, but she also secretly adores that you’ve managed to stay kind despite growing up in Zaun. She loves watching people visibly relax around you and she loves that you never expect anything in return for your kindness.

• Sevika has absolutely no resistance when it comes to you. Nobody else gets away with half the things you do. You’ll interrupt important conversations to show her a particularly friendly pigeon, drag her across a market because you saw something interesting, or climb into her lap in the middle of the Last Drop. The most you’ll get is a grumble before she pulls you closer.

• Physical affection is your favourite thing in the world. If Sevika is sitting down, you’re attached to her somehow. The regulars at the Last Drop are completely used to seeing you perched on her lap while she drinks or standing behind her chair with your arms wrapped around her shoulders and your cheek resting against her head.

If you wander away for too long, her hand is already reaching for you the moment you come back within arm’s reach, settling you against her like it’s second nature.

• Ear scratches are your greatest weakness. The first time Sevika discovered it was an accident. One brush of her fingers behind your ear and you practically melted into a puddle against her side. Now she uses that information constantly.

Bad day? Her fingers find your ears. Feeling anxious? Gentle scratches and slow strokes through your hair. Falling asleep on her shoulder? She keeps one hand absentmindedly rubbing behind your ears. You’re mad at her? Somehow, a few minutes later, you’re leaning into her touch before you even realise she’s winning.

She’ll never admit how much she enjoys watching you completely forget what you were saying halfway through.

• You have a habit of collecting people. Strays, lonely regulars at the Last Drop, neighbours, random children, injured animals. If something looks sad, you want to help it. Sevika has come home more than once to find you’ve somehow acquired another creature that now apparently lives with you.

• Sometimes people make comments about you being a canine Vastaya. Most stop the moment Sevika looks at them, but occasionally someone is stupid enough to keep going.

What hurts isn’t usually the insult itself. It’s the fact that you genuinely don’t understand why someone would want to be unkind. Sevika hates seeing that look on your face. The confused, wounded expression when you’re trying to figure out why somebody chose cruelty.

She always shuts it down immediately and makes it very clear that nobody gets to speak about her wife that way.

• Sevika is fiercely protective of you, though not because she thinks you’re weak. You’re more than capable of handling yourself. She just can’t stand seeing people take advantage of your good nature. She knows exactly how soft your heart is and she’ll gladly become the villain of the story if it means protecting it.

• Everybody assumes Sevika is the intimidating one in the marriage. Then they walk into your home and discover a perfectly cleaned fox skull on the bookshelf, jars of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, an entire collection of ethically sourced bones, and you happily explaining the difference between crow skulls and possum skulls with the enthusiasm of someone discussing flower arrangements.

• Sevika has never once been bothered by your interests. She grew up in the Undercity. Bones? Dead things? Strange herbs? Compared to half the people she used to deal with, your hobbies are downright wholesome. She’d much rather come home to you polishing an old animal skull than find you mixed up in Zaun’s politics.

• Horror movies are your comfort movies. While everyone else jumps, you’re already curled across Sevika’s chest, completely relaxed, commenting on the practical effects or guessing who’s about to die next. Half the time you don’t even make it to the ending because you’ve fallen asleep sprawled over her, cheek tucked against her shoulder while some haunted house screams away in the background.

• Sevika still laughs every time she looks down and realises you’ve somehow managed to doze off during the loudest, bloodiest scene imaginable. You’re sleeping peacefully while someone’s getting chased through the woods, one of your hands loosely wrapped around her shirt, because apparently chainsaws and blood-curdling screams are the perfect white noise.

• Bugs have never bothered you. In fact, they’re friends. If there’s a moth fluttering around the apartment, you’re immediately cupping it in your hands to carry it outside, whispering sweet little apologies because the poor thing got lost. Sevika has walked in more than once to find you holding a beetle like you’d just met a celebrity.

• The pigeons and crows absolutely adore you, which Sevika finds endlessly amusing. Somehow you’ve befriended every slightly scruffy bird in the neighbourhood. They recognise you. They follow you. Some even land near your feet when they see you coming, and Sevika swears they look offended whenever she tags along.

• Your pockets are… concerning. Normal people carry keys or spare change. You carry feathers, old bones, shiny rocks, tiny glass bottles, dried flowers, bits of moss, and occasionally a very interesting stick you found thirty minutes earlier. Sevika has stopped questioning why every coat you own rattles.

• Your crystal collection has slowly taken over the house. They sit on windowsills, shelves, bedside tables, and tucked between books. Sevika doesn’t really know what half of them are supposed to do, but she’ll absolutely text you a picture from a market with, “Pretty rock. You want?” Nine times out of ten, the answer is yes.

• The first time Sevika found you carefully grinding herbs together in the kitchen, she leaned against the doorway and asked, “Making tea?”

You didn’t even look up.

“No.”

“…Medicine?”

“Cursing my enemies.”

Sevika blinked once.

“…Need any help?”

• She never knows whether you’re joking, and honestly? She’s happier that way.

• Sometimes she’ll come home to find candles lit around the living room, herbs spread across the table, little bottles lined up in neat rows, and you muttering under your breath while stirring something with complete concentration. She’ll quietly set her jacket down, kiss the top of your head, and ask if the ritual requires snacks.

• If anyone ever insults your hobbies to your face, Sevika is immediately offended on your behalf. You’re not hurting anyone. You’re collecting interesting things, making little potions, reading about folklore, and rescuing moths from light fixtures. Leave her wife alone.

• You absolutely steal her giant jackets because they have the best pockets for gathering treasures during walks. Sevika has learned to check every pocket before doing laundry because she’s found feathers, animal vertebrae, dried mushrooms, crystals, and once, an entire abandoned bird’s nest you’d been meaning to identify.

• Despite all your spooky interests, you’re ridiculously gentle. Every tiny creature gets relocated instead of squashed. Every bone you collect is cleaned with care and treated respectfully. You thank the plants you harvest. You apologise when you accidentally step on flowers. There’s something incredibly soft beneath all the dark aesthetics, and Sevika loves seeing that side of you.

• Sometimes you’ll climb into Sevika’s lap carrying a huge book about folklore or old superstitions, excitedly reading aloud stories about ghosts, forest spirits, or forgotten rituals. She doesn’t always follow every detail, but she loves listening to your voice when you’re passionate about something.

