honey 🫧

it was a rainy morning, dark clouds had covered the sky, and the atmosphere was melancholic. you had just stepped out of the book cafe you usually went to study or read in, it was a hidden gem in the ever-crowded streets of new york city, usually quiet and peaceful. this time, you’d just paid a visit to buy a drink with some pastries.

today’s gloomy weather felt right to you, somehow, it spoke to your soul and fit your mood. you’d stuffed the pastries you’d bought into your bag, and you were going to walk around a little bit, holding your drink in one hand, your umbrella in the other. you thought you might sit somewhere, maybe go to a park after walking for twenty or so minutes, you enjoyed the smell of rain mixing with earth to bring life to the world.

and that’s when you saw him.

he was standing at the other side of the road, wearing a simple hoodie, getting wet from the rain. an expression on his face as gloomy as the weather. he’d grown, his face had taken a sharper shape, his hair had curled on the tips from meeting with water.

peter parker, the boy from your ap chemistry class, from days long forgotten, and much less destructive.

you froze, your gaze set on his face, which had been painted in subtle and few scars, and bent downward from either the rain getting into his eyes, or life. the regular noise of the city was reduced to background buzzing in your ears, all the pedestrians walking past you, and the people waiting to cross roads around peter had turned blurry and faceless, the cars passing by had become trails of colors. the boy, or perhaps now man, you had just noticed, was someone you’d never thought you’d see again.

peter parker had been the smartest student in the class you took together, you used to keep notes and read ahead before every lesson, and he’d come sleep-deprived, busy himself with unrelated trinkets, and answer every unexpected question coming his way correctly. later, when you learned that he was spiderman, you realised he must’ve been so tired and out-of-it every day for saving lives and fighting crime.

you had learned of his superhero activities, like everyone else in the world. you didn’t use to see him outside of your shared lecture hours, not because you were actively avoiding him, fate just hadn’t coincided a conversation between you two. after you’d passed the course and stopped seeing peter entirely, you hadn’t busied your mind with thoughts of him, until that incident with mysterio. learning that he’d been trying to help people every step of the way, back when you used to see him, had changed your view of him.

and then, suddenly, no one remembered anymore. you saw it all happen. you saw the sky shatter and shadows watch the earth through its cracks. you saw what you could only describe as hundreds of aliens preying on your planet. you knew spiderman fought to save the world from their clutches. yet when it was all over, no one remembered the hell-torn skies. or peter parker.

no one remembered he was spiderman. no one remembered he was peter parker. no one remembered peter parker was. no one from your old high school, not even his best friend, not even his girlfriend. they all looked at you as if you spoke of a ghost, he was a painted over memory, he’d escaped from the weak grasps of the growing brains of the youth and the ever-tired minds of the grown.

he’d even escaped from records and photos, like how short-lived cherry blossoms disappeared in a week, as if trees had never been pink. like how spring never lasted. you’d questioned whether you’d made him up, if something was wrong with you. but how could you make up a whole person, that you simply never had a relationship with? he wasn’t an imaginary friend, he had never been a friend.

trying to catch a glimpse of his existence had been like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. and yet, now, he was standing right in front of you, waiting to cross roads. waiting to come towards you.

the lights turned green for pedestrians, and peter snapped out of his stillness, he gained motion, he slowly came closer. people around you made noises indicating they were annoyed at your inaction, but you could barely hear any of them. you were focused completely on one person only.

he crossed the road, and started walking the opposite way from where you had been nailed to the ground, unable to take your eyes off him.

no, don’t go. i must know. i must talk.

you ran after him, forcefully making yourself a way amongst bodies covered in layers of clothing. you closed your umbrella, so it wouldn’t get tangled in others’. you caught up to peter, and grabbed his arm.

he turned instantly, gripping your arm in return, a shocked expression on his face, ready to take you down, had you posed a threat. he looked into your eyes; questioning, confused, hesitant… sorrowful? how had he grown so solemn? how had he lived forgotten?

“peter?” you asked, “peter parker? is that you?”

his eyes widened, grip loosened, lips parted. he looked completely dumbfounded, drops of water dripping down strands of his hair, and the tip of his nose. he searched for something in your eyes, just silently thinking. trying to process, you assumed.

he opened his mouth to talk, and his breath hitched.

“you…” he started, seemingly talking feeling like labor to him, “you know who i am?”

you couldn’t help giving him a sincere smile, he really was peter parker. the boy from your class who was remembered by no one. he was real.

“i was in the same ap chemistry class as you in high school,” you explained, he might not have remembered you, as you’d never interacted outside of topics regarding course materials, “if you don’t remember.”

“no, no,” said peter, his voice still laced with shock, and a tune that dropped a tiny piece of despair into your chest, “i remember. you were the smartest student in class.”

“that’s… debatable,” you said, your surprise clearly read from your face.

“it wasn’t,” he said, defensive, “everyone borrowed your notes, and you always had the correct answers.”

“so did you,” you said softly, the bitter taste of nostalgia repainted with a blue hue catching up to you, tightening your chest, placing a lump in your throat. “what happened, peter?” you asked, “why have you disappeared?”

peter closed his mouth, and his grip slightly hardened, he hadn’t let your arm go. you hadn’t let his go, either.

he lowered his head, and fixed his gaze on the grey stone ground. you couldn’t quite name the emotions you saw in his eyes, but they made you tear up. what must it have been like to suddenly cease existing? what must he have been through? what must he have thought, watching his chosen family from afar, like a vampire looking at a mirror, erased from his own reflection?

the cloudy weather truly felt fit for the day, maybe peter had been feeling it too, today. raindrops fell on earth like shattered glass pieces, you thought you might’ve been bleeding with your umbrella down, but peter wasn’t, was his skin thicker?

“would you like to sit down somewhere, peter?” the tale must have been long, how else could a person, and a rift in the atmosphere, be erased from the minds of billions? “like a bench at the park, or maybe my place?”

he looked deep into your eyes, thinking.

“okay,” he said at last, determination adorning his words now, “we can. we can,” he said while nodding.

“okay,” you repeated after him, and finally let his arm go.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

peter had been on his way to his small apartment, by himself, as always, after another long, sleepless night, that rainy morning. clouds had covered the sky, obscuring the sun, as if to match the weather inside his ribcage. the sun hadn’t shone on him since it had seen space ripped apart because of him, for his mistakes.

it was a day the same as any other; he was walking in the crowd, unseen without a mask, faceless. then, someone he hadn't sensed had touched him, must have been because no harm was intended, yet he'd felt alarmed.

a girl, he'd realized, a familiar face. that wasn't strange, he was used to seeing people he used to know, what was strange was... the look you had in your eyes, almost like you recognized him. a kind of tiny beam of light in your irises, aimed at him.

and then you called out his name.

the world tilted. he felt as if hit by a shockwave, rolling backwards, losing the tightness of his grip on reality, on you. he’d been completely dumbfounded, he could barely process what was happening. someone remembered him. you remembered him. you knew.

he looked you over again, he remembered, too. he remembered how you sat at the front seat, carefully trailing the teacher with your eyes, focus unbreakable. you didn’t use to look his way unless he was asking or answering a question related to the course, he wouldn’t think you would recognize him under normal circumstances, without happenings made foggy through magic, let alone when the whole world has left him behind. the whole multiverse.

he couldn’t get out of the shock he’d been thrown into, not even enough to wonder the why, the how, or think of the implications of the possibility that someone(s) might not have forgotten. he had been erased even from stone and paper, ink had evaporated, computers had lost their binary numbers. human memories couldn’t even be held, they must’ve been so easily broken apart and mended without wholeness again, didn’t people always forget things, anyway?

that had been hard to accept, of course. the fact that the feelings people reserved for him were fragile and unresistant, that they could be so fully erased, that they could be erased at all. but you remembered, was your mind stronger, or was it the impression he’d left on you? was it you, or him?

he hadn’t even been able to ponder if this was a good thing at all, if he should be worried, if he should accept this, how he should react. the past year had been so soul-crushing, so lonely, that after slightly getting over the initial shock that had hit him, holding back his tears had been all he could manage to do. you were wet from the rain, a drink forgotten and an umbrella folded in one of your hands, the other one holding him, looking at him expectantly, worried. you had come after him. you were holding onto him. he tightened his grip again.

you’d even wanted to talk more, to learn of his story, to listen. so he’d agreed, he suspected he would chase you on that road if you’d walked away. his chest had been closing in on his veins and heart, increasing the pressure and twisting his organs, breathing had become harder every day for the past year, he was suffocating. you’d held his arm like a tree branch offered to a drowning kid, an olive branch offered to a warring people, a willow… willows were hunched and weary, weren’t they? he was like a willow, layers of leaves covering his face, unseen.

he didn’t have anywhere to go, or anyone waiting for him. he hadn’t wanted to let you go, now that someone had finally, truly seen the shape of his face. so he had just followed you, let you draw a destination for two.

you had brought him to a small apartment, similar to his own, in an austere street lined with buildings that were short compared to the signature buildings of new york city. you’d told him you were staying there for the time being. your place, as you’d put it. the inside was much nicer than his living space, expectedly, and it contrasted with the grey view of the street from your windows and the pipe-filled outer layer of your apartment building. the floor was covered in soft carpets, the living room was filled with books, its walls covered in bookshelves, academic books left open and stationary scattered about on a table, notebooks filled with your handwriting, it was lived in.

you had taken him to the kitchen, said you’d just bought pastries and had some leftovers to reheat for him, he’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, but you’d shut him down. “how could i send my guest off on an empty stomach?” you’d asked, made him sit down at the kitchen table, and gotten to work on the countertop. the living room had smelled of a flowery incense he couldn’t name, the kitchen was now smelling of baked dough and vegetable soup, making him feel his hunger. he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, or during the night.

“i apologize for the mess,” you said, while putting two bowls of steamy soup on the table, “i wasn’t expecting a guest.”

“oh, no, no,” he quickly scrambled to apologize himself, “i don’t mind at all, i’m sorry for… for…” he gestured around himself, trying to find the right words. being a burden? interrupting?

“for accepting my invite? i’d say that was the polite response,” you said, finally sitting opposite to him, having brought the pastries you’d sliced and placed on plates nicely, and the fruit salad you’d quickly put together. “thank you for that, by the way.”

he didn’t know what to say, he looked down flustered, “i- of course- i mean, thank you for inviting me,” he said, gesturing towards you with his hand, a slight smile on his face. how long had it been since he last smiled? it sure didn’t feel like an every day occurrence.

you gave him back a smile that made him… feel warm. he was still on the verge of tears, he was barely holding it together, focusing on the moment, trying not to let all the overwhelming feelings leave his body.

“please, enjoy,” you said, as you slid the plates closer to him, and he nodded in gratitude. he was hungry, and looking at the warm vegetable bisque… he hadn’t eaten a homemade meal in a very, very long time, especially one that was delicious, one that was warm.

and it was delicious. it tasted like a hug, a hearthfire, a blanket. it tasted like something you would eat at your home, like something your mother would cook for you. “this is,” he started, in between spoonfuls, “this is great. you’re a good cook.”

“thank you,” you said, and then started explaining. “i roasted tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, potatoes, bell peppers, and an onion, and blended them with vegetable broth and cream, so probably the easiest way to make something like…” you trailed off as you realised peter was… crying. he was looking down on the bowl of soup in front of him, and tears were silently rolling down his cheeks, as he kept taking spoonfuls.

peter was mortified at his reaction, he quickly scrambled to wipe his face with the tissues you’d placed on the table, and apologize. you told him it was fine, and he could take however much time he needed or wanted. you let him eat and think in silence for as long as he needed, you gave him time and space as he filled his stomach with warm food and sweet fruits. he didn’t know why tears had won against his willpower this time around, considering how good he’d gotten at holding them in. he didn’t know why just eating in your kitchen, with you, had made him feel emotions overwhelming enough to rush out of him. he was embarassed, despite your reassurances. it was the first time he was meeting with you in years, the only person who still remembered him, and he had started crying over a soup. he wasn’t a teenage high schooler anymore, why was this happening?

after a silence long enough to make someone less patient uncomfortable, he finally felt he could talk, and decided to tell you everything that had happened. all of it. you were the only person who knew him now, was it wrong to want to be known fully? to be understood?

so he told you everything, from the start… from a time too early, one might’ve thought; from before he even became an avenger. there had been people in his life who knew of his journey, how he became a hero, how he became an avenger, who he fought against, who he fought with, what really happened with mysterio, and then… then aunt may’s death… then everyone else’s little deaths.

peter used to be talkative, he used to converse with even the people he was actively battling, yet telling you all he wanted made him realise it had been a long time since he’d spoken so much. so transparently, willingly. had life crushed him under a fallen bridge without him noticing? he had been feeling it, but couldn’t guess how dire his cuts and walls had been drawn.

you listened all of it, without looking away once, without looking at the time. and then, once he concluded his speech and drifted off to silence, you let it fester. it seemed as if you had a hard time proccessing everything peter had dumped on you, or maybe couldn’t find the right words to continue with. this time, peter left you in your own silence, his hands slightly shaking in nervousness. what was your reaction going to be? what were you thinking?

“i’m truly sorry,” you said at last, a rueful expression adorning your face, making you look older than you had when telling him of the soup recipe. you had grown older, peter had noticed, more beautiful. “i’m sorry about your aunt, too. i had no idea. i thought… i guess i assumed at least your family would remember you.”

“yeah,” said peter in defeat, “there is no one.”

you looked deep into his eyes, pain visible on your face, “i remember,” you said. “and now i know.”

peter sighed and put his face in between his hands, closing his eyes in despair. “there is nowhere i belong, now. i fight for this city, and… and no one cares.”

this was horrible. truly horrible. a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when you’d recognized him, listened to him, welcomed him into your home. but he also felt bothered by it, too. had being known always been so scary? he hadn’t meant to say the last bit, he hadn’t even thought that to himself before. he’d been on the verge of it, but hadn’t actually thought it. why did he say it out loud now? why did he tell you?

you took a deep breath, “a lot of people care, especially the ones you save. you’ve been making a huge difference, peter. yours can be a thankless job sometimes, but many are grateful.” you paused for a moment, “i’ve always been grateful. when i learned how you’d been fighting for people this whole time, my respect for you skyrocketed. i thought i would help you in any way i could if it ever came to that.”

peter pressed his hands harder on his eyes, he didn’t want to start crying again. he didn’t know if you realised how your words had fallen into the deepest part of his soul. it was strange, how only a few words could help people keep going, how humans could be built merely by caring, and how humans could be so worn-out that they could stop tasting without even realising.

his phone vibrated silently in his pocket, taking him out of spiraling. he sighed again, what was it now?

strong fire in a building, spreading speedily, authorities unable to protect the citizens despite doing their best. he stood up abruptly, “i should go,” he said.

“what is it? what happened?”

“fire in a tall building, i need to save those people,” he said while walking towards the door, you trailing behind him.

“okay- be careful, peter. and come back here after you’re done there, okay? even if it’s late, because i’ll wait for you, and if you don’t come back, i’ll wait until morning,” you said quickly as he was wearing his shoes, the door to your house open.

“okay,” he said, stuttering slightly, “thank you.” truly. you’ve made breathing possible for me again. thank you.

and he left you behind like that, because he never had a break. he didn’t know if he deserved a break. none of that mattered though, there were people suffering, and he couldn’t leave them behind, no matter what.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you were leaning on the metal handrails of your small balcony, looking at the few people and cars that passed by the road in front of your apartment. it was desolate, compared to most of new york, but it was steadily never-ending, there never was a time when people stopped in this city. your view was made up of other grey apartments like yours, sharp corners and square shapes, nothing tasteful added to their designs. could this be good for the soul?

you looked up at the sky, to watch the stars, but as always, not many were visible. you counted four stars that could be clearly seen from your balcony. the same as yesterday. you sometimes wondered: if you could reach greater heights, would more of them shine on you? the city had offended the stars in an effort to be independent from them, brighten night time, they didn't show their faces anymore. even if they wanted to, they couldn't be seen.

peter had been shining since he was a kid; clever, kind, righteous, fair-faced in a way the cleanness of his heart had reflected on his features. how big of a loss was it for the world to be forsaken from his face? it was lucky that peter was good-hearted, for he kept showing up under a mask anyway, offering those who looked a glimpse into his light.

it was past midnight already, and peter was still nowhere to be seen. he'd left you a little past noon, the fire had been extinguished by now, and spiderman had left the premises after saving dozens of lives (that the firefighters would've been too late for, despite their best efforts), and yet, peter was nowhere to be seen. it worried you, you wished you had asked for his phone number; you'd considered asking, but decided against it, thinking he might be bothered by the request.

after you'd talked to michelle, his girlfriend, some time back, and she hadn't remembered the boy she’d been in love with, you'd been thinking of peter regularly. even if you had made him up in your mind, it had just flooded your chest with such profound sadness, that you had decided at least you would remember him, whether it would matter to him or not.

and, he was real, he was spiderman. and he’d been so lonely. graveyards had become his only sanctuary, teenage diaries and late night messages had been buried next to the corpses of anyone who'd ever taken care of him, and he did not know their hiding spots. he just wandered around graves, knowing they were somewhere under his feet, to stay there forever. if he tried to dig them out, he would be swallowed up by lava, dooming the rest of the world to a volcanic apocalypse.

it seemed like volcanos had already been erupting behind his eyes, in his lungs. the peter you remembered used to be a jolly kid.

your head perked up as you heard your doorbell ring, and quickly rushed to open the door. a smiling peter greeted you, clothing changed. he looked more put-together than he had in the morning; a clean shirt under a black jacket and denim pants, not the baggy sweats he had on before.

you welcomed him inside, and brought him to sit on your couch, in the living room.

“are you all right?” you asked, “does anywhere hurt? do you need anything?”

he hesitated for a moment, a little surprised. “no, no- it’s fine. i didn’t fight anyone, so didn’t really get injured… much. it’s fine. i took care of it.”

you looked at him in silence for a few seconds, thinking. “liar,” you said.

“what?” he said in low voice, sounding worried. did he think he’d messed up somehow?

“you gave me your word that you would come straight to me, instead you took your sweet time tending to your injuries and changing your outift? you showered too, didn’t you?”

“i… i-” he quickly started talking, and then stopped to think. that was fine, he didn’t need to rush a response, never with you. he would learn that you’d always wait for him patiently. with time, he’d become more comfortable. you assumed this must be… somewhat of an uncomfortable experience for him, after being alone for so long. “i thought-”

he didn’t know what to say, you supposed.

“did i sound mad? i’m sorry. i was just worried. i.. uh, i’d wanted to help you with your injuries and stuff, too,” you weren’t exactly used to these kinds of conversations either. “since you’re not alone anymore… and all.”

“oh…” was all he could say.