• On rainy evenings, the apartment feels like its own little sanctuary. Candles flicker across the room, herbs and flowers dry from hooks near the window, crystals catch the warm light, and an old horror movie plays softly in the background. You’re tucked against Sevika beneath a blanket, one hand absentmindedly tracing circles over her arm while explaining some obscure bit of mythology you learned that morning. She smiles into your hair, thinking the place has never felt more like home.

• Every now and then she’ll catch someone giving you an uncertain look after hearing about your hobbies. Then she’ll wrap an arm around your waist, pull you close, and say with complete confidence, “She’s weird.”

You look up at her with a grin.

“You’re married to weird.”

Sevika kisses your forehead without missing a beat.

The first time Sevika heard you sing, she barely spared you a glance.

She was in the middle of a card game, one boot hooked around the leg of her chair, half listening to the usual chatter filling the Last Drop. It wasn’t the loud, overcrowded place it would one day become. Back then, it belonged to the people who lived nearby. Factory workers stopping in after long shifts. Friends sharing drinks. Familiar faces who knew Vander by name and treated the bar like an extension of their own homes.

Your voice simply drifted into the room.

Warm and easy, gently carrying through the room without ever demanding attention, but pleasant enough that conversations naturally softened around it.

“She’s new,” someone at the table muttered.

Sevika hummed in acknowledgement, laying another card onto the table.

Then you laughed between songs.

The sound carried across the room, bright and unguarded, and she found herself looking over before she could stop herself.

That was the beginning of the problem.

-

You only sang a few nights each week.

Sometimes accompanied by an old guitar. Sometimes an out-of-tune piano tucked into the corner. It was never anything formal. The Last Drop wasn’t the kind of place people came for a performance. You simply added something warm to the atmosphere, another familiar comfort alongside the crackling fireplace and Vander’s cooking.

Before long, Sevika realised she’d started arriving a little earlier on the nights you performed.

Not because of you.

The card games just happened to start around the same time.

Probably.

When your final song ended, Vander would always slide a glass across the bar before you even had the chance to ask.

“Courtesy of table three.”

You’d already know who it was from.

Every single time.

You’d carry the drink over with a smile that somehow made the dimly lit bar feel brighter.

“You know,” you’d say as you sat down beside her, “one of these days I’m going to start thinking you actually like me.”

Sevika wouldn’t even look up from her cards.

“It’s one drink.”

“You’ve bought me one every week.”

“You worked.”

“So did you.”

“I was playing cards.”

“Mhm. Very demanding.”

A quiet snort escaped Sevika before she could catch it.

You noticed.

Your grin only grew.

-

It became routine before either of you realised it.

You’d spend an hour talking after your set had finished, long after the microphone had been packed away.

Sometimes you chatted with the whole table. Other nights it ended up being just the two of you while everyone else slowly filtered home.

You learned Sevika had an unfair talent for cards and an even greater talent for pretending she wasn’t cheating.

She learned you could spend twenty minutes talking about stray cats you’d met walking to the bar.

You stole chips from her plate almost every visit.

She’d grumble under her breath and quietly slide the basket closer anyway.

Vander noticed long before either of you did.

“You waiting on someone?” he’d ask whenever Sevika wandered in early.

“No.”

“You’ve been looking at the door every thirty seconds.”

“I have not.”

“Hm.”

He’d polish another glass, hiding a smile behind it.

Then, right on cue, the front door would open.

Your eyes would scan the room for all of two seconds before landing on Sevika.

“There you are.”

As though that was always where you expected to find her.

Sevika never understood why those three little words lingered with her long after you’d said them.

-

Weeks turned into months.

The regulars stopped asking if you knew each other.

Instead, they simply left the chair beside Sevika empty.

If someone happened to sit there first, they’d usually move with a knowing smile once you made your way over.

Neither of you questioned it.

It was simply where you sat now.

-

“You’ve got a crush.”

Sevika nearly inhaled her drink.

Vander leaned casually against the bar, drying a glass with the sort of patience that came from raising more than a few stubborn people.

“I don’t.”

“You’ve bought her three drinks tonight.”

“Two.”

“…You counted.”

“I counted because you’re wrong.”

Vander chuckled.

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a crush.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

-

She absolutely did not have a crush.

She just…

Liked hearing your voice.

Liked the way your eyes searched the room until they found her after every set.

Liked how you always chose the chair beside hers even when there were plenty of empty seats.

Liked that your laugh sounded different when it was just the two of you.

That wasn’t a crush.

It was…

Convenience.

Right?

-

It was late by the time the last few customers remained.

The lamps had been turned down low, leaving the Last Drop wrapped in a comfortable amber glow. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and the only sounds inside were quiet conversations, the shuffle of cards across worn timber, and the occasional clink of glasses being collected behind the bar.

You had long since finished singing.

Now you sat beside Sevika with your elbows resting on the table, attempting to follow the game despite never remembering the rules.

“You absolutely made that one up.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I won.”

“That’s not evidence.”

“It is.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“You are impossible.”

“And yet,” Sevika replied, laying another card down, “you’re still sitting here.”

“Free drinks.”

“Liar.”

Your smile softened.

“Maybe.”

The conversation drifted on, but your responses became slower as the night wore on.

Every so often you rubbed at your eyes.

A yawn escaped before you could hide it.

Sevika noticed immediately.

“Tired?”

“I’m alright.”

“You’ve yawned five times.”

“I’ve yawned… maybe two.”

“You lost count.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

“You mean falling asleep.”

“I’m listening.”

“You just called a king a bartender.”

Your face scrunched up.

“…Did I?”

“You did.”

“Huh.”

She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

It disappeared the second she realised it was there.

Another hand was dealt.

The room had grown so comfortable that silence settled naturally between conversations.

Without thinking, you leaned sideways until your shoulder brushed hers.

Sevika didn’t move.

A few moments later, your head followed.

It rested gently against her shoulder, warm through the fabric of her cape.

She glanced sideways.

Your eyes had already slipped closed.

Your breathing slowed, evening out with each passing second until the last traces of conversation faded from your expression altogether.

You’d fallen asleep.

Sevika went completely still.

Careful.

As though even breathing too deeply might wake you.

One of your hands had loosely curled around her forearm sometime after you’d drifted off, holding on without even realising it.

Across the room, Vander looked up while stacking clean glasses.

His eyes flicked from you to Sevika.

Then he smiled.

He looked at you both with a soft fondness.

He quietly waved away one of the regulars who looked ready to call across the room, earning himself a confused look before the man noticed you sleeping.

Understanding spread around the room almost instantly.

Conversations dropped another notch.

Someone closed the front door a little more gently after stepping outside.

No one said a word.

Sevika looked down at you again.

A loose strand of hair had fallen across your face.

After a moment’s hesitation, she reached up with surprising care and tucked it behind your ear.

You sighed softly, nestling just a fraction closer against her shoulder.

Her heart lurched so hard it almost annoyed her.

She’d fought enforcers without blinking.

She’d walked away from broken bones.

None of that compared to the terrifying warmth spreading through her chest because you trusted her enough to fall asleep like this.

She wasn’t trapped. Nothing held her there, nothing kept her still. She could have moved at any moment.

She didn’t.

Her cards sat forgotten on the table. Her drink had gone untouched. The game had long since ended without her noticing.

Across the bar, Vander caught her eye again.

This time, he didn’t raise an eyebrow or tease her.

He simply gave the smallest, knowing smile before returning to drying another glass.

Sevika looked back down at you, still fast asleep against her shoulder, your fingers loosely wrapped around her arm as though it was the safest place in the world.

For the first time since you’d walked into the Last Drop all those months ago, she stopped trying to explain away the feeling sitting heavily in her chest.

There wasn’t another excuse left to hide behind.

Father’s Day always managed to sneak up on you.

You could know it was coming weeks in advance. You could see the displays in shop windows, the advertisements online, the cheerful signs hanging from every second storefront. Somehow it still hit like a surprise every year.

Maybe because there wasn’t really a way to prepare for it.

By the time you and Sevika had settled onto the couch that morning, your tea had already gone cold in your hands. The television was playing some mindless programme neither of you were paying attention to, and your phone sat face-down on the coffee table after one too many Father’s Day posts appeared on your feed.

Sevika noticed.

Of course she did.

She always noticed.

You hadn’t said much all morning. Your smiles were smaller. Your shoulders sat a little tighter than usual. Every now and then she’d catch you staring off into space with a distant look in your eyes before you quickly shook yourself out of it.

She didn’t bring it up immediately.

Instead, she shifted closer until your thighs touched on the couch. Her metal arm settled across the back cushions behind you, creating a familiar weight at your shoulder.

The contact helped.

It always did.

You leaned against her without really thinking about it.

A few minutes later, her fingers began absentmindedly rubbing slow circles against your upper arm.

“Rough day?” she asked.

The gentleness in her voice nearly undid you.

You swallowed hard and stared down at your mug.

“Just Father’s Day.”

The words sounded smaller spoken aloud.

Sevika went quiet.

You’d been married long enough for her to understand exactly what those three words meant.

You felt her shift beside you before strong arms wrapped around your waist and guided you sideways until you were tucked securely against her chest.

The movement was so natural that you barely registered it happening.

One second you were sitting beside her.

The next you were folded into her lap with your cheek pressed against her shoulder.

Sevika kissed the top of your head.

Then she kissed it again.

And again.

You laughed weakly despite yourself.

“What was that for?”

“Felt like it.”

Her hand settled against the back of your neck, thumb brushing through your hair.

The warmth behind your eyes started building again.

“I hate this day,” you admitted.

The confession came out quieter than you intended.

Sevika’s grip tightened immediately.

“I know, honey.”

You buried your face against her shoulder.

It was embarrassing, really.

You were grown. Married. Loved beyond anything you’d ever imagined possible.

And yet every year there was still a part of you that mourned something you’d never really had.

A father who showed up.

A father who cared.

A father who made you feel wanted.

You hated how much it still affected you.

“I should be over it by now.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Sevika’s hand slid up to cup your jaw.

She guided your face upward until you were looking at her.

The expression waiting for you was heartbreakingly soft.

“Why?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Why should you be over it?”

Her thumb brushed over your furrowed brow.

“You don’t get over growing up without the things you needed.”

Your throat tightened.

Sevika continued before you could look away.

“You deserved someone who looked after you.”

Her voice remained steady, certain.

“You deserved somebody who made you feel safe. Somebody who showed up when they promised they would. Somebody who loved you the way a kid’s supposed to be loved.”

The tears you’d been fighting all morning finally spilled over.

Immediately, Sevika gathered you closer.

One hand cradled the back of your head while the other rubbed slow paths across your spine.

You cried into her shirt.

The tears fell without restraint, carrying years of hurt that had never really found a place to go.

Through all of it, she stayed exactly where she was.

Holding you.

Grounding you.

Making space for every feeling you usually tried to push away.

Eventually your breathing steadied.

The tears slowed.

You remained curled against her chest while her fingers combed lazily through your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Sevika snorted.

“For what?”

“For being sad.”

Her entire body seemed to freeze.

When she pulled back enough to look at you, genuine disbelief crossed her face.

“Sweetheart.”

The endearment landed against your heart with familiar warmth.

“You never have to apologise for hurting.”

You looked down at your hands.

A moment later, Sevika lifted one of your hands, her touch unhurried and full of affection. She placed a soft kiss against every single knuckle until you couldn’t stop the small smile pulling at your mouth.

Sevika’s eyes warmed the moment she caught the hint of a smile on your face.

The fondness in her expression made your chest ache.

You watched her for a second before leaning forward and resting your forehead against hers.

“I got lucky with you.”

Sevika’s expression softened instantly.

Her hand slid to your cheek.

“No, baby.”

She pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You got what you should’ve had all along.”

You felt her thumb stroke gently across your skin.

“Someone who loves you.”

The words settled deep, anchoring themselves somewhere tender and sore, wrapped in the certainty that Sevika never seemed to run out of and gave so freely.

You closed your eyes as she wrapped her arms around you again, letting yourself sink into the safety of her embrace.