“i mean, i’m glad you’re okay, and you look great, and i don’t mind that you had some alone time before coming and all, but you could, uh, if you want to, just come straight to me as well. after a fight or whatever. and you can take care of… your stuff here,” you forced the words out, you had to take these kinds of initiatives, if you wanted to have a closer relationship with him. because he wouldn’t impose anything on you. “if you want to, of course,” you added.

“i… thank you, i would, uh, yeah,” he said. you supposed that was a positive answer.

“so, what happened?”

he recounted the fire and the struggles in detail, how he saved the people trapped, how he had to deal with the authorities after him, how he got injured (only a little, he emphasized), and then how he went home to wear something better to come back to you. he’d wanted to rid the smell of ash and soot off his skin.

“i got tired just listening to you,” you said.

he chuckled slightly, “ah, yeah, things like this happen sometimes.”

“would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“no, no. not necessary, thank you,” he said quickly, raising his hands.

“okay, just tell me if you need anything.”

“all right, thanks… again,” he had a beautiful smile, but it looked like guilt had mixed into his skin, stopping him from smiling fully, with his eyes, or eyebrows. you wanted to tell him that none of this was his fault, he wasn’t responsible for the cruelty of others, he wasn’t at fault for being a victim. his aunt hadn’t died because he’d shown mercy, he was just being humane, the fault lied solely with the… whichever supernatural freak had done that, it was getting harder to keep track of them now. and the spell hadn’t gone wrong because of him, couldn’t doctor strange tell that he obviously wouldn’t want his own family to forget him? why wouldn’t he automatically add that to the spell? and the second time? surely he could’ve just kept two people out of his spell. none of it was his fault.

but you couldn’t bring yourself to, you didn’t want to push too hard, or overstep your bounds. peter didn’t know you, not really. you assumed he must be happy that someone remembered him, but you wouldn’t be too surprised if he had forgotten you.

why had you remembered? you weren't magical, as far as you knew, so what had gone wrong? wasn't this... somewhat bad news? if you remembered, could it be possible that someone evil might, too? you didn't know, you supposed maybe you should try to ask doctor strange, somehow.

after a while of silence, you decided telling him how you feel, being straightforward, should be better than leaving thoughts to go back and forth in your head, bothering you. “peter,” you started, “i know what kind of a person you are for the most part. i know that you have a good heart, and you’re loyal, and honest. i… don’t doubt that you’ll be a good friend, that’s why i can be… this comfortable with you. i know, because i’ve been able observe you quite well until now.”

he was listening to you, eyes getting wider and smile dropping slowly, as you went on.

“i also know that you don’t really know me as well, so i’ll have to prove my character to you, in the way that you’ve already proven yours,” you quickly added, which was the point you’d wanted to make. “so, uh, i just wanted to say that… is the reason why i would like to be… good friends with you, even though we didn’t interact much back then. telling you just in case… you were wondering.”

he gave you a shy smile. "thank you," he said, occasionally glancing away.

then a small chuckle escaped his lip. “all i’ve been doing the whole day has been thanking you."

you giggled in return, "i thank you as well."

"for what? i haven't done anything."

"for saving this city and the world over and over again."

his expression turned serious, thoughtful. "i just do what i should. it’s my responsibility."

you leaned back on the couch, observing him. was it? did he really have to do what he did? he didn't have to, no one had to do anything. but it was right that he did. you supposed, being able to help people did mean you should, would it be wrong if he didn't interfere?

"what are you thinking?" he asked.

you hummed. "i think you are right, but then it's our responsibility to be grateful, and to help you in any way we can, even if that's just emotional support." you looked into his eyes carefully, "you've been doing your duty, but most others in the city haven't."

"that's all right," he said. "i don't expect anything. i don't do this to get anything in return."

"well," you started, "you can expect things from me, and feel free to let me know."

the shy smile returned to his face, "thank you again," he said. "you as well," he hastily added, raising his eyebrows while gesturing at you.

you were glad he seemed to be in a better mood now, compared to this morning. he was more put together, and somewhat more confident. you assumed having more time to process your situation must've helped.

the two of you talked for around another hour, peter got more talkative as you went on, and by the end, he was the only one talking. he'd started to tell you all about the various villains he'd been fighting, and you were very interested; you enjoyed listening to him.

but the time was getting closer to two in the morning, and you were having to fight your own eyelids to keep yourself from dropping to the floor right at that moment.

peter stopped abruptly mid-sentence, looking at you concerned. "oh," he started "i'm sorry, it's really late, i talked too much."

"no, no," you said, shaking your hand, "i really want to know about all of these things. let's continue tomorrow?"

"okay, sure," he said, smiling. "i'll get going now, and uh, see you tomorrow."

"get going? i could arrange my living room for you, if you'd like to stay the night? should you be alone when you're injured?"

"i don't want to bother you," he said as he stood up. “it’s fine, this isn't really all that bad, I've had much worse."

"okay, but call me if anything happens. i'll be more upset if you don't," you said as you followed him to the door.

"i will. you call me too," he said, having gotten out, wearing his shoes.

"deal."

“good night."

"good night."

and he was gone.

and you were so sleepy that you could fall asleep standing there. as you made your way to your bed, you decided to go over today's events tomorrow, when your braincells wouldn’t be forming a union to counter your abuse.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

peter opened his curtains to look outside, as soon as he managed to get out of his bed.

the sun was shining down on him, bathing his room and face in its light. he opened the window, and took a deep breath in. the air had the beautiful smell of rain, still lingering, left from yesterday.

he leaned on his window, and for the first time in forever, a smile graced his lips for the sun, for the day ahead of him.

he wanted to put on his spiderman suit and swing around in the city, not out of obligation or because he didn’t have anything else to do; he had an unfamiliar motivation in him to do something with his day.

so he did. he quickly got ready for the day, and all the steps felt less intimidating today. even brushing his teeth had become a tiring chore. he'd supposed it must've been because he was so tired all the time, but today, it had been easier, all of it. even breathing.

and it wasn't like he'd gotten more sleep than usual, either. sleeping was something out of routine for peter. sometimes he could only get a few hours at night, having to be spiderman. sometimes he would stare at the ceiling, unable to drift off to sleep. sometimes he would end up sleeping for more than ten hours, not wanting to get out of his bed, forcefully scraping his body off of it with a mental spatula, skin tearing apart from muscle, using every bit of his willpower. but, no matter which scenario happened to play out, peter would never feel rested.

he got mad at himself sometimes. for sleeping. or not sleeping. surely none of this was supposed to be this hard, everyone always did them just fine. so why was he like this? what was wrong with him?

he shook his head, getting out of his window as spiderman, and started wandering new york from the tops of buildings. not today, though. today he felt rested. and like something good could happen, strangely. and his chest could host the air he breathed in, unlike any day he could remember in months. he hadn't realised how air had been refusing to get into his lungs, until it finally did today.

he watched people walking towards their destinations without looking anywhere else. the streets of new york were always overfilled with motion and a million faces, and no one stopped to look at one another.

how had you seen him, yesterday? were you looking? were you always looking at people? were you searching for someone, something?

clouds had poured more rain on the city at night, and towards the morning. it was almost as if they had only stopped momentarily for the fire in the building to spread.

peter had gone to his apartment as soon as he was done rescuing civillians from the fire. he'd wanted to wear something nice, look cleaner for you. he was sort of embarrassed that your first meeting had been when he looked... less than ideal, let's say.

while showering, he'd spaced out, and ended up thinking for almost an hour. mostly about you.

he'd tried to remember everything about you, any kind of clue about your exceptional situation, but there was nothing. you used to mostly keep to yourself, peter hadn't even interacted with you all that much.

despite that, you'd been so accepting of him so quickly yesterday. he had wondered why, before you explained that you… knew him.

not only remembered, you knew him. not completely, but enough to trust. his heart fluttered in his chest, making a gentle movement for the first time since the last time he'd been called peter by anyone at all. thinking about your words excited him, energized him, made him move faster,

you wanted to get closer. you offered to patch up his wounds. you weren't afraid or displeased. you wanted to be close. his friend.

he would call you around noon, he'd decided. he'd kept you up quite late and didn't know when you would wake up. then maybe you could meet up this evening. outside, perhaps? he could take you to... he would come up with some ideas, by then.

he stopped and perched on top of a building, examining the back alleys. he knew the way to your house from where he was, he was really looking forward to seeing you again. was that why waking up had been easier today?

he shook his head and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the day, and the task in front of him. he needed to focus, do his job. he would get to see you when the time came for it. you would respect him more for his service, anyway... or at least he hoped so.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

the the sun had just started setting, the orange hue of dusk hadn't settled in the sky yet. you were sitting on the stairs at the entrance of your apartment building. the ground was still wet, but the upper part of the stairs had been protected from yesterday's rain thanks to the architecture of the building. you would just need to dust off its filth once you stood up.

peter was supposed to come any minute now, he'd called you around noon and asked if you'd like to meet up this evening, and he could take you to see some places. you had started preparing some hours ago. you hadn't known what to wear, or what he had in mind, and had been too nervous to feel completely good about an outfit. you didn’t want to mess this up. at last, you'd just decided to get out of your house and wait. sitting on cold stairs. you were beginning to regret your choices slowly.

“hi,” appeared a head suddenly in front of your nose, making you yelp in surprise and slide backwards on the stairs. you put your hand on your mouth, wide-eyed, and finally processed what the dangling head in red was: peter. he was hanging from your building, held by his web, upside down, in his spiderman suit. he wouldn’t be as instantly recognizable from afar, as he was wearing a jacket, pants, and sneakers on his suit. it looked good.

“sorry,” he said, landing next to you, but not moving towards you. “sorry,” he repeated quickly. “i didn’t mean to scare you.”

“my goodness, peter,” you said, exhaling a deep breath. “no, sorry, spiderman.”

he chuckled lightly. “did i make you wait too much? sorry about that, too.”

“no, no, you are…” you looked at your watch, “right on time, actually.”

“uh,” he started, then hesitated for a moment before taking out a piece of cloth… no, a mask from the pocket of his jacket. “this should be really comfortable, i brought it in case you wanted to, you know, keep your identity hidden.”

“oh, you will stay in your spiderman costume?” you asked, taking the mask, and putting your hand in it so see what it looked like.

“yeah,” he said, “i can’t do what i want to do with you without my suit.”

you looked at him questioningly, “what is it that you want to do with me, peter?” you asked with mock seriousness.

he made a low-volume laughing sound. “i was planning on carrying you in the sky with me. if that’s okay.” he raised his hands in hurry, “it’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. just… i just thought you might like it, is all.”

you looked at the mask, and swiftly wore it. fixing it on your face, you looked at peter. “how do i look?” you asked.

“wait, let me help,” he said as he came closer to you, and fixed the back of the mask.

“thank you.”

so peter took you to the skies.

you held onto him like your life depended on it (it did), arms wrapped around his shoulders. his movements in the air were fast and sharp, the wind felt like a slap to the face at points. yet, you didn’t feel an ounce of fear, if anything, excitement and joy would be descriptive of your feelings. peter had a strong grip on you, somehow, you trusted that without doubt, he would never drop you.

──────

he had taken and placed you on top of a skyscraper, with a view of busy streets and the decorated balconies of shorter buildings. having ascended on the city as rain yesterday, clouds in the sky had thinned, and the atmosphere was clear. the sun was half gone by now, and all your gaze rested upon was dusk-touched; bathed in the burning scarlett of the sun’s farewell.

you smiled, looking over at the city. the wind was caressing your face gently, and breathing had become easier since seeing peter. being where you stood now, it felt freeing.

“this is amazing.” you glanced at peter briefly, and saw he’d been looking at you.

“i’m glad you like it,” he said, then joined you in gazing towards the horizon.

──────

you’d been sitting where peter had caried you to, on top of the skyscraper, for a while now. topics chased each other with ease, built onto each other, and you ended up talking about things you’d never told anyone before. but peter listened, contributed, he seemed truly interested, and then he outclassed your yapping, so words ended up spilling out of your mouth naturally.

“my favorite tree is willow, actually. i love willows, they are so pretty, they have leaves like drapes. they look magical," you said, adding onto the conversation that you’d ended up talking about because… the city layout, then parks, then trees, then if many people have favorite kinds of trees, then his being olive trees…

he looked into your eyes carefully, like you'd said something that struck a cord, something he'd considered before.

"really?" he asked, then turned his gaze towards the city again, eyebrows laying heavier, eyes looking below. "willows look hunched," he said, "they look weary."

was he hunched? had he grown tired? was he trying to tell you that was how he saw the world now? hunched, instead of magical?

"hmm, " you thought for a moment, "do you know why willows are hunched?"

he looked at you questioningly. "no?"

"i've been told a story from someone who'd been told a story; there once was a willow next to a lake. you know how willows like wetlands. and there once was a child sweet as a sugar beet, yet did not know how to swim. choose one day from the countless days the old willow had seen, the sweet child fell into the lake right next to its roots, he couldn't stay on the surface, so he asked the willow for help. the willow bowed its leaves as fast as it could, to offer a branch to hold onto, but it was too slow, and the leaves touched the water too late. after that day, the willow's leaves never rose again. word spread to every willow with time, and they lowered their branches one by one, so if a child were ever drowning, they would never be too late."

he was still looking down, but his expression had changed lightly. his brows were slightly tented, his eyes seemed watery. you studied him, it looked like the story had touched him; he was quietly in thought.

was he a willow? had he failed to save a drowning child? had he been hunched?

had he realized being hunched didn't have to be ugly?

"stories are great," you said, not to fill the silence, but because you now felt comfortable enough to share your thoughts with him. "they can verbalize things you keep in your head, and make you realize; oh, someone else thought the same thing back when who knows how many years ago, and i’m not the only one."

he nodded after another moment of silence. "that was a beautiful story," he said, looking at you, "do you know many like it?"

"short tales like these? not many. i generally read novels."

"maybe i should start too."

you perked up. "you could!" you said, voice coming out too excited for your liking, "i'll lend you some."

"okay," he said, smiling in his usual, reserved way, "thank you."

poor, innocent peter. he had no idea what he'd just signed up for, basically accepting to be subjected to a reader's propaganda of their favorite books.

"i should be thanking you," you responded, "for bringing me here."

the sun had fully gone down, no traces of orange left in the sky, although it hadn't gotten fully dark yet. the moon could be seen, finally getting out of the sun's shadow. or more so, light. too bright for anything else to stay visible near it, yet nothing on earth would be visible without its light, including the moon.

you looked down at the ant-sized citizens of new york, ever-moving, flowing like a river. the wind was caressing your face, chilly, up here was colder than down below, yet it didn't feel as hostile.

"i used to really like it," he said while nodding, a half-smile left on his face from your previous conversation, and perhaps memories of years gone.

"sitting atop buildings?"

"yeah. sitting or swinging or... just height."

"it is kind of freeing."

"and just... you know, a different kind of perspective."

"yeah, i get it," you said, looking at your ant subjects, "why don't you like it anymore?"

he seemed to search for words for a moment, looking around. and then shrugged. "i guess i just... don't really like things anymore."

you sighed, nodding. "well, it's a miracle that you liked my below-average vegetable soup, then."

"it was very much above average!"

"as i said, a miracle."

"why am i having to defend my tastes in the middle of a date right now?"

he stopped abruptly, his smile fading, eyes widening. "i mean!" he quickly scrambled to fix his mistake, "not like- not a date like a date date, you know, i was just saying... just-"

was this a time for you to interrupt? he didn't seem like he wanted to finish that sentence.

"i know," you said, chuckling, "don't worry. i'm also really glad we're doing this. take me soaring the skies more often."

"i wouldn't necessarily call it soaring."

"well, whatever it was."

and then, once again, hours chased one another, carrying your long-winded conversation back and forth, and the deep black of night had fallen on the two of you like a blanket.

peter was sweet, it was like honey dripped from his lips; you hadn't found a conversation so enjoyable in years. you were glad he'd opened up more, back in high school, you had no idea he was so talkative.

you had brought a homemade meal with yourself, considering how much he'd appreciated that yesterday. and you’d shared it over the hours you’d spent together.

peter seemed to relax more and more around you, smile actually coming naturally to his face now, dangling his feet with comfortable, quiet joy.

“ah,” he said at some point, “this is… somewhat hard.”

“what is?”

he thought on it for a moment. “no, nothing. forget i said anything.”

“nooo,” you grabbed his arm and slightly shook him, “i’m curious now!”

he chuckled, “no, it’s embarrassing.”

“peter, listen to me,” you started with mock seriousness, “whatever it is, it cannot be as embarrassing as my cringeworthy memories, so i won’t even register it as embarrassing.”

“okay,” he said after a short silence, “i guess… i guess i got used to being alone too much, now i find it kind of hard to… be known, i guess. it leaves me with a kind of anxiety.”

“it wasn’t like that before?”

“no,” he turned his gaze to the city, “i don’t remember it being like this.”

you hummed, nodding your head. you were going to tell him that you understood, that you felt similarly occasionally, that it was normal, but he kept going before you could.

“at least, the bad parts.”

“what bad parts?”

“you know, my mistakes and flaws and other such things,” he took a deep breath before continuing. “i told you everything but… i wish you didn’t know some of it, now.”

you studied his face; he definitely looked more youthful, like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him anymore. like he could put his burden down for a moment, take a break. peter didn’t seem like a person who would have a hard time being vulnarable, or being known, but pain did change people. was it just being alone, or being alone with what he thought were his mistakes, scenes repeating over and over in his head as he stared at empty walls, with no one to talk to?

“i like you as you are,” you said, “with your mistakes and flaws; that’s being human, and you’re not lesser for any of it. not objectively, and not in my eyes.”

he was looking into your eyes now, he’d become more comfortable resting his gaze upon yours; you found it comforting, you tried to make him feel the same.

“isn’t that the part of being known that matters?” you asked. “knowing the imperfect parts, the harder to accept parts, and accepting anyway, and loving anyway. doesn’t it make you feel better that i know you fully and like you even more for it?”

peter seemed truly lost for words, for the second time since you’d met. you’d wanted to make him feel welcome into your life, so you’d done your best to tell him things you’d wish to hear yourself, and they were the truth, but you really hoped it would come across right. he wasn’t the only one to overthink conversations.

he opened his mouth to give an answer, and then, suddenly, chaos erupted.

the thunder of a bomb going off shook the ground and the buildings around you. screams mixed into a deafening whistle of the wind that carried them as people ran away from the sound collectively, pushing each other.

peter stood up instinctively, looking towards the explosion. it had happened close enough that you’d felt the shockwave.

“what was that?” you yelled, trying to be heard over the sound, clumsily standing up next to peter, as you were quite high up. he held your arm to steady you.

“i’m not sure, but i think i know who’s responsible for it,” he said with a serious expression on his face, brows furrowed, thoughtful, voice lower than yours, but you could still hear him.

“are you going to go?”

“i have to, this is… these people are dangerous, you should go home.”

he grabbed you by your waist and brought you down to the ground in a hurry, gently placing you. “i’m sorry,” he said, “i’ll come back, uh, to your house, if that’s okay?”