Outside, Father’s Day continued on as it always did.

• Everybody expects Sevika to be the one dragging you away from fights. It’s usually the opposite.

• Sevika is built like a tank, but you have absolutely no self-preservation when someone mouths off.

• Half the Undercity has watched Sevika wrap an arm around your waist and physically carry you away while you yell over her shoulder, “PUT ME DOWN, I WASN’T FINISHED.”

• You have the kind of confidence that borders on reckless. You see someone twice your size and immediately think, Yeah, I could take them.

• Sevika sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, and follows because she already knows she’s about to be involved.

• You’re terrifying in completely different ways. Sevika is calm before a fight. Cold. Calculating. You burn hot. Loud, sharp, impossible to intimidate.

• Watching the two of you fight together is like watching a wildfire beside an avalanche.

• You both have the habit of stepping between each other and danger. It leads to constant arguments.

“I had it handled.”

”So did I.”

• Neither of you knows how to back down.

• An argument between the two of you is spectacular. Voices raised. Stubbornness reaching dangerous levels. Then somebody mutters, “We’re both being idiots.”

Usually it’s you. Sevika is too proud.

• You’re ridiculously competitive. Pool, cards, arm wrestling, throwing knives. Winning matters far less than beating her.

• You absolutely steal her mechanical arm. She’ll be looking for it while you’re across the room pretending to be her.

“You’re breathing too loud,” you grumble in your deepest voice. Sevika doesn’t even look up.

“Put my arm back.”

• If someone flirts with Sevika, you appear beside her so quickly people swear you teleported. Arms folded. Eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

Sevika has to hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

• Sevika secretly loves that you never expect her to protect you because you know perfectly well you’re capable of handling yourself. When she does step in, it’s because she chooses to, not because she thinks you need saving.

• The two of you communicate frighteningly well in a fight. A glance. A nod. You’re already moving. It’s almost unfair for everyone else.

• You’re covered in scars of all sizes and shapes. Every single one has a story. Sevika has heard every story at least three times. She loves it because you tell them with the same enthusiasm every time.

• You call each other out constantly. Nobody else gets away with telling Sevika she’s being stubborn. You do. Nobody else tells you you’re about to do something incredibly stupid. Sevika does.

• Neither of you listens immediately. You usually realise the other was right an hour later.

• The first time someone threatened you in front of Sevika, you laughed before she could react.

”You picked the wrong wife.”

Sevika had never fallen in love with you harder.

• You’re both fiercely protective, but it comes out differently. Sevika stands in front of you. You stand beside her. You’d rather face whatever’s coming together than have either of you bear it alone.

• Underneath all the bravado, you’re complete softies with each other. The rest of Zaun sees sharp edges, dirty boots and bruised knuckles.

• At home, you’re stealing kisses while making dinner, arguing over whose turn it is to make tea, and sprawling across Sevika the moment she sits down because she’s warm and you’re convinced your rightful place is draped over your wife.

You had been doing better.

The past few months hadn’t been easy, but they’d been manageable. You’d found yourself laughing more often. Getting through tasks without needing to spend hours convincing yourself to start them. There had even been mornings where you’d woken up and realised the heaviness wasn’t waiting for you the second you opened your eyes.

You’d started trusting it.

Started believing you were finally climbing out of that hole.

Which was why sitting at the kitchen table with tears slipping down your face felt so frightening.

Nothing had happened.

You were reading a book one minute and struggling to breathe the next.

The despair arrived so quickly it left you reeling.

It settled over everything you looked at, turning familiar rooms into something distant and wrong. Your chest ached. Your stomach twisted. Every thought felt sharper than it should have been.

You closed your book.

You tried making tea.

You forgot about it halfway through and found yourself standing in the kitchen staring at nothing.

The feeling only grew.

You drifted to the couch, pulling your knees to your chest beneath a blanket. The house felt unbearably empty without Sevika in it.

Normally you liked having time to yourself.

Today every room seemed to remind you that you were alone.

Your phone sat beside you.

You picked it up.

Put it down.

Picked it up again.

You hated this.

You hated admitting it.

You hated how scared you felt.

Eventually your thumb found Sevika’s contact.

Vika, something’s wrong.

The message sat there for several seconds before you sent another.

I feel horrible.

A third followed almost immediately.

Please baby, I need you. I don’t think I should be by myself right now.

The response came before you could second-guess yourself.

On my way.

Your eyes burned.

You read it again.

On my way.

Sevika hadn’t asked what happened or whether it could wait. She hadn’t needed an explanation before deciding. The moment she realised you needed her, she was already coming home.

On my way.

You curled further beneath the blanket and tried to keep yourself together while you waited.

The attempt didn’t last very long.

By the time the front door opened, your face was buried in a cushion and your entire body felt exhausted from crying.

“Sweetheart?”

The sound of Sevika’s voice cracked something open inside you.

A shaky breath escaped.

You heard her boots crossing the floor.

Then she was there.

One second you were alone on the couch.

The next her hands were cupping your face.

Concern pulled at every line of her expression as she looked you over.

Her gaze flicked across tear-stained cheeks, trembling hands, reddened eyes.

“Oh, honey.”

The words left her in a rush.

She sat down immediately and gathered you against her chest before you could even think about moving.

The relief was overwhelming.

You buried your face against her shoulder and clung to her shirt.

Sevika wrapped both arms around you, holding you so securely that it felt impossible to fall apart completely.

“I’m here,” she murmured, pressing a kiss into your hair.

Another followed.

Then another.

“I’m right here, baby.”

You could feel her heart hammering beneath your cheek.

She’d rushed.

Probably left work halfway through something important.

Probably driven home far faster than she should have.

The guilt surfaced immediately.

“I’m sorry.”

The words came out muffled against her shoulder.

Sevika pulled back enough to frown at you.

“For what?”

“I made you come home.”

A look crossed her face that made your chest ache.

She reached up and brushed damp hair away from your forehead.

“You needed me.”

The answer arrived so quickly it was clear she hadn’t even considered another response.

Then her attention shifted into something practical.

Sevika had always been like that.

The moment someone she loved was hurting, every protective instinct she possessed woke up.

Her hand settled against your cheek.

“When did you last eat?”

You blinked.

“I don’t know.”

Her frown deepened.

“That’s what I thought.”

Before you could protest, she carefully untangled herself from you.

The separation lasted all of thirty seconds.

Long enough for her to disappear into the kitchen and return carrying a bottle of water and a packet of crackers.

She pressed the water into your hands first.

“Drink.”

You obeyed automatically.

Satisfied, Sevika settled back onto the couch and pulled you directly into her lap.

One strong arm wrapped around your waist while the other adjusted the blanket around both of you until you were tucked securely against her chest.

Only then did she seem remotely willing to relax.

You managed half a cracker before your appetite vanished again.

Sevika didn’t push.

She simply kissed your temple and rested her chin on top of your head.

The steady rise and fall of her breathing filled the silence between you.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

Whenever tears threatened again, Sevika brushed them away with her thumb.

Whenever your thoughts started spiralling, her hand found yours.

You became increasingly aware that she hadn’t let go of you once.

Not for a second.

At some point you noticed her phone vibrating on the coffee table.

The screen lit up.

Then again.

And again.

Sevika ignored every call.

You watched it happen several times before finally speaking.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?”

“No.”

The response was immediate.

“Sevika.”

She pressed a kiss against your forehead.

“I know exactly where I should be.”

Your eyes stung.

The phone buzzed again.

Sevika reached over.

For a brief moment you thought she was finally going to answer.

Instead she switched it off entirely and tossed it onto the far end of the couch.

“There.”

You couldn’t help a watery laugh.

A small smile tugged at her mouth.

“Much better.”

The sadness remained.

That was the hardest part.

You were curled up in your wife’s arms. She was holding you so close you could feel every breath she took. Her hand was stroking slowly through your hair.

And still everything hurt.

Your throat tightened.

“I thought I was getting better.”

Sevika’s fingers paused briefly before resuming their path through your hair.

“You are getting better, sweetheart.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Her arm tightened around your waist.

You felt her lips brush your forehead.

“You know what I think?”

You shrugged weakly.

“I think you’ve been fighting for such a long time. It makes sense that some days are harder than others.”

Her fingers slipped beneath your chin, encouraging you to look at her.

“And I think today was a particularly awful day. And that’s okay. You will get through this.”

Tears gathered again.

The gentleness in her eyes nearly undid you.

“What if it keeps happening?”

The question emerged before you could stop it.

“What if I end up right back where I was?”

Sevika looked at you for several moments.

Then she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against yours.

“You call me.”

A kiss against your brow.

“You tell me.”

Another against your cheek.

“And if you’re scared to be alone, sweetheart, then I come home.”

The certainty in her voice wrapped around your heart. There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in it, only the unwavering promise that Sevika would always come when you needed her.

You let out a shaky breath.

Sevika’s expression softened further.

“You don’t have to earn being looked after.”

Your eyes immediately filled again.

“Oh, baby.”

She pulled you closer.

“You’ve been carrying so much for so long, sweetheart.”

One hand slid across your back in slow, soothing strokes.

“You fight through it every day.”

Another kiss found your hairline.

“You don’t have to fight me too.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest.

For a while neither of you spoke.

You remained curled against her, tucked beneath blankets while evening gradually filled the house. Sevika kept one arm around your waist the entire time, occasionally reaching up to smooth your hair back or press absent-minded kisses against your temple whenever she thought you needed one.

Eventually she convinced you to eat something slightly more substantial than crackers.

She ordered the comfort food she knew you could usually manage on difficult days.

When it arrived, she sat beside you and stole bites from your plate solely because she knew you always ate a little more when she did.

Later, when exhaustion finally began catching up with you, Sevika guided you toward the bedroom with a hand resting securely against your lower back.

The second you were both under the blankets, she opened her arms.

You moved into them automatically.

Her embrace closed around you, and the steady weight of her arms made it easier to breathe. Every touch carried the same unwavering affection that Sevika poured into even the smallest moments between you.

She kissed your forehead and settled deeper into the pillows.

“Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You listened to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your ear.

The sadness hadn’t disappeared.

You suspected it would still be waiting for you in the morning.

Yet surrounded by Sevika’s affection, held so carefully by the woman who loved you with her entire heart, the weight felt lighter than it had a few hours ago.

It started with one scar.

A thin silver line crossing Sevika’s shoulder that caught your attention while the two of you were curled together on the couch. You’d traced it absentmindedly at first, following the faded mark with the tip of your finger as you rested against her side, half sprawled across her without a shred of shame. One of Sevika’s arms was stretched along the back cushions behind you while the other rested across her stomach, metal fingers occasionally flexing as she relaxed beneath your weight.

Somewhere along the way, your attention had become completely consumed by that single scar.

Twenty minutes later, your finger was still following the same pale streak and Sevika had long since abandoned pretending she wasn’t aware of your staring.

“Honey.”

“Mhm?”

Amusement tugged at the corner of Sevika’s mouth as she looked down at you.

“You know you’ve been petting the same scar for ages, right?”

You glanced up briefly before looking straight back at her shoulder.

“I’m aware.”

The pad of your finger followed the smooth ridge from one end to the other before retracing the journey again, fascinated by the way it disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt.

“You’ve got that look.”

You glanced up.

“What look?”

“The one where you’ve found something new to obsess over.”

“I’m admiring you.”

A slow grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

Your finger drifted over the scar again, gentler this time.

“What happened here?”

Sevika followed your gaze before huffing a quiet laugh through her nose.

“First proper bar fight.”

“First?”

“There were plenty after.”

You smiled against her shoulder.

“I should’ve known.”

The story came easily after that. A drunken argument. Someone deciding to pull a knife. Sevika being far too stubborn to back down. As she spoke, your fingers continued their slow exploration, tracing the shape of the old injury while imagining the younger version of her who’d walked away carrying it.

When she finished, you pressed a soft kiss to the scar.

Something about the gesture made her pause.

The smugness faded from her expression, giving way to something softer as she watched you.

You didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe you did.

Your attention had already wandered to another scar lower on her arm.

“What about this one?”

Sevika sighed dramatically.

“You’re gonna make me tell the story behind every scar I’ve got, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

“There’s a lot of them.”

You smiled.