“of course,” you responded, “i’ll be waiting. and don’t be sorry.”

and he dissapeared into the sky, swinging.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

peter hated villains, truly. criminals who committed heinous acts of terrorism, knew nothing but cruelty, unashamedly hurt people, kidnapped, wounded… there were so many of them, too. he kept defeating those hurting new york, and new ones kept popping up.

well, he thought he hated them, but he didn’t know how exactly he felt. he remembered a time when feelings so negative and irritating hadn’t ever been inside him, it was like they added onto each other. one would think it would get easier with time, that he would get used to repeated things. like losing… but not only had losing aunt may been harder than losing uncle ben, he was now more bitter, and more mournful over the past deaths he’d thought he’d gotten over, as well. or, how instead of growing numb to seeing horrible crimes unfold, every act of abuse and cruelty made him angrier, every time he hated… he hated more, although he wasn’t sure exactly what he was hating.

when he tried to track the target his hatred was pointing at, he saw blurry pictures. villains were a part of it, surely, but he didn’t feel a burning rage while fighting them, it was more so weariness, or disgust, mostly, he just wanted all of it to be over. he didn’t want to… ponder more on it, after that point. he had tried once, and then felt an untangible pain. he couldn’t admit it to himself, but he was afraid of what else he could find in that blur. himself? tony? aunt may? mj? new york? the world?

so the picture stayed anonymous, and he couldn’t fully direct his fury at anything, and he disliked all the villains, but could hardly muster up the energy to truly hate them. and perhaps it wasn’t in his nature, either. anger and hatred, he’d never been very good at those. was that why his heart was withering? because he couldn’t feel well? because those were all there was to feel in his life now, and he failed at it?

he felt so done with everything, currently. was he not going to be able to spend time with you uninterrupted? the conversation was going well, too. or at least he thought it was. he hoped you would agree.

back in high school, he knew you were smart, and funny, and would be a good friend if anyone could approach you, but you’d prefered to stay away from him, and he hadn’t had the courage to initiate a relationship with you, he’d found you intimidating. now getting to know you better, he wished he’d just done it, back then. but maybe not. maybe then he would lose you too.

would he lose you now, as well? he’d lost everyone, hadn’t he?

or he’d break your heart, maybe. he’d left liz, he’d left mj, he’d left ned. thrice taken, something was wrong with him.

he arrived at the site of the explosion, looking from above. the thick, suffocating hotness, the pain-filled wails of the survivors, the rubbles of the building crumbled down, his eyes searched for certain signs in between the horrors. he would first save those who couldn’t save themselves, then he would stop whoever was responsible.

as he started carrying survivors out of flames and rubble, he also started scanning everything around him carefully. a sign, a clue, a mistake on the culprit’s part… he knew who it was, he was almost sure the organization he’d been tailing down for the past few months was responsible for this. they were onto him, too, they knew.

he’d found out the position of their base was last week, a site with several factories and buildings in it, towards the border of the city, in a mostly desolate area, as it used to just be an industrialized site, but had now turned into an unpreferred place for bussiness. he’d wondered if they had something to do with that as well, but he supposed that didn’t matter much, in the grand scheme of things.

he would go there, and… and confront them. fight them. end them. something. somehow. the police were rendered useless for the most part, when it came to these underground syndicates, some were bought puppets, some were too powerless, peter knew better than to give away his knowledge now. he’d been burned enough. he would have to do it himself, and do it quick, before any other disasters struck his city.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you hadn’t gone back home, you were waiting next to a shop near the place peter had left you, looking at the exploded building from afar. you were growing more worried by the second; peter had seemed serious, and talked about a criminal organization who would bomb a whole building like it was a normal thing. was he engaged in a fight, currently? how often did things of this magnitude happen to him?

your phone buzzed, you immediately looked at the screen, it could be important in these circumstances. peter. peter was calling. he’d gone to fight, said he’d come back to you, and now was calling-

“peter?” you answered before you made any assumptions.

quick gasps cut short responded to you, and peter’s voice had taken the shape of slow, low wailing, or wheezing, or… regardless, it was obvious he was in pain.

“i…” he started, clearly having a hard time speaking, “i’m stuck. it was a trap.” he was breathless, his voice kept cracking.

“you- where?” you asked, choosing your words carefully. he was stuck. trapped. time. time was important. ask only for the information that matters right now.

“the building- that- there were people, i wanted to save them,” he was crying, it was obvious. “but i couldn’t, they are stuck too, and unconscious, some are dead. i couldn’t-” he cut his sentence short, taking quick breaths, most likely trying to keep himself awake, or too pained to continue. you understood it anyway.

“where are you, peter?”

“the building crumbled down, and it’s all rubble- but, it’s a huge- a huge, i don’t know. i’m under a heavy part, big, i can’t move it. not safely. i can’t try anything too dangerous, or the- the others might get crushed,” he managed to say in between his gasps and pained groans.

your heart sank, an awful dread dropped into the pit of your stomach. what to do now?

“i’m sorry,” he said, “i just- i didn’t know what to do, and i’d told you i’d come back, i don’t know. there is no one else i could call, i’m not- i’m sorry.”

no one else.

“don’t apologize,” you said, voice firmer, having gotten slightly angry. you weren’t angry at peter, you were angry at… at the reason why peter was hurt. it had only been two days since you’d truly gotten to know him, and you wanted to scream into a void at the top of your lungs already.

you started walking towards the road, looking for a taxi, or you would call one. the initial chaos had subsided, but now people wanting to immediately go back home around you had taken its place, taxis were working, you just didn’t know how fast you could go to wherever peter was.

“send me your location or describe where you are,” you said.

you could only hear his gasps for a moment. “no,” he said, “no, no, i don’t want you to come, that’s not why i-” his breath hitched, he started coughing.

your eyes had gotten teary, you blinked harshly a few times to get rid of the blurriness. would a bicycle be faster? a… motorcycle, perhaps? you started looking around to see any unclaimed ones, you could maybe pay someone-

“i’ll come either way, i’ll help you,” you said, as you started walking towards the site of the explosion, you thought finding an abandoned vehicle might be easier there… maybe even one that no longer had an owner. maybe even a gun. “send your location or i will go into the flames and try to find a clue.”

another pause.

“okay,” he said, exhaling in pain, “but be careful, run away the moment you see anyone dangerous. okay?”

“all right.”

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

it had been a long while since peter had been in such peril, had he underestimated his opponents? had he been too rash, reckless? it was highly unlikely that his street-level work would be as dangerous as the avengers-level threats, and he’d survived those, hadn’t he? so why was he crying now?

when he’d arrived at the site, and looked around a little, he’d found people, kidnapping victims, being sent to somewhere. he’d thought he’d needed to act fast to save them, but he’d fallen into a trap. not a trap specifically set for him; it more so looked like a last resort to cover up their traces while killing anyone at their tail, just destroying the building with evidence and their enemies in it. peter was just one person though, was that enough for them, or had they not bothered to check?

he didn’t know where exactly he was wounded under the rubble, everything was hurting. somewhere on his abdomen, he assumed, and legs, they were stinging like a thousand needles were sinking into his flesh at the same time.

he sighed, putting his forehead on the fallen stone in front of him.

he hated himself. that was it, yeah. that was the true target of his hatred. more than anything else. he realised so when he admitted it to himself; hating had suddenly gotten much easier, much deeper.

he’d just killed the last person on earth who knew him. why had he called you, anyway? he should’ve just… done as he always did before meeting you, deal with it himself. or die. the world wouldn’t lose much if he did, there was no one to mourn him. well, maybe you could get a little sad, but it wasn’t like you were particularly close to him, you’d never really been friends before. and you had a life, other people around you, you had no reason to hold onto him like he did you. so why were you even coming? why would you do this to him?

he killed everyone around himself. he would kill you. he would kill you. he would lose you.

no, no, stop. you could survive this, right? sinking into despair had never been helpful. he would need to stay sharp for you. he would… you could survive this much, right? and then he would never see you again. he would block your number, and… good thing he hadn’t brought you to his apartment.

he’d been so selfish, thinking only of himself, the happiness he felt at being remembered. what was he thinking? he should’ve never talked to you. he should’ve told you to raise your umbrella and go home without getting wet. he’d been erased from existence for a reason, hadn’t he? had he forgotten why he hadn’t gone back to mj and ned? how could he do this? how could he keep doing this? why did he never learn from his mistakes?

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you were breathless, having ridden a bicycle (that you really had managed to find abandoned next to the explosion) until a point where traffic wasn’t jammed, then taken a taxi to the point where the driver would be willing to drive to, then ran until you could see the eerie factory site peter had told you about. you’d stopped to catch your breath briefly, your throat was hurting, sweat was coming down on your face like rain had been on the morning you’d grabbed peter’s arm. you put your hand on the right of your abdomen, you had a bad case of side stitch pain. you were holding a metal pipe in your other hand, you hadn’t been lucky enough to stumble upon a gun lying around, unfortunately. you had wanted to find a shield of some sort, but the blown off car bits were mostly too heavy, and couldn’t be carried on a bicycle.

there it was, the area of a dangerous mafia organization. how many cameras were there? you wore the mask peter had given to you, even though you really didn’t want to when you needed so much air.

you could see the remnants of a big dust storm behind a few buildings, you would need to get closer to truly figure it out, but you assumed you could go towards that direction to find peter. your heart was drumming against your chest, your fingertips had suddenly gone cold. a tiny portion of it was because of your previous marathon, mostly your nervousness and… fear were the cause.

but you had to do this. there was simply no other choice. someone needed to save peter, and the authorities wouldn’t do it, and the heroes wouldn’t do it, and you were there already. so you got a move on.

you mostly walked behind walls and next to corners, nervous about being seen and shot dead on the spot before you could even get into the mafia’s base. you reached… a chain-link fence, surrounding the complex.

“NO TRESSPASSING” the sign on the fence read, “PRIVATE PROPERTY”.

well, you’d already stolen a bicycle.

you took a shaky breath, and put your foot into one of the chains. you’d never climbed over a chain-link fence before, but everything had a first time, right? so you gripped the chains for dear life, and although you probably looked ridiculous and unnatural doing it, managed to climb to the other side. you did scratch a few places on your legs and hands, but it was mostly a success.

now you needed to sneak deeper into the complex, somehow.

you walked half-crouched down, mostly next to walls, looking around yourself nervously, yet as fast as you could. as you got closer to the collapsed building, you started hearing screams, and gunshots. there was a commotion going on somewhere close to you, was it the kidnapped people? the ones peter had been able to save, the ones who’d gotten out? you stopped where you were and pressed your back to the building next to you, where did you go from here? where were the gun noises coming from? what did you need to do to avoid that, yet still reach peter?

your hands had started shaking, would it be possible to find an abandoned gun as you walked closer? it would be so easy for them to kill you.

you'd only managed to make a few turns from that point before you were caught. by a man with a gun in his hand.

"look at that," he said, as he pointed the gun at you. “it seems a little mouse sneaked in, in this chaos."

you stopped, completely frozen. your heart was beating in your throat, your hands were trembling, you'd forgotten how to breathe. you'd never been so fear-stricken in your life.

what could you do? one shot and you would be dead, what could you do with the metal pipe in your hand? you couldn't look away from the man to see what else you could use.

he started walking towards you slowly, saying things that would only distract you and make you more nervous if you focused on them, so you blocked them out.

he was clearly enjoying cornering you like a prey animal, that must have been why he was walking closer to you; to scare you. you fought against your urge to back away, to protect a distance between you two; you had a metal pipe. a gun was a long-range weapon, being closer might make it harder to run away, but would make it easier to fight back, and running away in this situation would do you no good. if he missed the first time, he would get you in the second. so you forcefully nailed your feet to the ground, ignored the alarms setting off in your mind, and tried to prepare yourself for a confrontation. your legs were trembling; you hoped the man would just think you'd frozen in fear.

he came close enough to put the gun to your head, just an arm's length of a distance between you. “you can't run even when the gun is in your face?” he asked mockingly.

would begging work? would it keep you alive long enough to catch an opening?

you would die. you would die.

you hadn't opened your mouth to form a single sentence since this man had found you, and you didn't think you could now. one wrong word and it would be over. you needed to act.

was there anyone else around? why was he alone? had you lucked out, somehow? they weren't going to take you into custody, you were a transgresser, they were going to kill you. you assumed this man had stumbled into you coincidentally in the ruckus, and hadn't felt the need to call for reinforcements. even if there were others in places you couldn't see, you had no choice but to act now.

the gun's tip was touching your forehead. seconds. i must act in seconds. by bending your knees, you ducked your head faster than he could process what happened and pull the trigger, and while ducking, swung the pipe in your hand as fast as you could, with as much force behind it as you could muster, and hit him in the groin.

you immediately made a move to get behind him while he buckled over; there was no running away from someone with a gun.

should you hold his hand with the gun, or hit it with your pipe? he was turning his face towards you, and would shoot you the moment he got a good view.

no, you’d taken too much time to think, and he’d already directed the gun at you, pulling the trigger. you immediately hit his hand with your pipe. the shot wasn't completely wasted, however, and grazed your leg.

you screamed in pain.

he reached for you with his other hand, grabbing your hair.

no time.

you gripped your pipe with all your strength, and hit his hand again while he was yanking your hair. and then kept hitting his hand, lest he direct the gun at you again. one, two, three, four, five— he kicked your leg. you buckled over in pain as he put your head to the ground, your hair still entangled in his hand. he was saying something, eyes bulging, looking very mad, but you weren’t proccessing any of it. your ears were still ringing because of the gunshot, and the pain in your leg was so powerful that you couldn't focus on anything. it was as if endless knives were constantly stabbing you. it was unbearable.

his hands were occupied with your head and the gun, you were nowhere near strong enough to set free from his grip, but he'd forgotten you were still holding onto the pipe. or maybe he'd just thought you'd be in too much pain to use it now. or maybe he just hadn't had the time to do something about that yet, everything was happering in seconds.

you swung it again in one last, reckless effort to fight back, and hit his head. the momentum tossed him to the side while taking you with him as he hadn't let go of your hair. before he could turn to face you back, you hit his head again, with all your might. he let go of your hair while balancing himself with his other hand, and hit you across the face before you could land your third hit, but you planted yourself to the ground, and landed another hit anyway. his head was bleeding, and he was clearly distraught.

what now? a few seconds. this had given you a few seconds of decision time. what now? should you keep hitting him? take the gun, somehow? how could you get rid of him?

you tried to move reflexively, to get away. but your leg was done for, you couldn’t get up. no. no. you couldn't move.

your heart was going to burst out of your chest, your nerves were completely wrecked; you couldn’t get up.

what, then? did you have to… kill? you were going to throw up. your hands started trembling even more violently. you couldn't. you just couldn't.

you wished you could yell for help. but you were supposed to be the help. it was as it had always been before, pick yourself up and dust yourself off.

no time to think.

you hit his head again, and when he flailed, this time you put his head to the ground, climbing on top of him, twisting his gun-holding arm under his body. now… now you could... how could you stop him? if you managed to take the gun, and told him to stay put until you could run away... you couldn't move, though. you couldn't even properly restrain him because you were having to drag one leg. the concussion he had was doing most of the heavy lifting.

an idea did come up in your mind. you supposed you had no other choice.

──────

you were lying on the floor, your back towards the sky. you’d left your unconscious attacker where he was lying, and managed to drag yourself for a few centimeters before you’d stopped, and leaned your forehead against the ground. you needed to get away, you knew. at least near a wall, somewhere you wouldn’t be seen so clearly, but your leg was hurting too much to use.

you couldn’t raise your head, and just started sobbing openly. you’d already been crying, but trying to hold back, keep quiet. you needed to sit up, and look at how bad the wound was, and how much blood you’d lost. the pain was all you could think about, your head was hurting from stress and forcing yourself to think through the pain, your eyes and throat were hurting from crying (and maybe also sleep-deprivation, as time was diving deeper into the night), your face was hurting from the hit you’d taken, and yet, nothing could be compared to the pain you felt in your leg. you wanted to take off your mask, it was suffocating enough even without it, but any cameras catching your face would be more of a disaster long term.

you took a deep breath, and put your hands on the ground. you pushed yourself up while shaking, and turned around. you looked at your leg, and immediately regretted it. it was bleeding a lot, and your flesh had been ripped apart. you didn’t know what to do, there was no one you could call.

you took out your phone from your pocket, and found peter’s number. you really didn’t want to, but you had no other choice.

peter answered by calling out your name questioningly, his voice came across better than last time; it still did sound like he was in pain, but he was calmer.

“peter,” you said, failing to sound like you weren’t crying. “a guy shot me. my leg is hurt.”

“a- what? where are you?”

“i’m near the collapsed building you should be in.”

“i- i-”

you took a second to breathe. “no, no, i… i just don’t know what to do,” you said, sniffling and gasping, “i can’t get up. i, uh, should i wrap something around my leg?”

“yeah,” he said, “a piece of cloth until you can get out, how close are you to the exit? you should call an ambulance or a taxi or—” he also had to stop to take a breath in pain, “i don’t know— i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.”

“what are you sorry for? it’s the fault of this piece of— well, garbage. at least i have a gun now.”

“who was it? is he still there?”

“i don’t know, some random guy. he’s unconscious.”

“… how?”

“well, i… kind of strangled him? he was,” you huffed, “he fainted because he couldn’t breathe, he’s alive though. i did hit his head a few times, i don’t know how that bodes for him.”

“probably not well,” he said, now with a hint of surprise and amusement in his voice, “you, uh, you did well. very well.”

“huh, thank you.”

good, this was good, hearing peter’s voice had been good for you. you pushed yourself up somehow, and sat up straight.

“what happened?” he asked, “why is the pain worsening?” probably because of your increasing groans.

“i was trying to sit up. i need to find a piece of cloth.”

you looked around, and decided to take anything you could from the man who attacked you. you went through his pockets, and sure enough, found a knife. you cut a piece off of his shirt, and used it as bandage.

“how tight should it be?”

“you should be able to slide a finger under it.”

next, you needed to drag yourself away from the middle of the road, to somewhere you could hide—

no.

no, that wasn’t why you were here.

“how are you doing, peter?” you asked, but couldn’t add that you would be there soon.

“i’m…” he started, but drifted off. and then you heard silent sobbing. “i’m sorry,” he said.

“you have nothing to apologize for.”

“no, it’s all my fault. i never should’ve dragged you into this mess.”

“you didn’t drag me into anything, i stole a bike and ran a marathon to get to you,” you’d sounded firmer now, although still couldn’t stop your crying; the pain just wasn’t getting any better.