“I know.”

The answer came so softly that something in her chest tightened.

Because you did know.

You’d memorised them over the years.

Every mark. Every faded line. Every injury that had healed crooked or stubbornly refused to disappear entirely.

Most people saw the intimidating parts of Sevika first.

The size of her.

The muscle.

The mechanical arm.

The scars.

You looked at those same things with open affection, as though they were some of your favourite things about her.

As though they were simply pieces of the woman you loved.

Your fingertips skimmed down her forearm, following another weathered mark.

Her breath hitched and stomach fluttered as a ripple of sensation travelled down her spine.

Small.

Barely noticeable.

Except your eyes immediately flicked upward.

Sevika groaned.

“Don’t.”

A grin spread across your face.

“Was that a shiver?”

“No.”

“It absolutely was.”

“It wasn’t.”

Your fingers followed the scar again, unhurried and deliberate. Tracing its path with such focused care that a quiet sigh escaped her before she could stop it.

This time the reaction was impossible to miss.

You felt the muscles in her arm tense before relaxing again beneath your touch.

Another pleasant tremor rolled through Sevika, tingling beneath her skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Warmth unfurled through her chest.

The look on your face became unbearably pleased.

Sevika buried her face in her hand.

“You are insufferable.”

“You love me.”

Unfortunately, you were correct.

Her hand found your thigh and squeezed lightly, thumb brushing back and forth across the fabric there. The contact felt automatic at this point. She was always touching you somehow. A hand on your leg. Your waist. The small of your back. Any excuse to keep you close.

Meanwhile, you had migrated almost entirely into her space.

Your cheek rested against her shoulder now as you traced another scar near her ribs.

The story behind this one was longer.

A job gone wrong.

Bad information.

A building collapse.

You listened intently to every word.

Your focus never wavered as she spoke. Hearing the stories behind her scars felt strangely intimate, each one revealing a little more about the life she’d built, survived, and carried with her into the future you now shared.

Your hand flattened against her side as she spoke, fingertips brushing absent patterns across warm skin.

The more you touched her, the more Sevika relaxed.

Her shoulders loosened.

Her head tipped back against the couch.

Her eyes drifted half-closed.

Years ago, she would’ve hated this.

Being examined.

Being looked at.

Being vulnerable enough to let someone trace every scar she’d collected throughout her life.

Then she’d married you.

Now she practically melted beneath your hands.

Your touch had never carried the hesitation or unease she’d once expected from others. Every brush of your fingertips, every lingering glance, every kiss pressed against an old scar was filled with the same unwavering affection that had been there from the beginning.

It felt embarrassingly good.

Especially when your nails lightly skimmed over the edges of older scars, sending another warm spark through her body.

“You really like doing that, don’t you?”

A smile pulled at your lips.

“Maybe.”

“Brat.”

You laughed softly before leaning forward and pressing a lingering kiss against her shoulder.

Then another against her collarbone.

Then another to an old scar beneath it.

Each one made something inside Sevika soften further.

By the time you settled back against her side, she looked thoroughly content, one large hand buried in your hair while her thumb lazily stroked your temple.

For several minutes neither of you spoke.

You simply explored the stories written into her skin.

And she simply let you.

Eventually, her gaze dropped to your arm where a small scar sat near your elbow.

Unlike most of Sevika’s scars, this one was small enough that most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it. Time had softened it into a faint mark near your elbow, the sort of scar that blended into skin unless someone was looking closely.

Sevika brushed her thumb across it.

“What about this one?”

You immediately groaned.

A dangerous smile appeared.

“Oh, we’re doing this.”

“Vikaaaa.”

“What happened?”

You buried your face against her chest.

The vibrations of her laugh rumbled beneath your cheek.

“I fell out of a tree.”

She paused.

“How old were you?”

You hesitated.

That hesitation alone was enough.

Her eyebrows rose.

“How old?”

“Twenty.”

The laugh that escaped her was loud enough to echo through the apartment.

You covered your face.

“It looked climbable!”

“You were twenty.”

“I know!”

She was still laughing.

Actually laughing.

The sound filled the room and warmed something deep in your chest.

When she finally recovered, she pointed at another scar on your knee.

“This one.”

“Oh.”

You winced.

“I tripped over absolutely nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“There wasn’t even an obstacle.”

Sevika pressed her forehead against yours, shoulders shaking with another round of laughter.

“You are unbelievable.”

You couldn’t even argue.

The next scar came from walking into a glass door.

The one on your hand came from an overenthusiastic attempt at baking.

A particularly gnarly scar came with a one-word explanation:

“Squirrel.”

You never elaborated beyond that.

By the end of it, Sevika was openly grinning.

Meanwhile, you were hiding your face in embarrassment.

“All your scars are ridiculous.”

“Sorry I don’t regularly get into knife fights.”

“Most people manage to land somewhere between trees and knife fights.”

Her hand slid beneath your chin, guiding your face back toward hers.

The amusement remained in her eyes, but the affection was even stronger.

Her thumb brushed across one of the tiny scars on your knuckles.

She didn’t ask out of curiosity alone. She asked because every mark belonged to you, already memorised long before she ever asked about them. Because she loved every part of you with the same devotion you’d shown her.

“You know,” she murmured, tracing the scar gently with her thumb, “I think I like your stories better.”

You snorted.

“Why?”

A smile softened her features.

It was moments like this that stripped away the intimidating reputation everyone else saw in her.

The woman who’d survived gang wars and bar fights and half a lifetime of violence had somehow fallen hopelessly in love with somebody capable of losing a fight against a squirrel.

The thought still made her ridiculously fond.

Instead of answering, she pulled you into her lap and wrapped both arms around your waist.

You settled there immediately, curling against her chest while her chin rested atop your head.

The familiar weight of her embrace surrounded you completely, her arms firm around your waist and her heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The feeling settled deep in your chest, easing every lingering tension until all that remained was the certainty that you were exactly where you belonged.

Your hand drifted back to her shoulder without thinking, fingers finding one of her scars once more.

This time Sevika smiled before pressing a kiss into your hair.

Neither of you spoke again for a while.

The day had started too nicely for Sevika’s liking.