“i let you down along with everyone else,” he wasn’t listening to you, “and i don’t know what to do, i can’t come to you, i don’t know how to get you out,” his voice had gotten frantic again.

you sighed, trying to get your sobbing under control, and think of a reply. was it his fault? no, you were certain it wasn’t. had he let you down? no, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. should he stay away from you? were you afraid of pain or death? would you rather live a more stress-free life than stay with peter?

you closed your eyes to let the tears roll down your cheeks as the realisation that you couldn’t immediately say “no” set in, you felt betrayed by yourself. you’d thought about this, yesterday… or two days ago, you supposed, as it was past midnight. he’d told you everything, so you knew the risks, and you’d thought about it. you’d decided it would be fine; worrying for his safety or being at risk yourself. and if you got injured, then you could handle some pain. and if you died, well… there was no getting ahead of death. if you died, that would mean your time had come.

so where had your conviction gone to? had the pain been too much, after all? it was the pain, the stabbing sensation was making your brain foggy, demanding all the attention be on it. you hated it, you hated everything. you were mad at yourself; why couldn’t you just be better?

“peter,” you cut him off, “i know i can’t understand you fully, but i get it,” you’d decided to just ramble. you couldn’t come up with the perfect answer to make his worries disappear, so you would just… tell him whatever was going through your mind.

“i lay awake some nights, randomly afraid of the dark. then i curl up under my blanket, and try to comfort myself. because there is no one to lie next to me. i look out from my window and see grey walls. i look up at night and see no stars. i walk outside and hundreds of people just walk past me without even looking at my face, and i don’t remember any of theirs the next hour. all i hear all day are the honks of cars, and depressing news. abuse. crime. kid died. alone person went missing. don’t go out at night. don’t talk to anyone. there is no one anyway, who would i talk to?” you paused to sniffle again, and catch your breath.

“i come home and say ‘hello’ to emptiness and darkness, i turn on the lights myself, then think about what i’ll eat. and i don’t properly eat most days, because i just don’t want to prepare something only for myself. yesterday, i was so happy you liked the food i made, i wanted to cook something for the first time in months while waiting for you,” words were just coming out of your mouth without restraint now, was it the sleep deprivation?

“in high school, i used to watch you and your friends, and wish i could find someone who would be in sync with me too. i used to wish i had a reason or an excuse to join in when i saw you three laugh or talk. i go to university now, and i attend lectures, and i make small talk with a few people, and then i drown in my own thoughts the whole day. i tell myself that i’m fine by myself, but i feel like my soul is getting thinner by the day, looking at walls. is it just me, or is everyone just disconnected now, i don’t know.”

you finally stopped, and let silence stretch after your words. your crying had gotten worse as the suffocation of your life had built up enough to rush out of you; you didn’t cry much, not really. sure, you sometimes shed silent tears, sitting by yourself on your couch, but normally, you just kept going without thinking much about it. you had your exams, and job, and volunteer work, and projects to worry about, so pitying yourself was at the bottom of your to-do list. but now? you were crying waterfalls. was it because you’d finally found someone to tell what you were really thinking? no, it was probably because of the pain you were already in.

peter didn’t answer, for a long while, it was just silence.

“you were right,” you said, “being known with your negative sides sucks.”

“no,” he said, “you were right. i’m glad to know you as you are.”

he didn’t sound good. he didn’t sound good at all. you sighed in resignation, closing your eyes tightly shut to clear your view of tears. “i’m closing now, peter, wait for me,” you said, and closed the call before he could reply.

you looked at the ground, and furrowed your brows in concentration. you would get up. you had to. you had no choice. peter had called you for help. he had no one. no one else to call. no one else to save him from making a choice between death and killing innocent victims under rubble. no one else to save him from death.

you gritted your teeth, your leg hurt as the deep cut touched the bad guy’s shirt, and in some parts, the cold air of the night. the wound kept bleeding, and hurting more by the second. but you gritted your teeth anyway, through your tears and gasps for air that you had an abundance of, but your lungs refused to take in. you put your hands on the ground, and pushed yourself up, using all the strength you had.

you whimpered and groaned in many attempts to stifle your screams before they could come out, and alert whoever was close enough to hear, and managed to set your back straight. it was unbearable, the pain was holding you from the collar, trying to drag you down, making your vision red, exploding in your brain.

it’s just pain, you kept repeating to yourself, it was just a feeling, you could move through it. so you would walk now. towards peter. as quickly as possible. you needed to reach him, that was why you’d come this far, how could you let pain make you forget? it was simply unacceptable, the thought of peter dying under that rubble.

so you put one foot in front of the other, and made your way to peter through every force working against you.

──────

"peter?" you asked, trying to walk through the rubble, and then heard your name back.

"i'm here!"

you tried to reach him at least enough to see his face, as fast as you could, but it was still taking too long with your injured leg. too long for your impatience currently, anyway.

"i'll remove the victims so you can get out of there," you said as you stretched your head enough to see his face, not being able to get closer. he was... he'd taken off his mask, and he looked horrible; his eyes had become red from tears and most likely his injuries, his face was covered in dust and some drops of blood. looking at him stung your chest. "tell me where they are."

──────

peter was strong. he truly was. not only mentally; you were currently watching him lift what was essentially an entire ceiling with other pieces of rubble on it off himself, with most likely many crushing injuries. insane. he was insane. no wonder he couldn’t move with all with those unconscious people around.

you had somehow managed to move them out of his way, seven people in total, much more than you’d anticipated. how could you get them out of here now? you were injured, peter was probably in worse condition… although he did seem to be able to carry significant weight. maybe you could carry them until the exit and call an ambulance, for yourselves, too.

──────

peter walked towards you until he was a breath away, his face was covered in sweat on top of everything else, and he was gasping for air, as were you. he looked at your leg.

“i’ll carry you,” was all he said. he seemed so tired.

“we need to carry these people first.”

“no, i’ll carry you first. until you’re out of this complex.”

──────

you were sitting on the sidewalk, waiting for the ambulance you had called. well, ambulances, as they’d be carrying nine people. you had, also, finally taken off the mask you’d come to despise at this point, associating it with very negative feelings.

you saw peter swing down with the last one of the survivors. he landed, placed the unconscious man on the sidewalk, and sat right next to you.

you sat together in silence for a while, until you took a deep breath, and chuckled lightly. it was over. you’d done it. everyone was alive.

peter looked at you questioningly, although it was hard to read his face; he’d turned mostly expressionless. because of how much effort it must have been taking to even stay awake for him, you assumed.

“it’s over,” you said, “we did it.”

he looked away again, to the desolate road in front of you. “you did it,” he said, “i messed up.”

“how so?”

“i acted rashly. i should’ve been more careful. now they’ll find a new base, and i have to start from nothing to track them down again. and they know i’m after them. and i couldn’t change anything in the end, i just made things worse. all of this was for nothing, it could have been completely avoided. it started with the collapse of one building and then it ended with the collapse of another for no reason.”

you were watching him carefully. lines of exhaustion had formed on his face, the sorrow and… and whatever it was that dropped a boulder of burning despair into the pit of your stomach from when you first met had come back; you’d thought the youth had somehow returned to his face this evening.

“so,” you started, taking another deep breath, “you came here after they exploded a building to stop them, like, end them in general, or at least weaken them, do something. that makes sense to me. then you acted rashly here? why?”

“i saw… the kidnapped victims, and they were suffering, so i wanted to save them.”

“then you didn’t mess up, right? you saved them.”

“not all of them, and i wouldn’t have without you.”

“well, a big majority of them, you did save. all of them would die without you. and what else could you have done but to directly interfere? you did the only thing you could.”

he just stayed silent, was he not convinced?

“i don’t think this was a failure, peter. i think you did well and saved many people, and i think it was worth it.”

his eyes were teary, but he didn’t look at you again, he turned his gaze to the ground, and just stayed silent.

──────

you had decided on what to tell the authorities before the paramedics had arrived, and then you’d been separated, put into different ambulances.

then… well, the rest was as you imagined it would go. still a lot of pain, and a lot of hasty doctors as they asked questions and barked orders. it was horrible, really, with the way your head had been aching, but at least they were numbing your leg. and you would most likely be allowed to drift off to sleep at some point, right?

──────

you lied on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. it was almost noon, and you’d waken up not so long ago. you just kept playing what happened again and again in your head, trying to make sense of every detail.

it was a miracle you were alive. you’d faced off a gun. an actual gun.

it was good that all you could do by yourself in this hospital bed was think; you’d been asking yourself the same questions for a while now. did you still want to be involved with peter? you’d known him only for two days, and you’d ended up in a hospital already.

you’d considered every outcome and every reason, every choice you could make. in the end, it boiled down to a few core options. would you rather live a less risky life by yourself, or risk getting hurt like this to be with someone? someone who can meet you as deeply as you crave?

not just that, human bonds were too important to be disregarded because of what external threats might arise. the reality now was that you loved peter, he was a good person, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned because of what evil people did. your choice didn’t come out of loneliness; even if you had a dozen bonds like this, you would still choose to stay with peter, because you’d formed a relationship with him now. and that was that.

out of every outcome you considered, the worst one was definitely living your life without peter, and then getting news that spiderman just died somewhere, by himself. even the thought of it was nausiating. then again, the thought of just him getting hurt like this, and having no one to go to was just as horrible. so you needed to choose the opposite of what would cause that outcome to happen.

it hadn’t been that hard a decision to make; staying involved with peter. you’d already been tangled, it wasn’t much of a possibility to untangle yourself now, a part of you would be left behind.

besides, you somehow remembered him, didn’t you? that had to mean something. there had to be a reason for it.

──────

after finally being discharged, the first thing you did was look for peter, but he’d somehow gotten out before you. not because his wounds were less severe, quite the opposite, the nurses had said he’d been restless to get out, and they couldn’t keep someone against their will.

the orange of dusk had faded away, although it wasn’t fully dark yet. you were on your way to your apartment while you kept ringing peter’s phone, he was stubbornly refusing to answer.

you huffed as another attempt turned out to be in vain. you looked at the taxi driver, who did not acknowledge your existence, and then turned back to your phone.

“peter, are you okay? is everything all right?”

you messaged him. then waited for him to see. aaand waited. still waiting.

you huffed again, three minutes of staring at your screen impatiently and he wasn’t responding.

although you’d asked him if he were okay, you knew the truth. it wasn’t that he couldn’t answer, it was that he’d decided to go through with his stupid “i’ll never see you again because i’m ruining your life” nonsense. in your heart of hearts, you knew. so you sent another message.

“if you’re thinking about cutting ties with me, then do it properly. come and talk to me about it.”

and then looked out the taxi’s window for the rest of your journey.

────── 𓆩˚.⋆🕸⋆.˚𓆪 ──────

you were right, peter knew. after everything that happened, opening up to you and accepting you into his life, if he wanted to step away now, he needed to respect you, and tell you about it properly. so he was standing in front of your door now, trying to gather up the courage to ring your bell, and tell you he’d never see you again. this door had seemed so inviting one night ago, and it had tricked peter. he was not supposed to be invited into any house, didn’t your house know that?

he took a deep breath, and rang the bell. when you opened the door, you looked tired. not your expression, but the lines on your face and the look in your eyes gave it away. that was his fault, wasn’t it?

you stepped aside to welcome him, and he followed you into the living room, the couch he’d sat on the night he’d told you everything.

bidding you farewell was going to be hard, he didn’t know if he could be brave enough, or selfless enough. he’d been so when he had been wiped from the memories of every living being, and that was much harder a task, wasn’t it? so couldn’t he do it a second time?

but he hated waking up every day, and hated… well, he couldn’t even properly hate. getting up, putting one foot in front of the other was becoming harder every day, he didn’t want to do anything, anymore. so circumstances had changed since then, but he still kept fighting every day, and he still kept doing what he thought was right. so he could do this too.

or you would die. he’d lost enough people. to love was to lose. to love was the possibility of loss eventually.

he shouldn’t even have sat on this couch, actually, why had he done so? he should’ve just told you he was leaving, and then leave. he made a move to get up again, you grabbed his arm to stop him.

“you should stay seated,” you said, “i’ll bring something to eat for dinner.”

“please don’t, i’ll be on my way shortly anyway.”

“no,” you said as a statement, firmly, and left him alone in the living room.

peter never should’ve come. you deserved to have one last conversation, but how could peter move on from you? he supposed it would’ve been impossible even if he hadn’t come to your place today, even if he’d told you to turn back without getting wet the day you first recognized him. he would just have to live missing you forever, and that wasn’t unrealistic. it’s what he was doing now, missing everybody he’d ever known. and he was living, wasn’t he? well, he was alive.

you brought pasta with chicken, obviously freshly made, and put down two plates on the couch.

“we could eat in the kitchen,” he said.

“couch is comfier.”

he sighed, looking at his plate. he really didn’t want to eat anything made by you again, he didn’t need more things to miss. you’d said you didn’t feel like preparing a meal just for yourself, that he made you want to cook something… he remembered everything you said, of course. that you’d apparently wanted to get closer to him in high school too, why had he been so nervous? afraid?

it was for the best, though. otherwise, you might’ve died years ago. no matter what you felt, he couldn’t be selfish enough to assume he could be there for you, or good for you.

“so,” you started, “you decided to go forward with your plan of ignoring my existence for the rest of your life?”

“it’s not ignoring,” he had a defensive tone, “i was wrong to even confirm i’m peter at the start, i’ll fix my mistake.”

“it wasn’t a mistake, how can you say that? would you prefer i believed i’d lost my mind?”

you had a hard time walking now, limping although you tried to hide it, and several wounds were visible on your face. you’d beat up a man with a metal pipe, what kind of damage did that leave on your psyche? peter didn’t know, he’d been warring since he was fifteen.

“you wouldn’t be in pain, at least.”

“you’re unbelievable,” you sounded exasparated, and seemed offended, but peter didn’t know what else to say. it was the truth. “i’d rather know the bitter truth, or suffer from its consequences than believe a lie any time. besides, you couldn’t have known this would happen, it’s not on you.”

“you can’t tell me you would still get a gunshot wound yesterday if we hadn’t met two days ago.”

“maybe not, but i don’t blame you for it and i don’t care.”

“you don’t care?!” peter was getting angry, was it because you were getting angry? he was angry at himself, was it dripping out of his chest into his tongue as poison?

“no,” you backtracked, “i mean, i’m fine with it. i can live with it. and i don’t hold it against you, i don’t have any resentment for you. i don’t know how else to explain this.”

he took a deep breath to hold back his tears. he couldn’t let your words get to him, make him feel better about what had occurred. he needed to protect you, he kept reminding himself.

“i can’t put you in harm’s way,” he said.

you paused for a moment.

“do you take care of your wounds by yourself? you did so after the fire the other day, and you basically ran away from the hospital this time around.”

peter was taken aback. “uh, yeah?” he answered.

you grabbed a bag that was positioned right next to the couch on the floor, and took a… first aid kit out of it. and then a salve, and bandages, and… what was going on?

“i bought these today after being discharged, figured you might need some.”

“i’m… fine?”

your expression was very unimpressed when you looked at him.

“so you think i don’t see your arm, or the way you have a hard time eating or breathing, or even just your hands?”

ah, right. his hands were bruised, not enough to warrant bandaging though, this happened regularly. and his arm did hurt, but the pain would go away in a few days or so. his abdomen… that was taken care of, too, the dressing they did at the hospital would be enough.

“it’s all taken care of,” he said.

“we need to put salve on your hands, and then wrap-”

“we don’t, this happens all the time.”

you looked at him in surprise for a moment. “this happens all the time and we don’t need to treat it?” you repeated with your eyes wide, tone something between offended and shocked.

he didn’t know what to say, so you just started doing whatever you’d set your mind to even before he came to your house. you gently held his hand, and started applying the salve. he sighed, and closed his eyes, leaning his head to rest on the couch. he shouldn’t have, but you didn’t give him much choice.

“i’ll learn how to suture,” you said, “and anything else that’s necessary.”

peter spoke your name, “i’m sorry,” he said, “i am so, so sorry. i don’t want to leave you either, but you saw what happened. mj and ned have forgotten me, and they are happier for it. this is what i need to do.”

“peter,” you said, as you started wrapping the bandage around his hand, “i haven’t forgotten you, and if you leave now, i still won’t forget. i don’t know how mj and ned are doing, having forgotten, but you can’t compare me to them. and even if i had forgotten, i still would want to know. how else can i put this?” you searched for the words, “i care about you more than i care about happiness. i’d choose you over happiness, i’d rather be in pain with you than be painless by myself.”

peter had straightened his back, his gaze fixated on your eyes, as you spoke. a lump in his throat, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks in his eyes, his hand in your hands… a warmth in his chest, how he hadn’t felt in so long. your words did soften his edges, but he couldn’t accept it. he still held back his tears, and still wanted to escape. run away. was that why he wanted to leave you? was his true reason to protect you, or his fear? he wanted to run, he wanted to run as fast as he could and hide, from anyone who could see him.

it was too much, but he couldn’t exactly tell what was too much. he was afraid of hurting you, but that wasn’t all he was afraid of, yet he couldn’t recognize what else scared him so.

“but,” you continued, “being with you will make me happy anyway, do you understand? i’ll be happier with you than alone, even if my life is at risk, and even if guns chase my back.”

you had teared up too, peter realised, but were wiping your tears away, to keep your vision clear while working on his now other hand, he assumed.

and that was it, the last drop of water to make his glass overflow. silent tears started finding their way to his chin, his gaze lowered in embarrassment. he’d already cried a dozen times in front of you, and he wished he hadn’t, he wished he could be stronger, firmer, he wished he could aspire confidence instead of silently crying. he hadn’t been able to cry for a while, before meeting you. even when it hurt deep inside his bones, his tears had dried up. were they all spilling out now?

he wanted you to stay, too, he was tired of being alone. he was tired of imagining “what if”s. he was tired of walking directionless with his hoodie covering his face, face a blur in crowds, never known by anyone. if you could bandage his hands every time after a fight, or have your textbooks scattered around in his room, then-

he didn’t want to imagine it. he just couldn’t accept it.

you were done with his hands, even though peter didn’t want you to let go. “how about this,” you started, “why don’t we give it some more time? i mean, how many times did mj or ned get wounded while knowing you?”

“… never, really.”

“yeah, so, either i’m also cursed, or this was a rare occurrence. either way, me staying with you won’t change anything. so, instead of making a rash decision like this, why don’t we try to be friends first? and if it doesn’t work out, then you can put some distance?”

that was… peter thought on it. and then his silent tears turned into straight-up sobbing. because that could work. he could accept that, it made sense to him.

he leaned down and buried his face in his hands. you started caressing his hair, which made it impossible for his tears to stop.

when everyone had forgotten, you'd remembered him. when faced with a gun, you'd survived. when injured, you'd walked. maybe he really was cursed, considering what had happened to you after you just met, but you seemed determined to break it.

and it might not be perfect, but it would be.

it must’ve been hard for you to make such a decision, you must’ve thought about it; staying with peter. you’d chosen him anyway. he could do the same, too. despite his fears, his horrible instinct to shrink and escape, he could stand his ground, and choose to stay, as you had. and maybe with time, it could get easier.

he stopped his sobbing, calmed down enough to face you, and raised his head.

“i don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” he said with a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“right,” you smiled, “exciting, isn’t it?”

ghost towns (youtube music) by radical face... as we part ways for now.

He’s leaning against the dark wood of the wardrobe, already fully dressed in his noble attire. He chose a tailored, deep charcoal suit with gold accents—it fits his shoulders perfectly, making him look every bit the high-ranking protector, even without his usual armor.

Tonight is the night. Before the lanterns are released into the sky, there is the annual charity masquerade in honor of Marlene. Since it’s a masquerade, you’ll both be completely disguised as visiting nobles. It’s a perfect cover, but your head is still spinning too fast to focus on the fashion aspect.

Honestly, ever since last night, your mind has been divided between deep, heavy grief and a sudden, intense addiction to James.

After you finally crossed that line and had sex for the first time, the shift between you two became magnetic. The grief of learning the truth about your powers had triggered a desperate need to feel alive, and James had met that desperation with a consuming hunger of his own. 

It was so intense that when you woke up this morning, you ended up doing it again in the massive bathtub. It was, without a doubt, fucking amazing. The warm water, the slick slide of James’s skin against yours, and the devoted way he held you against the tub—you have to silently thank Dorcas for providing a room with such a ridiculously luxurious tub.

But beneath all the endless, intoxicating rounds of sex, there is still a painful ache. You’ve had a few silent breakdowns over the last twenty-four hours, sobbing into James’s chest in the dark until he cradled you to sleep. But right now, looking at the racks of dresses, you just want to focus on the magic of the lanterns.

James steps forward, his eyes scanning the colorful dresses before settling on one near the back. “I think this one is nice,” he says, reaching out and pulling it from the rack.

You look at it, and your breath catches in your throat from how gorgeous it is. It’s a stunning beige gown, heavily adorned with golden embroidery that drapes down the skirt. It instantly reminds you of the traditional coronation gowns in Valenora, yet it has a modern, breathtaking structure. The mask that comes with it is equally beautiful, iced with delicate gold filigree and tiny, shimmering crystals.

You take the hanger from him, holding the gown up against yourself. “You actually have good taste,” you murmur, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through your exhaustion. “It matches your suit perfectly.”

James watches you, his gaze dropping to the gold threads reflecting in your eyes. “I know how you look in gold, love. It was an easy choice.”

You step into the wooden wardrobe to dress, sliding the gold-embroidered beige gown over your shoulders. Working the laces on your own is difficult, a stark contrast to the luxury of having Lily here to assist you, but you manage. 

You step out and stand before the vanity mirror, pulling your hair into a simple, elegant style that keeps it out of your face, leaving just enough framing your features.

For makeup, you use the small jars left on the vanity—a touch of crushed, rosy pigment pressed onto your lips and cheekbones, and a sweep of dark kohl to define your eyes. Finally, you adorn yourself with a few simple pieces of gold jewelry.

When you look in the glass, the reflection staring back is both entirely familiar and completely foreign.

As a princess, you are used to wearing expensive gowns of every color and style. But this time, there is no Lily there to help you dress, bustling around you with pins and load of laughter. There are no parents waiting down the hall. There are no brothers waiting just outside your door, ready to tease you the second you step out.

You are entirely on your own.

The reality of it all seems to crash all at once; this trip is coming to an end. After the lantern lights, there is no more reason to stay away. You have achieved all your goals: you found the origin of your powers, and you are about to see the lights. There is nothing left to do.

Besides, it would be deeply unfair to stay on the run any longer. James is risking his life, his honor, and his entire career for you, breaking a million rules every single day he remains by your side. You can’t keep him on the run forever. By the time you return, you will have been gone for two weeks, plus the agonizing week it will take to travel back to Valenora.

You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

It will be fine.

But will it? What now? Now that you know the truth of your powers, what actually changes? You are still expected to return, to go through with the arranged marriage to Prince Caelum, and to be sent off to Thalassia. 

Finding out the truth didn’t change a single thing about your fate. It wasn’t like you were going to start a revolution with this knowledge. You are still trapped.

“Are you okay?”

You flinch, your shoulders tensing as James’s reflection appears behind yours in the mirror. He’s standing there, completely dressed in hissuit, but his eyes are fixed entirely on you. Seeing how deep in thought you are, staring blankly at your own reflection, his expression softens with immediate concern.

He steps closer, placing his hands on your shoulders, and gently turns you around to face him. “You’re still thinking about it right?” he asks softly.

You look up into his warm eyes and simply nod. There is no need to define what it is. You both know. It’s everything Dorcas told you, about your past, and the terrifying reality of what waits for you when this dream finally ends.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, forcing a small, reassuring smile to your lips. “It will be fine. Let’s just go and enjoy tonight.”

James searches your face for a long second, wanting to press further, but he respects the boundary you’ve quietly set. He nods, reaching for the gold-iced mask resting on the vanity.

“Turn around,” he murmurs.

You turn back to the mirror, and James steps up behind you. His touch is incredibly gentle as he brushes your hair out of the way, positioning the crystal-trimmed mask over your eyes. He carefully ties the silk ribbons at the back of your head, his fingers lingering on the nape of your neck. 

Once your mask is secure, he picks up his own—a dark leather and gold piece that matches his charcoal suit—and slides it into place.

You turn to look at him. With the masks on, the transformation is startling. The familiar, comforting lines of his face are partially hidden. You, too, look entirely different; you look like a mysterious, wealthy noblewoman from some far-off court.

James’s eyes crinkle behind his mask as a smile spreads across his lips. He leans down, cupping your cheek, and presses a kiss to your lips. “You look absolutely beautiful, Y/N,” he says.

You smile back at him, feeling a genuine spark of excitement for the first time all day. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself, Sir James.”

“Come on,” he says, offering his arm.

You slide your hand into the crook of his elbow, and together, you step out of the guest chambers. A pair of royal servants is already waiting in the corridor, bowing respectfully before guiding you down the grand hallways of the castle. As you draw closer to the grand wing, the distant, lively swell of orchestral music begins to echo off the stone walls.

Just before you reach the massive double doors of the ballroom, a senior servant steps into your path with a polite bow. “My lady, Sir James,” the servant says quietly, keeping his voice low so as not to carry. “Her Majesty, Queen Dorcas, has commanded me to deliver these to you before you enter. She requests that for the evening, you present yourselves under these names.”

He extends a silver tray. Resting on it are two invitation cards. You pick them up, opening the parchment, and your eyes widen slightly as you read the elegant script.

Lady Margaret Sterling and Sir James Sterling, of House Valerius.

The servant bows once more and slips away into the corridor, leaving you and James staring at the cards. It makes perfect sense—to enter the grand ballroom, the royal guards at the door must verify the invitations of every noble guest to maintain security, especially at a masquerade where faces are hidden.

“Oh my god,” you whisper-giggle, nudging his side. “She made us married! She gave us the same last name.”

James looks down at the invitation in his hand, a slow, incredibly handsome smirk spreading across his face. He leans in close to your ear, his breath warm against your temple.

“Well,” he chuckles, his voice dripping with amusement. “I must say, I wouldn’t mind being married to you.”

You roll your eyes behind your mask, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. “Hmm, I don’t know about that. I’m not entirely sure you’d make a great husband, James. You’re far too stubborn.”

“Is that so?” James laughs, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief behind his dark mask. “I’ll have you know that Lord James Sterling is definitely a great husband. He is attentive, exceedingly handsome, and completely devoted to his wife.”

“Oh, really?” you tease, your heart fluttering at the easy, joyful banter. “We’ll have to see about that, Lord Sterling.”

“Watch and learn, my lady,” he whispers, squeezing your hand as he guides you toward the grand entrance.

Two towering royal guards stand at the ready. James steps forward with noble poise, presenting the two invitations. The guard scans the names, nods respectfully, and steps aside, gesturing for the grand doors to be opened.

As the doors swing wide, the sheer grandeur of the Solistian charity ball washes over you.

The ballroom is absolutely gorgeous. Massive crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceilings, casting a warm glow over the hundreds of guests dancing below. The air is sweet with the scent of expensive perfumes, spiced wine, and fresh winter blooms. Nobles from all over the continent glide across the polished marble floor, their velvet gowns and tailored silk coats swirling in time with the grand orchestra.

For the first time in two weeks, you don’t feel out of place. You don’t feel the terrifying urge to look over your shoulder or hide in the corners.

The masquerade is a brilliant shield. Because everyone’s face is hidden beneath masks, the social pressure of the court vanishes. If you don’t wish to be approached by prying delegates or curious nobles, you simply don’t have to be—no one can recognize you. You are completely, blissfully anonymous.

James pulls you a little closer to his side, his hand resting securely on your waist as you look out over the glittering sea of dancers.

“See?” he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet satisfaction. “No one is looking at us with suspicion. We’re just two visiting nobles enjoying the music.”

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, leaning into his warmth. “For tonight, we’re just Margaret and James.”

“And tonight,” James says, turning his head to look down at you, his eyes burning with that familiar, intense devotion, “I get to dance with my wife.”

The orchestra transitions seamlessly from a lively, sweeping waltz into a slower, more intimate melody. James guides you deeper into the sea of dancers, his hand against the small of your back, his other hand clasping yours.

As you both slow down, you find yourself staring up at him, entirely breathless.

He looks incredibly handsome in this attire. It is the first time you have ever seen him without his glasses, and the change is striking. The dark leather mask with its golden filigree acts as a perfect frame, making the gold in his eyes and the deep, warm tones of his hair shine under the glow of the crystal chandeliers. 

Standing this close to James, feeling the beat of his heart against your chest, you are hit with a sudden, dizzying wave of affection. You want nothing more than to reach up, pull his mask down, and kiss him right here in the center of the crowded ballroom.

James notices the intensity of your gaze. A playful, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he leans down, playing right back into the role of your high-society husband.

“Oh, and remind me, what exactly would make me a perfect husband, my lady?” he teases, his voice a low, smooth purr that sends a shiver down your spine. “You seemed rather skeptical of my capabilities earlier.”

You let out a laugh, resting your hand on his shoulder as you step in rhythm with him, happily playing along. “Well, to be a perfect husband, you must be exceptionally patient. You must travel with me around the world. And, of course, you must be prepared to take me anywhere I’d like.”

James lets out a laugh, the sound vibrating against your chest. “Patience, I have in abundance. Listening to your complaints is practically my all time job. But as for traveling and taking you anywhere?” he tilts his head, smirking down at you. “Aren’t I already doing that right now?”

You laugh, shaking your head against his chest. “Well, yes, but that’s because it’s your job. I’m talking about doing it when you’re not getting paid to keep me alive.”

“You know I’d do it in a heartbeat.” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying a quiet, heavy sincerity that makes your chest ache. “If I could… I’d take you everywhere.”

The playful banter fades, replaced by a bittersweet thought that has been keeping you awake at night.

You look up into his golden eyes, your voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. “James…”

“Yes?”

“If we were actually just James and Margaret…” you start, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “If there were no crowns, no magical powers, no running for our lives… do you think we would still be together? Do you think we would have found each other?”

James’s steps falter for a fraction of a second before he regains his rhythm. A sad, tender smile touches his lips.

“Yeah,” he whispers, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. “I think we would. I think my soul would have looked for yours until it found you, no matter what names we were born with.”

A small, emotional lump forms in your throat. You want to stay in this safe, beautiful bubble forever. “Tell me about them,” you urge, leaning your head closer to his chest as you sway to the music, desperate to live in the fantasy. “What do Margaret and James do?”

James smiles, his eyes turning reflective as he paints the picture for you. “I think we would live in a nice, quiet house. Far away from the noise of castles. We would get married, of course. I wouldn’t want to waste a single day without you as my wife.”

“Keep going,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a moment to picture it. “How would you propose?”

“Oh, I’d do it properly,” James says, a chuckle in his voice. “I’d propose to you with a nice ring. I’d spend months searching for the absolute nicest gem in the realm.”

You look up at him, a teasing but watery smile on your face. “My standards are very high, you know. I’d want a lumicrystas the stone. Nothing less.”

James laughs, his thumb tracing a soothing circle on your waist. “Then I would find you the brightest lumicryst in the hallow vale. I’d scale the most dangerous peaks myself just to get it for you. And I’d propose in the most romantic place imaginable. On a cliffside at sunset, or under a sky full of stars. Somewhere quiet, where it’s just the two of us.”

He guides you through a gentle turn, his eyes never leaving yours. “And I think Margaret and James would have a very nice, small wedding,” he continues, his voice warm, wrapping you in the comfort of the dream. “No grand royal protocols. No political alliances. We’d only invite our people. Our closest friends, the people who actually love us, and our family.”

You nod, letting yourself fully sink into the beautiful, heartbreaking illusion. “I’d want us to live near your fathers restaurant,” you add softly, looking up at him with a hopeful shine in your eyes. “So we could visit them for dinner every week.”

James lets out a breathy laugh, his heart aching with a mixture of pure love and sorrow. “Sure,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion as he presses his temple gently against yours. “We’d live just down the street. My mother would feed us until we couldn’t walk, and my father would probably try to teach you how to cook his secret recipes. It would be perfect.”

You sway with him in the silence for a long moment, the warmth of his body the only thing keeping the cold reality at bay. You swallow past the lump forming in your throat, resting your hand against the nape of his neck.

“Do you think we’d have kids?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

A tender nod touches his features, his gaze softening with a devotion so deep it almost hurts to look at. “Yeah,” he whispers, a small, genuine smile curving his lips. “Margaret and James definitely would. I wouldn’t mind how many we had… as many as you wanted. And I’d let you name every single one of them.”

A sad smile touches your lips, a tear threatening to spill over as you look up at the face you’ve come to love more than anything. “I wish we could live like that,” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “In another life, I wouldn’t be me. I’d just be Margaret.”

James shakes his head, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the moisture at the corner of your eye. “Or I’d be a prince,” he murmurs. “So you could actually marry me.”

A watery laugh escapes your chest. “That would be nice,” you admit, leaning into the warmth of his palm. “In some way, we’d be King and Queen, ruling a kingdom together.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and heavy with a solemn promise. “I think in some other life, James and Margaret get that.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You just glide across the marble floor, held tightly in each other’s arms, letting the beautiful fantasy of Margaret and James carry you away from the heavy reality waiting just outside the doors.

James lets out a long sigh, preparing to spill his heart out to you. “Look, I know we’ve avoided talking about this,” he says, his voice dropping. “But things have changed between us. Ever since we kissed… and after last night, and this morning… I know we have a mountain of things to work out. What happened before you ran, how you left, and… what’s going to happen when we go back to Valenora. But I want you to know something. This trip, even if we were running for our lives, has been the best of my life. And, Y/N… I think you should know, before we go back, that I—”

“Oh, you both look absolutely wonderful! I nearly didn’t recognize you.”

The voice snaps you both out of the fantasy like a splash of cold water.

You blink, suddenly realizing that the music had stopped several moments ago. The other couples had already cleared the floor, leaving just the two of you standing in the center, swaying to absolute silence.

You quickly step back, clearing your throat as you turn to see Queen Dorcas approaching. Even with a masquerade mask, her royal presence is unmistakable. 

She wears an exquisite half-mask—one eye covered in laced gold filigree, the other left completely bare to show her sharp gaze. Atop her head sits her massive, glittering crown, nestled perfectly into her long, beautifully styled braids. She looks breathtaking in a pure white gown.

“Your Majesty,” you say, offering a quick, respectful curtsy while trying to force your pounding heart to slow down. “You look absolutely gorgeous. The dress is stunning.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Dorcas replies with a smile.

James clears his throat, slipping effortlessly back into his formal, protective posture. “If you will excuse me for a moment, Your Majesty, Lady Margaret… I’ll go fetch us some drinks.”

You give him a grateful nod, and with a polite bow to the Queen, James slips away into the crowd toward the refreshment tables.

Once he is completely out of earshot, Dorcas turns her gaze back to you. The formal, queenly mask slips away, replaced by a highly amused, knowing smirk “Oh, I know a sex glow when I see one.”

You nearly choke on your own spit. “What?! I—Your Majesty, we didn’t—”

Dorcas lets out a delighted laugh, raising a hand to dismiss your panic. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I’m not like Helena. I won’t lecture you on propriety.”

The teasing words are meant to comfort you, but the sudden mention of your mother’s name feels like a bucket of ice water poured down your spine. Oh, god.

You don’t need the reminder of your mother to make the guilt slam back into you. In the eyes of the law and your kingdom, you have committed the ultimate crime. You are engaged to Prince Caelum. You are destined to marry into the Thalassian royal family. And here you are, having unmarried, passionate sex in royal bathtubs with James—your bodyguard, your protector, and the man who is supposed to be delivering you to your wedding.

You swallow hard, forcing the rising panic back down into your chest. “I… well, thank you.” you manage to say.

Dorcas’s amused expression softens, turning much more gentle and observant. “And how have you been doing?” she asks quietly, her eyes searching yours behind her mask. “After everything I told you?”

“I’m doing well,” you reply, looking down at your hands for a brief second before meeting her gaze. “It took a lot to process. Honestly, there is still a lot I haven’t fully processed yet. It’s… a lot of history to digest.”

Dorcas nods in deep sympathy, reaching out to press your arm. “I cannot thank you enough for coming here, Y/N. I spent years worrying. I constantly questioned if I had made the wrong choices back then, if keeping those secrets was a mistake. But seeing you now, and knowing that this power is with you… I no longer have any doubts. It was your birthright to know the history, and the truth of who you are.”

“I understand,” you say, a sense of relief washing over you. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Dorcas smiles, then glances over your shoulder toward the refreshment tables. Following her gaze, you see James. He has been entirely cornered by a small group of visiting nobles who clearly believe he is one of them. He is nodding along, gesturing politely with his glass. 

You aren’t worried about him; James is effortlessly charming when he needs to be, and he has spent enough time around the court to spin a flawless cover story on the fly.

“He plays the part well,” Dorcas notes with a chuckle. Then, her tone shifts, growing a bit more serious. “Actually, Y/N… I received a letter from Helena today.”

Your heart stops. “What? from my Mother—but how?” you gasp, your eyes widening beneath your mask. “Does she know I’m here?”

“No, no, she doesn’t,” Dorcas reassures you quickly. “She always sends me a letter this time of the year. She delivers her thanks and well wishes for the charity ball and the lanterns, since her duties keep her from attending. But in this letter… she did mention you. She asked me to keep an eye out, just in case you happened to cross into Solistia. She knows how badly you’ve always wanted to see the lantern lights.”

You let out a long, shaky sigh, your shoulders dropping. “How is she? Did she… did she mention anything else?”