She’d agreed to leave the apartment after you spent the better part of a week convincing her that fresh air would be good for both of you. It wasn’t that she hated spending time with you. Quite the opposite. She simply preferred spending time with you where there were fewer people, fewer opportunities for accidents, and fewer idiots capable of getting on her nerves.

Still, she’d given in eventually.

Now the two of you were wandering through Zaun’s market district together, moving at a leisurely pace as you browsed stalls and chatted about nothing important. Every so often you’d stop to admire something and Sevika would pretend she wasn’t paying attention, only to buy it for you ten minutes later when you weren’t looking.

She stayed close the entire time. One hand frequently found its way to your lower back, guiding you through crowded areas without a second thought. If someone got too close, they were met with a glare powerful enough to send them in another direction immediately. It was one of those little things she’d started doing long before you even got married. Simple acts of care that had become so natural she barely seemed aware of them anymore.

Unfortunately, your body had other plans for the day.

The first warning signs were subtle enough that you didn’t think much of them. A little dizziness. A slight increase in your heart rate. Nothing you hadn’t experienced countless times before. You’d learned long ago that sometimes symptoms settled if you pushed through them for a few minutes.

This wasn’t one of those times.

As you continued walking, the world gradually became heavier around you. Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs with uncomfortable force. The sounds of the market seemed strangely distant, blending together into an indistinct buzz. Heat crept up your neck and settled beneath your skin despite the relatively mild weather.

You slowed your pace.

Sevika noticed immediately, her hand sliding more firmly against your back.

“You alright, babe?”

You offered a quick smile.

“Yeah.”

The response came automatically.

She didn’t look convinced.

The two of you continued for another minute before another wave of dizziness hit. This one was stronger. Your vision blurred around the edges, turning faces into smudges of colour. The ground felt oddly unsteady beneath your feet.

You swallowed hard.

Not good.

You tried taking a steadying breath.

Tried taking another step.

The world tilted sharply.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh.”

The sound barely left your mouth before your knees threatened to buckle.

Strong arms caught you instantly.

One moment you were falling.

The next you were pressed firmly against Sevika’s chest.

Her arm wrapped around your waist while her other hand cupped your face, forcing your attention toward her.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Her voice had changed.

Gone was the relaxed amusement from earlier.

Now there was only concern.

Sharp and immediate.

Her eyes searched your face.

“Look at me.”

You blinked.

The effort of focusing felt strangely difficult.

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m fine.”

“You nearly passed out.”

“I didn’t actually-”

“You were about to.”

The firmness in her voice left very little room for debate.

You leaned a little more heavily against her as another dizzy spell rolled through you.

Immediately her grip tightened.

The concern on her face deepened.

“How long?”

You already knew what she meant.

“…A little while.”

Sevika stared.

You looked away.

“Honey.”

The single word carried enough warning to make you wince.

“…Twenty minutes.”

For a moment she simply looked at you.

Then she closed her eyes.

The expression on her face suggested she was counting to ten.

Slowly.

Painfully.

“You’ve felt like this for twenty minutes.”

“Maybe.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“I thought it’d pass.”

Her jaw tightened.

You could practically see the argument she wanted to have.

Instead she took a breath and immediately shifted her attention back to supporting you.

“We’re going home.”

You sighed.

“Sevika-“

“Sweetheart.”

“I can sit down for a minute.”

“That’s nice, dear.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Yes, you will… at home.”

Her arm tightened around your waist.

“You’re done for the day.”

Normally you’d argue.

Normally you’d try.

The problem was that you currently felt like a newborn deer trying to stand for the first time.

Another dizzy spell hit.

Sevika felt you sway.

That settled the matter entirely.

Without warning she bent slightly and lifted you into her arms.

You yelped.

“Sevika!”

Your arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

“I can walk.”

“Sure you can, darling.”

“People are staring.”

“Don’t care.”

You buried your face against her shoulder as she carried you through the market without the slightest hint of embarrassment. The metal arm supporting your back remained steady and secure while her other arm held your legs. Every few moments she glanced down to check on you, her thumb brushing lightly against your side whenever she felt you tense.

The entire trip home was spent with you tucked safely against her chest.

And thoroughly ignored whenever you attempted to argue.

By the time you reached the apartment, exhaustion had begun settling into your bones. The dizziness hadn’t disappeared entirely and your heart still felt annoyingly fast.

Sevika eased you back onto your feet outside the apartment, her arm remaining firmly around your waist as she opened the door and guided you inside.

The second the door closed behind you, she was already in full wife mode.

“Bed.”

You laughed weakly.

“At least buy me a drink first.”

The look she gave you suggested she wasn’t interested in jokes.

You obediently headed toward the bedroom.

Good choice.

The moment you sat down, Sevika disappeared.

She returned minutes later carrying enough supplies to survive a week-long illness.

Water bottles.

Electrolytes.

Salty snacks.

Extra blankets.

Additional pillows.

You stared.

“Planning for the apocalypse?”

“I’m planning for you.”

She sat beside you and immediately started arranging pillows behind your back. Before you could protest, she had gently pushed you into a more comfortable position and draped a blanket across your lap.

“There.”

“You know this isn’t fatal, right?”

Her glare could have melted steel.

You wisely accepted the water she handed you.

Much better.

Only after she’d watched you drink half the bottle did some of the tension leave her shoulders.

The two of you settled into a quieter rhythm after that.

You rested against the pillows while Sevika remained close enough to touch at all times.

One hand rested on your leg.

Sometimes your arm.

Sometimes your waist.

Whenever she wasn’t actively fussing over you, she seemed to need some form of physical contact.

As though reassuring herself that you were actually okay.

Hours passed.

The apartment remained peaceful.

Eventually fatigue pulled you into sleep.

When you woke again, soft evening light filtered through the windows.

The first thing you noticed was warmth.

The second was Sevika.

At some point she’d climbed into bed beside you and gathered you close.

You woke nestled against her chest, cocooned in warmth and the steady weight of her embrace.

The position couldn’t have been more protective if she’d tried.

You shifted slightly.

Immediately her eyes opened.

Concern flashed across her face before she recognised you were awake.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.”

Her voice was rough with sleep.

You smiled.

“Hi.”

“How do you feel?”