Dorcas gestures toward a quiter and more private alcove near the edge of the ballroom, away from the swirling dancers. You follow her, and she sits down on a velvet settee, gesturing for you to join her.

“She seems well, just obviously worried about you,” Dorcas says gently. “From what I gathered, your family is safe and well. However, she did mention that the weather has been unusually bad in Valenora lately, and a seasonal sickness has been spreading through the castle. Nothing to worry about, she assured me—just a seasonal flu.”

Your breath hitches, a cold spike of anxiety striking your chest. You look at Dorcas, your voice dropping to a panicked whisper. “Could it be… because of me?”

“I think so, my dear,” she says. “Since this is the first time in your life you’ve been away from Valenora, natural forces are simply taking over. With your presence in the castle, your magic was unknowingly healing everyone and keeping the sickness at bay. The weather was always good because your light was feeding the land. Now that you are gone, nature is simply taking its course. But you mustn’t carry guilt for that. It is entirely natural. Besides, I wrote back to your mother today. I assured her that I am entirely unaware of your whereabouts.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, nodding slowly as you absorb her words. “Thank you, Dorcas. For not telling her. I… I just need a little more time.”

Dorcas squeezes your hand, her expression turning deeply solemn. “Look, I know that soon you will have to go back to Valenora. And just… I wanted to warn you to be careful. Helena mentioned something rather alarming in her letter. She wrote of a traitor in your midst, and that someone has already tried attacking you twice?”

You nod, the memory sending a cold shiver down your spine. “Yeah. That. It happened a few months back in my chambers—I woke up to a shadowed figure standing over me with a knife. And the second time was at my birthday ball, where someone poisoned my drink. But, of course, nothing happened to me because… well, the magic healed me before the poison could do any real damage.”

Dorcas’s eyes narrow behind her mask as she processes this, her mind clearly working through the implications.

“You must be incredibly cautious, Y/N,” she warns. “In my position, I have learned that sometimes those closest to us are the very ones who betray us.” 

She pauses, her gaze drifting across the crowded ballroom to where James is politely laughing at a noble’s joke. “A bodyguard is a perfect shield, but they also have the most intimate access to your life. They know your routines, your vulnerabilities, your—”

“No.” you cut her off quickly, your voice sharp with defense. “James would never. It’s true he knows about my powers—he’s known since we were kids. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it years ago. He would never betray me.”

“Y/N, I have heard countless stories of betrayal,” Dorcas insists gently, though her tone remains firm. “It is often a lover, a close friend, a trusted family member. The people we let behind our guard are the ones who hold the dagger.”

“James has had a thousand chances to kidnap me, to kill me, or to turn me over to my enemies!” you argue, your heart racing as you defend him. “He hasn’t. He’s protected me. He… he—I love him. He won’t hurt me.”

Dorcas sighs, a look of profound pity and worry softening her sharp features. “Well, yes. But whoever this traitor is, they clearly know about your powers. It could be anyone in your castle. Someone disguised as a friend, biding their time.”

You shake your head, the frustration bubbling up inside you. “This whole traitor thing makes absolutely no sense. My parents were so incredibly careful about keeping my powers a secret. Absolutely no one in Valenora knows what I am. How could a traitor target me for my magic if it’s a complete secret?”

“Do you think I didn’t make sure Marlene’s identity was hidden? Do you think we didn’t take every precaution to conceal that she was the Sun Keeper!?” 

She pauses, her eyes reflecting the dim candlelight of the alcove. “But look where she is now. She’s dead because someone found out.”

You flinch at her words, the harsh reminder of Marlene’s fate slapping you in the face.

Dorcas instantly winces, regret washing over her face. “I am sorry, Y/N. That was uncalled for. I shouldn’t have said it like that. It’s just… I have made many bad choices in my life, and I am admitting that to you now. I let my guard down once, and it cost me everything. I don’t want the same for you. But before…”

“Is this about how the flower ended up here?” you cut her off, as a piece of the historical puzzle suddenly clicks in your mind.

Dorcas gasps, as she stares at you in sheer shock. “How did you… know about that?”

You shrug your shoulders slightly, a tired, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. The flower chose someone from Valenora, yet it blooms in a temple in Solistia. It didn’t just walk across the border on its own.”

Dorcas winces slightly, her hand dropping from her chest as she lets out a long, defeated breath. “You are a very smart girl, Y/N,” she says, looking down at her hands. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I wasn’t going to hide it from you anyway, since it is entirely obvious by now if you look closely at our history.”

She leans back against the velvet cushion of the settee, the crown on her head catching the dim light of the alcove as she stares out at the swirling, anonymous dancers.

“My ancestors have protected the Sun Drop flower for years and years,” Dorcas explains, her voice dropping to a quiet, reflective hum. “But they were not pure and innocent either. War leaves both sides tainted. Whether it is the Delamaryseline or the Solistian. Yes, the House of Delamaryse killed and brutally stole the power from Ruxandra, who was Valenoran. But my great ancestors were not much better. They hid the flower away, keeping it locked in Solistia, ignoring the fundamental rule of the magic: that the power always returns to its true place of origin.”

You watch her closely, the gears in your mind turning. “So, you kept a power that didn’t belong to you.”

“Yes,” Dorcas admits, nodding slowly. “For generations, my family used the excuse that because the physical drop of the sun fell on Solistian soil, the power belonged here. Both my bloodline and the Delamaryse line were corrupted by greed, refusing to ever return the light to its true owner—to the descendants of Ruxandra, the true Sun Bearers of Valenora. My line simply dressed our theft up in prettier words. We considered that since the flower’s physical location was in Solistia, it was ours. It was entirely unfair. And… I was going to do the exact same thing.”

She looks at you, her eyes heavy with a deep guilt. “I was going to keep it in Solistia,” Dorcas confesses, her voice barely a whisper. “I was going to do it by giving the flower’s power to Marlene. I wanted to protect my kingdom, yes, but more than that… I wanted to keep the power here, with the woman I loved.”

Hearing her words, a cold realization settles over you. You look at the Queen—this woman who has built a legacy power—and you see her clearly for the first time.

“You were selfish.” you spit out the words. It isn’t an accusation, just a simple, stark observation.

Dorcas doesn’t flinch. Instead, she lets out a laugh. “Yes. I was. We all were.”

“My parents always spoke of Solistia as this perfect, peaceful sanctuary,” you murmur, shaking your head as the illusion of the kingdom crumbles just a little bit more. “But you’re not perfect, Dorcas. You might not have been as corrupted as the Delamaryse house—you didn’t kidnap, torture, or murder people to keep the light—but you were still selfish. Your people were still selfish. You kept a miracle that belonged to Valenora just because you could.”

“We did,” Dorcas agrees, her shoulders slumping. “We wrapped our greed in the guise of guardianship. We convinced ourselves that we were protecting the world from the Delamaryse tyrants, but in doing so, we deprived the true bearers of their legacy. I wanted Marlene to hold the light because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, and because I wanted Solistia to remain powerful. I let my own desires blind me to the balance of the magic.”

She reaches out, placing her hand over yours. “But the magic is smarter than all of us, Y/N,” she says, looking into your eyes. “It fought its way through all our greed, all the blood, and all these centuries. It bypassed my kingdom, it escaped the Delamaryse, and it came right back to you. A daughter of Valenora. The cycle finally corrected itself, despite everything we did to stop it.”

You let out a dry scoff, shaking your head as you abruptly yank your hands back from her grasp. 

A sudden, hot flash of anger flares up in your chest. “Just because you and your ancestors were selfish does not grant you the right to sit here and project your own regrets onto James! Just because your bloodline was greedy, and just because you let your guard down and made questionable choices, does not mean the man who has bled for me is a traitor. James is not you. He is not a thief, and he is not a traitor.”

Dorcas’s expression hardens behind her mask, her composure fracturing to show a flash of defensive heat. “I am not projecting, Y/N, I am trying to keep you alive!” Dorcas counters, her whisper sharp and hissed between her teeth as she leans in closer. 

“Do you think the people who betray kingdoms do it with a villainous sneer? They do it with a smile! They do it while holding your hand, while standing at your bedside, while keeping your secrets. I am telling you this because I thoughtMarlene was safe. I thought the people in my court loved her. And yet, someone still leaked her identity, and she was slaughtered for it. Love makes people blind, and right now, you are wearing a blindfold!”

“Don’t you dare lecture me about being blind!” you snap back, your chest heaving as you glare at her. “You don’t know anything about us. James has had a thousand opportunities to hand me over to our enemies, to sell the secret of my powers to the highest bidder, or to let me die. He chose to run with me instead. He chose to ruin his own life, his own career, just to keep me safe! To even imply that he is waiting to plunge a dagger into my back is insulting. It’s insulting to him, and it’s insulting to me.”

“And it is incredibly naive of you to think a protector is infallible!” Dorcas argues back. “Power like yours corrupts. It makes people do desperate things. What happens when your father offers him a choice? What happens when the pressure of being on the run finally breaks him? You are looking at him through the lens of a girl in love, but I am looking at the reality of a world that wants to tear you apart. I would rather you hate me for planting a seed of doubt than have to mourn you because you trusted the wrong person!”

You stare at her, your jaw clenched so tightly it aches. You want to scream at her, to defend James until your voice goes hoarse, but as you look into Dorcas’s eyes behind the mask, you see the panic of a woman who lost the person she loved most because she didn’t doubt enough.

You let out a long breath, looking away from her toward the marble floor. “He wouldn’t,” you whisper, though the fire is gone from your voice, replaced by a quiet, stubborn conviction. “I know him. I know his heart. James wouldn’t.”

Dorcas watches you for a long moment. The rigid tension in her shoulders slowly drains away, and she lets out a deflated sigh. “I hope you are right,” she says, her voice returning to its usual sorrowful tone. 

“For your sake, I truly hope you are. I didn’t tell you all of this to hurt you. I am not proud of my actions, nor am I proud of my family’s history. That is why I do not tell this story. But I am telling it to you because I am on your side. I am willing to have you lose every ounce of respect you had for me, to see me as a selfish queen, if it means you will finally understand the gravity of your situation and trust my warning.”

She reaches forward again, hesitantly placing her hand near yours on the velvet cushion, giving you the space to pull away if you want to. You don’t. 

“Please, just keep your eyes open,” she pleads quietly. “I have no idea who this traitor in Valenora is. It could be someone with intentions far worse than the Delamaryse bloodline ever had. But whoever they are, they are close to you, and they know what you are. So please… do not blindly trust anyone. Just… be careful.”

You look at her hand, then up at her face. You slowly nod. “Okay, I hear you. I’ll be careful.”

She lets out a sigh of relief and nods, slowly standing up and smoothing down the white fabric of her gown. “I will go excuse myself and let you have some space,” she says. “I know you do not think very fondly of me after everything I have just confessed. But… I would truly love it if you and James would say goodbye to me before you leave for Valenora.”

“I will,” you murmur.

With a final look of concern, she turns and glides back toward the crowded ballroom, her tall crown shimmering under the distant chandeliers until she is lost in the sea of masked guests.

You are left sitting entirely alone in the dim alcove, the muffled sounds of the orchestra fading into the background of your own racing thoughts.

It is no hidden secret now—Dorcas is selfish. She knows it herself. Even if she tries to justify her actions, even if she believes she ultimately did the right thing by giving your mother the Sun Drop flower when she originally wanted to keep it for Marlene, her hands are still stained with the greed of her ancestors.

But does that make her a bad person?

A selfish person isn’t necessarily a bad person, right? She said it herself—love makes people selfish. But, as you sit there, staring blankly at the ballroom, a cold splash of self-realization hits you.

Who are you to judge her?

What you are doing right now is entirely selfish too. You ran away from your duties. You left your family in a panic, abandoned your kingdom, and left your fiancé, Prince Caelum, waiting for a wedding you didn’t want—all just to escape on a cross-country trip to see some lanterns with your bodyguard. 

You are risking James’s life, his career, and his safety for your own desire to feel free for just a few weeks. If love and fear have made you this incredibly selfish, how can you possibly look down on Dorcas for doing the same?

“Everything alright?”

You flinch slightly as a shadow falls over you. You look up to see James standing there, holding two crystal flutes of sparkling drink. He sets them on the small table nearby and slides onto the velvet settee beside you, his shoulders instantly blocking out the rest of the noisy ballroom.

You quickly force a warm, reassuring smile onto your face, smoothing over the tension in your shoulders. “Yes. Everything is fine.”

James doesn’t look entirely convinced. He searches your face behind your mask, his eyes filled with that hyper-observant worry he has. “Did she tell you something else?” he asks, leaning in close so only you can hear him. “You look like you’re a million miles away.”

You shake your head, reaching for one of the glasses to give your hands something to do. “No. No, nothing like that. We were just talking about… everything. Just processing it all.”

James doesn’t look entirely convinced. His eyes narrow slightly behind theleather mask, analyzing the tight set of your jaw and the slight tremor in your fingers as you take the crystal flute. 

He replaces the alcohol with a glass of cool water from a passing tray, gently pressing it into your hands.

“Drink this,” he murmurs, as he slides closer on the velvet settee, his shoulder pressing reassuringly against yours. “.What did the Queen tell you?”

You open your mouth to respond, to find a lie or a half-truth that would put him at ease, but the words are instantly swallowed by a ringing blare of trumpets.

The brass notes echo across the vaulted ceilings of the ballroom, cutting cleanly through hundreds of conversations. Instantly, the grand orchestra slows its tempo to a complete halt. 

Silence falls over the sea of masked guests. The dancers part like a parting tide, turning their attention upward toward the grand marble mezzanine that overlooks the ballroom floor.

Two royal guards dressed in silver armor stand at attention on the balcony, their long trumpets lowered as Queen Dorcas steps forward to the carved stone railing.

Dorcas rests her hands on the cold stone, looking down at her people. She pauses for a long moment, letting the silence stretch until the entire room is completely silent. When she finally speaks, her voice is carried to every corner of the vast hall.

“People of Solistia,” Dorcas begins, her gaze sweeping slowly across the masked crowd. “Honored guests from lands near and far… welcome.”

A welcoming smile touching her lips as she lets her greeting settle over the room.

“Tonight, we gather once more to observe the annual Lantern Festival,” she continues, her hands gripping the railing. “Look around you. Look at the masks we wear, the diverse colors of our courts, the unique heritages gathered under this single roof. Solistia has always prided itself on being a kingdom of unity.”

A soft murmur of agreement ripples through the crown, but you keep your eyes fixed entirely on her. 

“But as we stand on the precipice of tonight’s release…” she pauses. “We must remember that this festival is not only a celebration of our prosperity.”

She looks across the room. “It is, at its deepest core, a sacred memorial. It is a time to honor all those we have lost. The heroes who bled to protect our borders… the ancestors who paved the paths we walk upon today…and the beloveds we carry in our hearts,” she whispers, her voice cracking just enough for those listening closely to catch it. “Whose absence leaves a permanent shadow in our lives.”

The kingdom does not know the name Marlene. The history books have erased her, the public is entirely blind to her existence, and the court believes the Queen’s lack of a husband is simply a sacrifice made for the crown. 

But you know the truth. Every word pouring from Dorcas’s lips is a coded confession. You know the real meaning of this day. You know exactly why she wears pure white every single year for the festival—because she is, in the eyes of her own broken heart, Marlene’s bride. 

This festival isn’t just a royal tradition; it is her mourning ritual. It is her way of celebrating a love that was torn away from her, a love she still refuses to let go of.

“We release the lanterns into the night sky to guide those spirits home. We send our love upward, into the dark, proving that death cannot sever the bonds we forge in life. Because, grief is the price we pay for love,” she says, her words echoing off the stone walls. “But it is a price we pay willingly. For as long as Solistia stands, we will remember them. We will celebrate the love they left behind… and we will keep their light burning in the dark.”

You look up at her, a bittersweet, complicated knot tightening in your chest. Deep down, it is so hard to reconcile the emotional, mourning woman standing on that balcony with the selfish queen who had just spoken to you minutes ago. 

This very woman was selfish. Her love for Marlene had made her selfish enough to try and hoard a miracle that belonged to your people, to keep a stolen miracle locked away in Solistia just to satisfy her own desires. She and her ancestors were just as greedy, just as flawed, as the tyrants they claimed to protect the world from.

Yet, you realize that Dorcas has no shame. She is entirely aware of her own selfishness, and she owns it completely because to her, a love that fierce was worth being selfish for.

“Exactly one hour remains until the release of the lanterns.” she announces. “Enjoy your evenings, drink, dance, and have fun. Before the hour strikes, our servants will distribute lanterns to all of our guests, so that we may lift our hearts to the sky together. Thank you.”

With a final nod, she steps back from the marble railing, her white gown swirling behind her as she disappears into the mezzanine.

The orchestra immediately strikes up a fresh, lively melody, and the crowd returns in a massive wave. 

You let out a long sigh, turning to James with a grin so wide your cheeks ache beneath your mask. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening,” you say, the excitement finally breaking through the heavy thoughts you’d been carrying. “An hour left. We’re actually here for it.”

James looks down at you, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a slow smile.“We’re here for the festival, yes. But we aren’t staying in this room.”

You frown, your hand still resting on his arm as the crowd begins to move around you. “What do you mean? The ball just started. Where else would we go?”

“Just come with me,” he says softly, his grip tightening on your hand as he subtly begins to guide you through the clusters of talking nobles.

“James, hold on,” you laugh, trying to keep your pace casual so you don’t attract attention while navigating the heavy silk skirt of your gown. “You’re acting so weird. What’s wrong with the gardens here?”

“The gardens are going to be packed with hundreds of people trying to make polite conversation while staring at the sky. You’ve been talking about seeing these lights since we were kids. I’m not letting your first time seeing them be from a crowded courtyard where we have to pretend to be Sterlings.”

A laugh escapes you, your heart doing a strange little flip at how well he remembers those details. “Alright, fair point. But how are we supposed to just leave? The guards are tracking everyone who enters and exits.”

“Let me worry about that,” he murmurs.

Within minutes, he guides you right up to the grand exit. When the towering oak doors open, the royal guards step into your path, checking the guest roster with sharp eyes. James doesn’t miss a beat. He adjusts his posture, his voice slipping into that smooth, authoritative aristocratic tone.

“Lord and Lady Sterling,” he says, presenting the gold-leafed cards. “Good evening.”

The guard scans the list, clears the names, and bows politely. “Have a pleasant evening, my lord, my lady.”

The doors shut behind you, instantly cutting off the music in the ballroom. But instead of heading toward the guest wing, James leads you down a turn into a series of dimly lit stone corridors. You recognize these as the servant passages.

“You’ve mapped out the entire castle, haven’t you?” you whisper.

“Naturally,” he replies dryly, pushing open a heavy wooden door at the very end of the hall.

The cool night air hits your face, a sudden, refreshing shock after the stifling heat of the ballroom. You step out onto a secluded stone courtyard backed by the dark woods of the palace edge. Your jaw drops slightly when you see what’s waiting in the open.