“Better.”

Sevika’s gaze swept over you, thorough and assessing, taking in your complexion, your breathing, your eyes, and the steadiness of your movements before she seemed even remotely satisfied.

Finally, she relaxed.

Just a little.

You felt her hand slide into your hair.

Long fingers combed gently through the strands before settling against the back of your neck.

The touch was warm.

Comforting.

“I scared you.”

The admission slipped out quietly.

Sevika’s jaw tightened.

For a moment she didn’t answer.

Then she leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

A lingering one.

The sort she only gave when her emotions were getting the better of her.

“Yeah.”

Another kiss.

This time against your temple.

“You did.”

Her hold on you tightened for a moment, the gesture carrying more lingering worry than any words could have.

You melted into her embrace immediately.

The tension you’d been carrying all day finally began slipping away.

“You caught me.”

“Of course I did.”

The answer came without hesitation.

As though there had never been any possibility of another outcome.

You felt her lips brush against your hair.

Then your forehead again.

Then your cheek.

Small, affectionate kisses scattered wherever she could reach.

Each one lingering slightly longer than the last.

“I’ve got you, love. Always.”

Her hand rubbed slow, gentle circles against your back.

The kind of touch that always made everything feel a little less frightening.

“You don’t need to worry so much.”

A low laugh rumbled through her chest.

“That’s not happening.”

You smiled.

“Thought so.”

“You’re my wife.”

The words were spoken so simply.

Like that alone explained everything.

Maybe it did.

Because Sevika looked at you for another moment before pulling you even closer against her chest, tucking the blanket around both of you and pressing one final kiss to the top of your head.

The conversation was clearly over.

You were staying in bed.

You were resting.

You were drinking water.

And if Sevika had anything to say about it, you weren’t moving farther than arm’s reach from her for the remainder of the evening.

The Zaun markets were crowded today.

Vendors shouted over one another from every direction, advertising everything from scrap metal to handmade jewellery. Music drifted from somewhere further down the street, blending with the hum of conversation and the clatter of machinery overhead.

Sevika walked through it all with one hand tucked into her pocket and the other linked with yours.

The contrast between the two of you had always been ridiculous.

Sevika was broad-shouldered, intimidating, and looked permanently seconds away from starting a fight.

You looked like you belonged in an entirely different city.

The ribbons woven through your hair bounced as you walked. The lace at your sleeves brushed against Sevika’s arm every now and then. Your attention was constantly being stolen by pretty little things displayed in shop windows.

“Oh, look at this one.”

You stopped in front of a jewellery stall.

Again.

Sevika snorted.

“That’s the fifth one.”

“It’s different.”

“They’re all the same.”

“They are not.”

You gasped in mock offence before immediately becoming distracted by a different display.

Sevika shook her head.

Cute.

Hopelessly cute.

You could spend hours wandering markets like this, drifting from stall to stall and admiring things most people would walk straight past.

And somehow Sevika never got tired of watching you do it.

Eventually you started slowing down.

Your earlier excitement softened into something sleepier, leaning a little more heavily against her side as the afternoon wore on.

“Tired?” Sevika asked.

“A little.”

She glanced ahead.

A small café sat tucked between two shops, its outdoor tables mostly empty.

“C’mon, darling.”

Your face immediately brightened.

Sevika had barely finished speaking before you were steering both of you towards it.

“Greedy.”

“Hey! I haven’t even ordered anything.”

“Yet.”

You grinned.

The two of you settled at a small table near the window.

The café smelled like coffee, cinnamon, and fresh bread.

You were studying the display case with alarming concentration.

Sevika already knew what was happening.

She watched your eyes move between pastries.

Then back again.

Then back again.

Trying to decide.

It was honestly kind of adorable.

“Which one?” she asked.

You pointed.

Then shook your head and pointed at a different one.

Then another.

“I don’t know.”

Sevika sighed dramatically.

“Toughest decision of your life.”

“It is.”

You sat down while she ordered and a few minutes later she returned carrying two drinks and a small plate.

Your eyes widened.

“Sevika.”

The pastry you’d spent the last ten minutes debating over sat in the middle of the plate, covered in sugar and filled with sweet cream.

“You bought it for me?”

“Babe, you were staring at it like somebody was gonna steal it.”

You laughed.

The sound immediately made the purchase worth it.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I did.”

You smiled at her.

That soft smile.

The one that still managed to get her every single time.

“Thank you, baby.”

Sevika leaned back in her chair.

“Eat.”

You happily obeyed.

And just like that, Sevika found herself paying far more attention to you than the treat she’d bought.

Watching the way your eyes lit up after the first bite.

Watching the tiny pleased smile that appeared immediately afterwards.

Watching you carefully brush sugar from your fingers.

Watching you look entirely delighted over something so simple.

It was ridiculous how much affection she felt just sitting there.

You caught her staring eventually.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“You’re staring.”

Sevika took a slow sip of her drink.

“You look cute.”

Your face immediately warmed.

“Vika.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say that.”

“Pretty sure I just did, pretty girl.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile that tugged at your lips only grew.

Sevika felt something warm settle in her chest.

She loved moments like this.

Loved having afternoons where neither of you had anywhere important to be.

Loved seeing you happy.

Loved being the person who got to sit across from you and hear your laugh.

Most of all, she loved that you were hers.

You were so completely yourself.

Sweet where Zaun was rough.

Gentle where the world often wasn’t.

Drawn to pretty little things, ribbons, flowers, pastries, and anything that made you smile.

Some people might have thought you stood out.

Sevika certainly did.

But that was part of why she loved you so much.

You made every room brighter simply by existing in it.

“What are you thinking about, honey?” you asked.

Sevika’s gaze softened.

“You.”

You blinked.

“That’s suspicious.”

She laughed.

Actually laughed.

Then reached across the table and brushed a thumb across the corner of your mouth.

A dusting of sugar came away on her finger.

“There.”

Your face immediately went pink.

“Oh.”

Cute.

So damn cute.

Sevika leaned back again, completely unapologetic as she admired her wife.

The prettiest thing in the entire market wasn’t being sold at any stall.

It was sitting right in front of her, eating a pastry and smiling whenever Sevika looked her way.

And honestly?