Maximus and Midnight are already saddled, their coats gleaming under the stars. Standing beside them is a young man dressed in simple Solistian traveler’s clothes.

You look between the horses and James, genuinely stunned. “How did you get them down here without anyone noticing? We’ve been inside all day.”

James walks over to Midnight, checking the girth of the saddle with practiced ease. “I had some help. Y/N, this is Gideon. I crossed paths with him near the stables yesterday while I was scouting the perimeter.”

The young man bows deeply, a respectful but warm smile on his face. “It’s an honor, Your Highness.”

You study his face, trying to place him, but he’s entirely unfamiliar. “Thank you, Gideon. But… how did James convince you to smuggle royal horses out of the palace stables?”

“He didn’t have to do much convincing once he told me who you were,” Gideon chuckles, rubbing Maximus’s nose. “My sister is Molly. She spoke very highly of you in her letters over the years.”

Your eyes widen. “Molly? Our head of servants? She retired two years ago to raise her family.” 

You look at Gideon with a newfound warmth. “I didn’t know she had family in Solistia.”

“Our family is originally from the border lines,” Gideon explains. “She moved to Valenora when she married, but the rest of us stayed. When Sir James mentioned your name, I knew I had to help. Molly always said you were the kindest soul in the palace.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely touched by the connection to home.

Gideon nods, turning back to James. You step closer to mount Maximus, but you can hear them murmuring to each other in low, hushed tones. You strain your ears, trying to catch what they’re saying, but you can only catch fractured words: “…boat is ready…” and “…the eastern road…”

Before you can process what they mean by boat and road, James turns around, offering you a steady hand, his eyes locking onto yours behind his mask. “Ready to actually see the lanterns?”

You swallow the sudden lump of curiosity in your throat, deciding to trust him. Gathering the fabric of your beige gown, you place your foot in the stirrup and swing yourself up onto Maximus’s saddle. James moves with efficiency, mounting Midnight in one smooth motion, his sharp charcoal suit cutting a striking figure against the dark horse.

“Keep close to me,” James says, looking over at you.

With a final nod of gratitude to Gideon, you both guide the horses out of the hidden courtyard and galloping away into the night.

The wind whips through your hair, carrying the crisp scent of the Solistian night as the horses maintain a rhythmic gallop away from the palace grounds. The silk of your gown bunches around the saddle, but you hardly care. You pull Maximusa little closer to Midnight’s flank, leaning forward slightly.

“Sooo,” you call out over the thundering sound of the hooves, looking over at his shadowed profile. “Where exactly are we heading? There isn’t much time left until the lanterns are released!”

James lets out a laugh, not even turning his head as he guides Midnight down a branching dirt path. “How are you this impatient? We’ve been out of the castle for barely ten minutes.”

You groan loudly, rolling your eyes behind your mask. “I was trapped inside a single palace for my entire life, James. I have earned the absolute right to be impatient. Now tell me!”

“I’m trying to surprise you,” he replies, a definitive smirk evident in his voice. “Stop asking so many questions and ruining it.”

A giddy, uncontrollable smile breaks across your face. You bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud, your chest warming at the realization that James—your strict, rule-following protector—had actually gone behind your back to plan something entirely for you.

James catches the shift in your energy, shifting his gaze over to you as the horses ease into a gentler trot. “There it is,” he comments. “You’re finally smiling. You looked like you were seeing ghosts after your little secret conversation with the Queen.”

You lift your chin, eager to deflect from the warning Dorcas had given you. “Oh, please. I thought you were far too busy playing Lord Sterling with the other nobles to notice me leaving the floor.”

“I always notice when you leave the floor,” James counters instantly, his tone teasing. He clicks his tongue to guide Midnight around a low-hanging branch. “Besides, you’re always running off to talk to people. First it’s little girls with flowers in the town square, then it’s the Queen in alcoves. I figured if you get to make secret alliances, I’m allowed to do the same with Gideon.”

You let out a chuckle, acknowledging the hit. “Fair, fair.”

The dirt path gradually gives way to a shifting terrain. The sound of rustling trees fades, replaced by the loud rushing of water. James slows Midnight to a complete walk, and you pull on Maximus’s reins, bringing your horse to a halt right beside his.

As you look around, the breath catches in your throat—but not for the reason you expected.

You have reached a very dark, isolated coast. The water of the massive Solistian lake washes up on the pebbled shore. The area is completely desolate, enveloped in thick shadows. There is no grand view. In fact, if you turn around, the shimmering lights of the palace ballroom are barely visible, obscured by the distance and the thick treeline. 

The only things occupying the empty shore are a small, weathered wooden hut and two simple rowboats tied securely with a coarse rope to a rotting wooden post.

It is, to say the least, entirely underwhelming.

You blink behind your mask, looking from the small, sad-looking boats back to James. You swallow the sudden wave of disappointment, reminding yourself not to judge his surprise just yet. He had worked so hard to coordinate this with Gideon.

“James…” you start, your voice trailing off as you look around the gloomy shore. “Is this… it? Where are we supposed to see the lanterns?”

James swings his leg over Midnight, dismounting with effortless grace. “Patience,” he says, a small, secretive smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He takes the reins and ties the mare to a nearby post before walking over to Maximus, offering you a hand to help you down.

“You brought me to an abandoned fishing hut in the middle of nowhere,” you tease, placing your hand in his as you step onto the damp gravel, carefully holding up the skirt of your gown to keep it from dragging in the mud. “Forgive me if I’m a little confused.”

“Trust me,” he murmurs, his fingers lingering against yours for a second before he lets go. “I know what I’m doing.”

Without another word, James turns and walks toward the small, weathered hut. He pushes the creaking wooden door open, disappearing into the darkness for a few seconds. When he steps back out into the open, he is carrying two large, unlit paper lanterns in his arms.

“Are those…?” you ask, stepping closer.

“Lanterns,” James confirms, setting them down carefully on the gravel. “Gideon helped me source them. Though he spent most of the time complaining about how difficult they were to sneak past the guards.”

A small laugh slips from your chest. “I can only imagine.”

Unceremoniously, James strips off his formal mask and tosses it onto the floor of the hut, quickly followed by his stiff suit blazer and tie. Rolling up his sleeves, he relaxes into just his white linen shirt and trousers.

Seeing him shed the suffocating attire, you immediately do the same, unlacing your mask, you kick off your heels, and set them near the edge of the hut, letting your bare feet press into the damp earth.

James looks over at you, letting out a laugh as he adjusts his unbuttoned collar. “Gods above… how do your brothers survive wearing those suits every single day? I feel like I just escaped a trap.”

You giggle. “You get used to it after a few years. Though I won’t pretend I’m sad to see the heels go.”

“I don’t know how you walked in them,” he mutters, reaching out to catch your hand. His grip is grounding as he guides you carefully onto the swaying wooden boat.

Once you’re safely seated, James pushes off the shore, climbing in and settling onto the rower’s bench. He takes hold of the heavy oars and begins to row through the mirror-like water.

You look down at the two unlit paper lanterns sitting at your feet, then back up at him, your brow furrowing in amusement. “You arranged all of this while I was sleeping?” you ask, your heart doing a strange, fluttering flip in your chest.

“Of course I did,” he says casually. “You think I’d let us come all this way just to stare at a castle from a dusty balcony?”

He keeps rowing, putting distance between the boat and the shore. After a few minutes, James pulls the oars out of the water, letting the boat glide to a smooth, silent halt in the middle of the lake.

“Turn around,” he murmurs quietly.

You turn in your seat—and the breath completely catches in your throat.

The view before you is stunning. From the middle of the water, the entire kingdom of Solistia sprawls out in a dazzling sea of gold. The massive castle looms high above, its stone arches and soaring spires illuminated by thousands of torches. The reflections ripple across the black surface of the lake, wrapping the boat in a glowing, ethereal halo.

It is so breathtaking, so utterly beautiful, that a prickle of tears immediately stings the backs of your eyes.

James watches you, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “Hey, the lanterns haven’t even been released yet and you’re already tearing up—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you launch yourself out of your seat and throw your arms around his neck, hugging him with everything you have.

“Woah—hey!” James stammers, caught completely off guard. The boat lurches beneath your weight, sloshing a cold spray of lake water over the wooden edge and onto his boots. 

He instinctively wraps his arms around your waist, locking you tight against his chest as he uses his weight to stabilize the swaying boat. “Careful, love, or we’re both going to end up taking an midnight swim.”

“Thank you.” you whisper fiercely against his shoulder, ignoring the wet hem of your dress, ignoring the cold, ignoring everything except the beat of his heart beneath your cheek. 

“Thank you for doing this, James. You have no idea… you have no idea what this means to me.”

This was the moment you had spent years dreaming about. This was the sole reason you had stared out your bedroom window in Valenora as a child, longing to escape the palace. You had wanted to see the little suns—the floating lights that drifted across the skies of far-off kingdoms, washing up on distant shores days after the festivals ended. It felt entirely surreal that you were finally here, living the dream you had kept hidden in your heart for a decade.

And it was even better because you were doing it with James by your side. The man you were hopelessly, secretly in love with—even if he didn’t know it. Even if, to him, this was just one final act of kindness before you both returned to Valenora and you were forced to step into a life you never wanted.

Slowly, you pull back just enough to look up into his face, your hands on his shoulders. The glowing lights of the city catch in his dark eyes, turning them into pools of warm amber.

“James?” you ask, your voice barely louder than the lap of the water against the boat.

“Yeah?” he replies softly, his hands remaining on your waist.

“I’ve spent my entire life dreaming about this exact night,” you whisper. “I’ve wished for it, counted down the years, built whole worlds in my head around just seeing these lights…” 

You swallow past the lump forming in your throat, your eyes turning back to meet his. “What do you do when you finally reach the thing you’ve waited your whole life for? What comes next?”

James looks at you for a long moment. The gentle sway of the boat rocks you both as he reaches up, his thumb gently catching a stray tear on your cheek and brushing it away. 

“You find a new dream,” James answers quietly. 

“When tonight ends, it isn’t over,” he whispers, his voice low and grounding. “You find something new to wish for when you catch a shooting star across the sky. You make a new wish when you blow out the candles on your birthday, or when a stray lash falls onto your cheek. You find another horizon to chase… and you keep reaching for it. As long as you’re reaching for something, you’re never truly trapped.”

You stare at him, your heart aching with a love so fierce and overwhelming it frightens you. You tilt your head into the touch of his hand, feeling the familiar calluses on his palm against your skin.

“And what if I don’t know what to wish for next?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly. “What if I’m too afraid to pick something new?”

James lets out a breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You underestimate yourself,” he says, his hand gently sliding down to rest against your jaw. “Whenever you get afraid, you do the bravest things imaginable.”

He watches the way your brow hitches in confusion. “Think about a month ago,” James continues. “When you were trapped in the castle, terrified of what your life was becoming… what did you do?”

You stare at him, the memories surfacing through the blur of tears. You remember the paralyzing fear of knowing a traitor was lurking nearby, the moment you were told that you had to choose a prince to marry, and the pain of being locked away from your own birthday parade. 

Every time things got worse, the cage only grew tighter around you. But instead of letting it break you, you refused to conform. What you did instead was… “I took a leap of faith,” you whisper, the words tasting like freedom on your tongue.

James smiles, a radiant pride breaking across his face. “You did,” he says softly, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone. “So whenever you feel alone, scared, lost, or most of all trapped… remember that fortune favors the bold. And sometimes, all it takes is a very brave leap of faith.”

The comfort of his words doesn’t soothe the ache in your chest. If anything, it only makes it infinitely worse.

You look up at James, your eyes searching his face as a profound, agonizing sadness washes over you. Because the horrible truth is hanging in the air between you both, suffocating in its silence. 

Once this night ends, once this dream is officially achieved, you can no longer pretend. You can no longer hide behind the excuse of the journey or the escaping. You can’t pretend that there is much left tying him to you.

“And what if you aren’t there?” you whisper, your voice trembling so violently it barely carries across the water. “What if… what if you aren’t with me to find my new dream?”

Hot, heavy tears well up in your eyes, blurring the lights of the distant city. A wet, hiccuped laugh escapes your lips—a sound so broken and bitter it catches in your throat.

Because this moment isn’t just happy. It feels terribly, agonizingly like a farewell. It feels like saying goodbye to James. Your James.

Because he was yours, wasn’t he? He had you first. He was the one who taught you how to act through the fear, the one who held your face in the dark, the one who kissed you until your knees gave out, the one who made love to you while the rest of the world slept. 

You love him. You love him so much it feels like a physical tear in your chest, a sharp ache beneath your ribs. You want to scream it into the night sky until your lungs burn. You know he knows it—he’s known it in every glance, every touch, every desperate embrace—but saying the words out loud makes the impending loss real.

And the truth is a bitter, inescapable thing: having James is impossible.

It is like demanding the sun and the moon share the same sky, or expecting the high mountains to reach down and touch the deep sea. It is like wishing lumicrysts could grow everywhere, or believing that James could ever stand in the grand hall as a royal noble, a crown resting on his head.

None of those things can ever happen. The world does not bend for wishes, no matter how desperately they are made. James could never be a prince, and you could never be just a girl who loves him. He might belong to your heart, but he will never be allowed to stay by your side.

James sees it all in your eyes. He watches the conflict and the unbearable pain across your features, reading every agonizing thought as clearly as if you’d spoken it aloud.

He gently pressing his forehead against yours, bridging the tiny space between you until his breath warm against your skin becomes your only anchor. His hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb gently wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek, his touch tender and steady against yours.

“Even if I’m not there with you…” he murmurs at last.

You both know what those words mean. He won’t be there when you put on the grand wedding gown. He won’t be standing at the end of the aisle. He won’t be the prince placing a ring on your finger. He can’t be.

“…then I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” James continues. “You are so, so smart. So brave. You’re so full of life and warmth, Y/N. It’s impossible not to love you, and it’s impossible not to find beauty in all your miastakes. I’m sure you’ll find a new dream. Just like you had one when I wasn’t there… back when you sat by your window and dreamt of these lights.”

“But it’s different, James!” You shake your head frantically, the tears spilling freely now. “You know it’s different! It’s not the same! We—we spent so much time together. We traveled across kingdoms, we slept in the same bed, we kissed, we had sex, we… I can’t just—I can’t just not—”

You break down completely, a choked sob tearing from your chest. You’re crying openly now, raw and undone, suffocating under the weight of loving someone you are forbidden to keep.

James, as he always is, is three steps ahead of you. He sees the spiral, sees the panic and the utter heartbreak wrecking your frame.

“Then don’t do it,” he cuts in softly.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you stare at him through a haze of tears. Don’t do what? Don’t marry him? Don’t go back to Valenora?

Before the question can leave your lips, a sudden, warm golden glow blooms in the dark far behind you.

James turns his head, his dark eyes catching the light, and a soft, breathtaking smile touches his lips. “It’s time.”

You turn around slowly in the wooden boat, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

[i highly recommend playing the song space song by beach house here for a better experience]

There, in the far, far distance, standing on the highest central balcony of the grand palace, Queen Dorcas holds a single, massive lantern, as she lets it go.

The first lantern rises into the night sky—a burning miniature sun hovering over Solistia. It carries everything it was made for: Marlene, their tragic, selfish love, a lifetime of grief, and a surrender to the light.

And then, as if the entire realm had been holding its breath waiting for her command, hundreds upon hundreds of golden lights burst into existence across the entire kingdom.

They pour out from every balcony, every cobblestone street, every village square, and every tiny boat along the shores. Thousands of glowing lanterns lift off into the black abyss, floating toward the stars like a sea of rising embers, bathing the lake, the castle, and James’s face in a breathtaking, golden glow.

Slowly, almost impossibly, the entire world around you transforms into one made entirely of golden suns.

The dark sky is no longer dark. Hundreds upon hundreds of glowing lanterns rise higher into the night, drifting over the mirror-like surface of the water until the space around your little wooden boat is bathed in a warm, breathtaking, ethereal light. It casts away every shadow, every quiet dread, and every lingering fear. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever witnessed. It was worth every tear, every mile traveled, every agonizing secret, and every ounce of fear you had carried since the age of twelve. It was worth everything.

Driven by pure, unfiltered wonder, you carefully push yourself up, standing on the very edge of the wooden boat. The vessel lurches and sways beneath your bare feet, sending tiny ripples across the glowing water.

Before you can lose your balance, James’s hands instinctively wrap around your waist, his grip firm, warm, and rock-steady as he holds you close to keep you both from falling in. 

You lean into his solid frame, reaching out a trembling hand toward a lantern drifting lazily right beside the hull.

Your fingers softly touch the warm paper face of the floating light. Your breath hitches in absolute awe as you watch the flame inside flicker, illuminating the faint grain of the parchment.

When you turn around to look at James, your heart skips a beat. He isn’t looking at the thousands of lights washing over the kingdom. He is looking only at you, a soft, unbelievably tender smile pulling at his lips.

In his hands, he holds the two large paper lanterns he had brought from the hut, both now lit from within by a small lighter he had somehow managed to procure. The golden glow spills through the paper, illuminating his sharp jawline and turning his golden-brown eyes into pools of liquid sunlight.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across your face as you sink back down onto the bench beside him. “I am.”

You take one of the lanterns into your hands, feeling the gentle heat radiating through the thin paper. But before you can lift it into the air, James looks at you, his gaze intense and impossibly soft.

“Make a wish,” he says quietly.

A small, tearful laugh escapes your lips at the childish tradition. You close your eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath of the cool night air, sending a silent prayer up into the vast expanse above, hoping that whatever higher divinity of Fate would listen to your simple wish.

I wish I could be with James. I wish I could stay with him, and be free.

Beside you, James closes his eyes, too. Unbeknownst to you, his chest heaves with a prayer so tragically similar that it physically hurts him to breathe it into existence.

I wish she didn’t have to marry Prince Caelum. I wish she would be mine to keep.

You both open your eyes at the exact same moment.

“What did you wish for?” James asks, a playful tilt to his head, though his eyes remain deeply sad.

You laugh, shaking your head as you hold your lantern higher. “It’s a secret. If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

James lets out a huff of laughter, his shoulders relaxing. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

Holding your lanterns, you lean in close to one another, your shoulders pressing together, the warmth of your bodies mingling with the heat of the fire. On three, you both lift your hands, letting the glowing parchment slip gently from your fingertips into the night air.

The two lanterns hover together for a brief second, lighting up the dark sky just a little bit more. As the gentle lake breeze catches them, they swirl gracefully around each other—a delicate dance in the dark—before slowly ascending, blending seamlessly into the vast sea of thousands of drifting suns above Solistia.

You watch them go, a wide, luminous smile gracing your lips. But when you turn back to look at James, you catch him already staring at you. He hadn’t looked at the sky once.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” James says quietly.

His voice has dropped an octave, carrying a sudden gravity that makes the air between you grow still. You look at him, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. “What is it, James?” you ask.

He goes entirely quiet.

Around the boat, the hundreds of little floating suns reflect off the dark surface of the lake, casting a golden aura over James’s face. The flickering light catches the edges of his cheekbones, the curve of his neck, the mess of his hair, and the dark amber of his eyes. 

Surrounded by a sea of rising stars, James looks like the sun itself.

He takes a shaky breath, reaching out with a hand that trembles just a fraction. His calloused fingers trace the line of your jaw, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that steals the breath right out of your lungs.

“I love you.” James whispers, the confession tearing out of his throat, completely raw and naked, devoid of any other phrases. Just three words.

The words hang in the air between you, more brilliant and blinding than every lantern floating in the sky above.

“I have loved you since the moment I realized I would burn down the whole world just to keep you safe,” he continues, his voice thick with an emotion he can no longer contain, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I loved you when we were kids, I loved you in Valenora as your guard, I loved you when we were running, and I love you now. I know I shouldn’t say it. I know I’m just a guard, and I know what waits for us back home… but gods help me, Y/N, I am completely, hopelessly in love with you.”

Tears rise in your eyes, but this time, they aren’t filled with sorrow. They are filled with an overwhelming, breathless joy. “I love you, too,” you breathe out, your voice breaking on the words. “James… I love you so much.”

Before he can even process the sound of your voice giving him everything he had ever wished for, you lean forward, bridging the tiny distance between you, and press your lips to his.

It’s a deep, agonizingly beautiful kiss—one born from months of forbidden I love you’s. James lets out a low groan against your mouth, his arms instantly pulling you tight against his chest, lifting you slightly off the bench so there is no space left between you.

His lips move against yours with desperate devotion, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of your breath. He kisses you like a dying man taking his first breath of clean air, his fingers tangling into the back of your hair, holding you as if you were the only solid thing in an unraveling universe.

James breaks the kiss slowly, his forehead lingering against yours as his breath hitches. A soft, breathless laugh bubbles up from his chest—a sound so full of light, relief, and dizzying hope that it almost sounds foreign coming from him.

“Then let’s not go back,” he whispers, his hands cupping your cheeks, his golden eyes shining with a sudden, wild desperation. “Let’s stay here.”

You blink, pulling back just enough to look at him, your brows furrowing in sheer bewilderment. “What?”

“I love you. And I know you love me too,” James says, the words tumbling out of him in a fast, breathless rush, his fingers tightening against your jaw. “If we go back home, Y/N, it will never work out. You know it won’t. I’m just your royal guard, and you’re a crown princess. The moment we step back into Valenora, they will force that ring onto your finger and lock you away in a palace. But here? Right now? We can just be James and Margaret. We can be free. We can be safe from all our duties and all the expectations.”

A cold spike of dread pierces through your chest. You shake your head, taking a step back on the wooden floorboards of the boat.

“James… we can’t do that,” you say, your voice rising in utter confusion and mounting panic. “If we do that, we can never go back. At some point, my parents will realize something is wrong. When you stop sending your weekly update letters and when we don’t return… they will send out a full royal search party for us. We’ll be hunted!”

“We will make it work,” James insists, shaking his head as he steps closer, reaching out to wrap his hands around your face once more, desperate to keep your focus entirely on him. “Listen to me. We can go far away. A different continent. Somewhere across the sea where Valenora holds no power. We could change kingdoms, move between tiny coastal villages every few months so we can never be traced. That way… that way we can see the world together. Just like you’ve always dreamed.”

Tears brim in your eyes once more, but this time, they burn with horror. You shake your head, pushing lightly against his chest.

“James, if we do that, we can never see our families again!” your voice breaks, a sob tearing through your throat as you gesture wildly between the two of you. “I won’t ever see my brothers again! I’ll never see my mother, or my father, or Lily, or—” 

You stop, your eyes wide with disbelief as you look at him. “What about you? You won’t see your mother or your father! You’ll lose Sirius, Remus, Peter… fuck, James, all of your friends! You’d lose your whole life!”

James’s face hardens, his jaw locking tight as a dark, uncompromising resolve takes over his features.

“I’d do it for you,” he says, his voice dropping into a fierce, unwavering whisper. “I’d sacrifice all of it for you. Just to be with you.”

“You can’t ask me that!” you cry out, the tears finally spilling over your lashes in hot, frantic streams. “I love you! I love you so much it hurts, but I cannot abandon my kingdom! I can’t abandon my people, my duty, or my family, and know that I will never, ever see them again for as long as I live! James, please… take me back. Get me off this boat. Please.”

The raw, hysterical panic in your voice seems to hit him like a slap. The desperate light in James’s eyes instantly flickers out, replaced by a sudden, eerie calm. 

Seeing you on the verge of a complete breakdown, his guard instincts immediately override his own desires. “Hey… okay. Okay,” James murmurs, stepping back and raising his hands. “We’ll go back. I’ll get us off the boat, and we’ll talk about it in the room. Just breathe, Y/N.”

You nod frantically, wiping your face with the back of your trembling hand. As James turns back around, sitting on the rower’s bench and silently gripping the wooden oars, you can tell—with painful, devastating clarity—that he is deeply bothered. He is offended. Hurt that you didn’t instantly jump into his arms and accept his offer.

If you could even call it an offer.

How could he be so hopelessly blind? How could a man so trained in strategy fail to see the sheer catastrophic ruin his plan would bring?

Deserting a royal post and running off with you wasn’t just a breach of contract—it was high treason. If you two were ever caught, James wouldn’t just be relieved of his duties; he would be executed on the spot as a traitor and a kidnapper. 

And his parents… gods, his poor parents. James had spoken so casually of sacrificing them, but he hadn’t considered the horrific aftermath. The moment your father realized what James had done, the wrath of the throne would fall directly on his family. Fleamont and Euphemia would be stripped of their titles, their land, and their honor, spending the rest of their days in utter disgrace or locked in a dungeon for their son’s ultimate betrayal.

And what kind of life would you two even have together? Moving from village to village sounded romantic in a foolish storybook, but the cold reality would be an exhausting, paranoid nightmare. 

You would live as nameless fugitives, constantly looking over your shoulders, terrified of every soldier in uniform, every foreign bounty hunter, and every familiar face.

Beyond that, you weren’t just a girl—you were an heir tied to an ancient sun magic that an entire continent was actively trying to understand and control. Leaving meant leaving Valenora completely defenseless, abandoning your people to possible enemies, and leaving your family to drown in the grief of your sudden, unexplained disappearance.

Worst of all, a love built on absolute ruin was a ticking time bomb. How long would it take before the fairy tale shattered? How long until James looked at you in some dingy, damp inn across the sea and secretly resented you for losing Sirius, his parents, his brothers-in-arms, and his home? 

How long until you looked at him and felt the bitter poison of regret for abandoning your brothers?

James rows in absolute silence, the splash of the water the only sound cutting through the night. The golden lanterns still drift beautifully in the sky above, but to you, they no longer look like suns.

They just look like dying stars, slowly drifting away into the cold, unforgiving dark.

a/n: welcome to the long rant, folks!!

compared to the absolute essay i wrote for the last chapter, i think i'm actually going to keep this one a little shorter... or at least i'll try to 😭

first, i really wanted to talk about dorcas and her conversation with princess because i think it's one of the most important moments in the chapter, even if it's much quieter than everything that comes afterward. something that has always been incredibly important to me while writing tcov is allowing good people to make bad decisions. i never wanted the older generation to fall into neat categories of heroes and villains because i don't think life is ever that simple.

with dorcas, we finally see someone who possesses enough self-awareness to acknowledge that she wasn't always the person history remembers her as. she loved deeply, but that love also made her selfish. being queen gave her the power to make impossible choices, and being in love made those choices even harder. she knows that and she doesn't try to rewrite history or excuse herself. instead, she openly admits that if events had unfolded differently, she very well might have made the wrong decision. and i think that's what makes marlene's sacrifice even more heartbreaking.

ultimately, dorcas didn't make the right choice herself. the right choice was made for her, marlene took that burden from her.

yes, history remembers the outcome as noble, but that doesn't erase the fact that dorcas was prepared to choose differently. i really wanted princess to hear that because she's spent so much of her life believing queens and kings are somehow above ordinary human weakness. dorcas shatters that illusion completely. she reminds her that crowns don't magically make people wiser or kinder. they're still capable of fear, grief, selfishness, and mistakes. and honestly... i think there's something strangely beautiful about that.

i have always been drawn to characters who are not only aware of their flaws, but who are forced to coexist with them in perpetuity. dorcas is not a figure of absolution; she is a figure of endurance. she carries the weight of decisions she cannot undo and cannot fully forgive herself for, and that ongoing internal reckoning is precisely what makes her one of my favourite characters to write in the entire series.

and in that sense, the parallel between dorcas and princess’s parents—Helena and edmund—becomes impossible to ignore. because what dorcas articulated in the past is, in many ways, the same emotional architecture that defines helena and edmund in the present.

Helena, like dorcas, was not untouched by love; her choices were never made in a vacuum of clarity, but in the pressure of devotion colliding with duty in order to try and protect her daughter. edmund, similarly, was never a figure of uncomplicated authority. his decisions were not born from detachment, but from the same entanglement of fear, responsibility, and emotional compromise for his daughter that dorcas recognises within herself.

what connects all three of them is not moral failure, but the shared experience of loving someone so intensely that it distorts the boundaries of what one believes oneself capable of choosing.

and princess, standing at the intersection of these narratives, is finally forced to confront the fact that her parents were never exceptions to human fragility. they were simply people navigating impossible emotional terrain, just as dorcas did, just as she herself is beginning to.

NOW... THE LANTERNS. OH MY GOD FINALLY.

i think every single one of us knew this scene was coming eventually because... come on... tangled-inspired story. there was absolutely no universe where i wasn't going to include the lanterns LOL

but i wanted it to be more than just a reference. for princess, this isn't simply a beautiful tradition she's always wanted to see. it's something she's dreamed about her entire life while trapped behind palace walls. every single year she watched those lanterns drift into the sky from a distance, never believing she'd actually stand beneath them one day. so finally writing that moment felt incredibly emotional for me because it's one of the first dreams she ever had, long before james, long before running away, and long before discovering who she truly is.

and then...THE CONFESSION.

LIKE ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEE. james potter confessing his love beneath thousands of floating lanterns might actually be one of the most romantic things i have ever written.

after everything they've been through, after months of denying it, dancing around it, making excuses, and pretending their feelings were something they could simply ignore, hearing those words spoken out loud felt so unbelievably satisfying to write.

and i think what i love even more is the wishes. because despite everything they've been through, their wishes are almost identical. which (btw) absolutely destroyed me while writing it 😭

i also really wanted to take a moment to talk about the argument itself, because i have a feeling this scene is going to divide people, and honestly, i hope it does. if it doesn’t, then i don’t think i’ve done my job properly, because this is one of those moments where both characters are right in their own way, and that’s exactly what makes it hurt.

from james’s perspective, what he’s offering princess is the most romantic thing he could possibly imagine. for months, he’s watched the woman he loves live with choices she never chose, bound to a crown that was placed on her head long before she ever had a say in it. he’s seen her exhausted by duty, torn apart by expectation, and grieving a future that was decided for her before she even had the chance to dream of her own.

so when James talks about running away, he isn’t thinking in terms of betrayal or abandonment. to him, it is freedom. it is the chance to take everything that has been suffocating her and simply leave it behind. in his mind, he is offering her the life she has always been denied: the ability to choose for herself, to exist outside of a title, to wake up every morning not as princess and royal guard, but simply as james and margaret, two people who love each other.

to james, love is not something that can be measured against consequence. it is something that justifies consequence.

he would give up his career, his reputation, his home, and every piece of identity he has ever built if it meant he could be with princess. there is no hesitation in that for him, and i genuinely believe that about him. that is what makes his confession so devastating, because he is not manipulating her or exaggerating what he would do. he is being entirely honest. he really would sacrifice everything.

but love has never looked the same to princess.

throughout the entire story, james has been the one who believes love should be protected at all costs, even if that means burning everything else down around it.

princess, on the other hand, has been raised in a completely different understanding of love. for her, love has always been tied to responsibility. it is not just something you feel, it is something you carry, and sometimes something you endure for the sake of other people. she has spent her entire life being taught that her choices are never just her own, that every decision she makes ripples outward into her family, her kingdom, and the thousands of people who depend on the crown she is destined to inherit.

so when james asks her to leave with him, she does not hear it as a simple romantic escape. she hears it as a collapse of everything she has been trained to protect. she hears it as abandonment, not just of a place, but of people. and that is where the tragedy of this scene really is, because they are not actually arguing about the same thing at all. they are speaking past each other, each in a completely different understanding of what love is supposed to cost.

james is speaking from hope. he is imagining a future that begins the moment they choose each other. princess is speaking from consequence. she is imagining everything that future would erase in order to exist. he sees a beginning. she sees an ending disguised as one.

one of my favourite parts to write was what happens inside princess’s head after the conversation ends, because that is where the illusion finally breaks. for a moment, running away does sound beautiful. it is easy to picture it in romantic fragments: small villages they have never been to, unfamiliar streets, long journeys with no destination except each other, sunsets over open water, a life stripped down to something simple and free. in theory, it almost feels like the ending of a fairy tale.

but reality always arrives eventually, because the moment they disappear, james is no longer just a man who left his post. he becomes a traitor to the crown. his name is no longer associated with loyalty or service, but with betrayal. and the consequences do not stop with him. his parents do not simply lose a son who chose love over duty; they lose their standing, their security, and possibly even their safety. everything they have built their lives around would begin to unravel because of a choice that was never really theirs to make.

and princess does not escape consequence either. she does not simply lose a future she was already uncertain about. she loses her family in a different way entirely. her brothers would spend the rest of their lives believing she vanished without explanation. her parents would be left with nothing but uncertainty, never knowing whether she was alive, safe, or gone forever. an entire kingdom would be left without its future queen, and the absence would not be romantic. it would be destabilising.

that is probably the most heartbreaking truth of this entire scene, because james is not wrong for wanting that life with her, and princess is not wrong for refusing it.

they are simply two people in love under circumstances that make every possible version of love come with a cost.

i have always said that tcov is not a story about two people struggling to fall in love. it is a story about two people who fall in love far too easily, and then have to decide whether love, on its own, is ever enough to justify what it demands of them.

sometimes it is, sometimes it is not. and that is the question this chapter finally forces them, and the reader, to sit with.

the final image of the chapter is probably my favourite piece of symbolism i have written so far. at the beginning of the scene, the lanterns represent hope, freedom, and possibility, something almost full of promise. by the end, they are still there, still rising into the sky exactly as they were before, except they look like dying suns.

and that is often what heartbreak really is. not the destruction of beauty, but the inability to experience it in the same way once you understand what it would cost to keep it.

anyways, that's all from me for this chapter!!

as always, thank you all so much for reading, for screaming in the comments, for sending me your theories, and for spiralling alongside me every single update. i genuinely look forward to reading your comments and asks more than you know.

until next time, stay safe, stay happy, stay hydrated, stay healthy, and i'll see you all in the next chapter.

love you all endlessly <333

-

the edges of your vision turn soft. heart ticking like a timebomb in your chest.

you’re stuck, you realize. backed into a corner behind the beer pong table. you’d been waiting for john logan to come back from the bathroom. he should've been back by now. right?

your mind starts to whir with so many what ifs you can't even process them all. 

what if he’s flirting with some puck bunny upstairs?

what if one of his friends is holding him hostage up there?

what if he decided he had more fun without you? 

what if you die down here?

that's it. you were gonna be sick.

you set your beer down, and let out a shaky breath, before you bulldoze your way through the crowd. muttering hoarse apologies as you shoulder your way to the stairs. 

your eyes are glued to your converse. watching them creek against the first steps, when you run face first into a hard chest. 

you smell the familiar scent of diesel, ice, and cologne.

logan. thank god.

“woah– baby,” logan coos, "what’s the matter?"

his soft tone has tears pricking your eyes. everything, you wanna say. it's too much.

but logan is two steps ahead of you. his brows furrow as he steadies you. hands softly gripping your shoulders. grounding you.

realization floods his face when he sees that spacey look in your eyes. he's already grabbing your hand to guide you up the stairs when you decide to lie through your teeth.

“i’m fine, logan. let’s just go back down.”

he comes to a halt. turns around to cock an eyebrow at you. big hand still rubbing soothingly circles on the inside of your wrist. can feel your erratic pulse trying to break free from the soft skin of it.

“yeah, sure,” he rolls his eyes fondly, tugging you upwards. “c’mon, pretty girl. party's over.”

“but dean’s shirt is still on. seems like the party just started.”

logan doesn’t laugh at your sad attempt at a joke. he's too busy ushering you through a dimly lit hallway, and into the quiet of beau’s bedroom. “sit here, and wait for me.”

having something to do to, something to focus on finally has your heartbeat slowing down a couple paces.

you take your time admiring the top gun poster on the wall. smiling at the photos of beau's family spread across his desk.

meanwhile, logan doesn’t even bother throwing out half-assed goodbyes to the team as he hunts down your coat.

just tells garrett that he’s got to go. that he’ll tell him why he’s ditching the party tomorrow.

when you hear a knock at the door, it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“come in, logan.” 

he's got a winning grin on his face as he opens the door, waving the wool fabric in the air like a golden ticket. he gently sets it over your shoulders. bends down and presses a warm kiss against your forehead. ruffles your hair till he's satisfied.

“alright. i think it's time to go, baby.”

you follow loganout into the cold air, and the chill sobers you.

you ruined logan’s night, you think. he should be six shots deep right now. shitfaced and celebrating the win with his boys.

now that you think of it, you didn’t even see him finish a single beer. 

“you should be in there, logan. i’ll take the bus. really, it’s not–”

his eyes narrow. he looks down at your thumb methodically pressing onto the joints of your fingers. hears the soft pops as your knuckles crack under the pressure.

“you really think i'm gonna let you take the bus alone on a friday night? you're hilarious. you should start doing stand up, baby.” he chokes out a laugh, wrapping a comforting palm around your hand.

your thumb hovers over your index finger.

“c’mon. get your cute ass in my car. i think that ice cream shop you like should still be open if we hurry.” he says it like it doesn’t set your cheeks ablaze. like suddenly your heartbeat isn’t buzzing in your chest for all the right reasons. 

he stretches a long arm in front of you, and pops the passenger door open. 

“you don’t have to baby me, logan. i’m a big girl,” you laugh, easing yourself down onto the leather. 

“i’m not babying you,” logan lies cooly, softly shutting your door and jogging to the driver's side.

he hops in. reaches across your lap to buckle you in. “since when is it illegal to take my girl out for ice cream?”

“you’re impossible,” you smile, shaking your head. logan wraps a big arm around the back of your seat, and pulls out of the driveway.