Your beautiful red, my king...

Part One: Sam

Part Two

Sebastian

Evening descended on Pelican Town in heavy, damp twilight. The rain, which had started after noon, showed no sign of stopping, drumming against the roof of Robin's carpentry shop and making the dark windows of the house reflect only blurred silhouettes. In Sebastian's basement, it was warm and cozy — as cozy as a semi-basement room can be, where it smells of wood, mint, and cigarette smoke. The single window near the ceiling looked out at ground level, and heavy drops were streaming down its glass now. The walls, instead of wallpaper, were covered with posters — their images almost worn away by time: grim logos of unknown metal bands, frames from old anime, and a lone poster of a spaceship hovering over a purple planet. On the floor, on the thick carpet, boxes of board games were scattered. On the table, right on the worn-out map of Solarion Chronicles, chips, cards, and miniatures were piled up, with which they had been trying to start a new game for the past hour.

This evening was a tradition that had started almost by accident. Sam, perpetually disheveled and full of energy, had lugged a box of board games into the basement, declaring that they "absolutely had to run the campaign with the whole crew."

"I'm telling you, if we don't pick the elven archer, we're doomed!" Sam was waving the character card around, nearly knocking over the lamp above the table, and kept brushing his blond bangs out of his eyes. "We don't have any decent ranged damage!"

"We have magic," Sebastian lazily retorted, not looking up from the dice. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, and in the dim light his dark hair had a bluish sheen. "If you stop charging at every skeleton with your axe, maybe I'll have time to cast a spell as the Wizard."

"Axe is effective!" Sam protested.

Abigail snorted, sprawled in an armchair with a bag of chips. Her purple hair was gathered in a messy bun, and a tablet with the game rules lay on her lap.

"Sam, last time you failed your dexterity check and fell into a spiked pit. The axe isn't always the answer."

"But it was fun!"

Their friends' voices sounded somewhere far away. Your own fear was pulsing in your ears, drowning out their laughter. Your fingers mechanically found the velvet pouch in your jeans pocket — even through the soft fabric, you could feel the cold of metal. Back then, on the beach by the Old Mariner, when he handed you the Mermaid's Pendant under the sound of rain, the decision had seemed so clear. Now, surrounded by friends, every muscle was taut as a string.

All day long, the same scene had been playing on a loop in your head: walking up to him, pulling out the pendant, saying those very words. And every time, your imagination painted either his bewildered face, or awkward silence, or — worst of all — rejection.

"Say it. Just say it. You've been waiting for this all year," pulsed in your temples.

Your gaze darted over to Sebastian. He was sitting across from you, legs tucked under him, frowning at the map, chewing on the knuckle of his thumb. Strands of black hair fell into his eyes, and he automatically brushed them back, revealing his high forehead. In that same moment, he looked up from the board, and you drowned in that gaze, feeling everything inside you tighten into a tight knot.

Sebastian leaned forward slightly, studying your face, and his voice — quiet, cutting through the hubbub of friends — reached your ear.

"You okay?" he asked. In his eyes, dark and deep, a spark of concern flickered. "You seem... not yourself. "

You had to force yourself to smile and shake your head. A lie. Not okay at all. Like standing on the edge of a cliff in the fog, and the last step is the scariest.

"I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache," slipped out.

Sebastian furrowed his brow but said nothing. He gave your hand, resting on your knee, a light squeeze — a brief, barely noticeable movement — and that touch burned like an electric shock.

The rain outside grew heavier. Water streamed down the single small window near the ceiling, making the room darker and cozier.

"Alright, that's it," Abigail suddenly clapped her hands, making you jump. "My brain's fried. I'm going upstairs for some cola. Sebastian, do you have any left in the fridge?"

"There should be," he shrugged, not looking up from the cards. "Mom bought some."

"I'm coming with you!" Sam jumped up so quickly he almost knocked over the side table. "My legs have gone numb."

The wooden stairs creaked pitifully once, then twice. Then the kitchen door upstairs slammed shut, and that ringing silence fell.

You were alone.

The silence in the basement suddenly became unnaturally thick. All you could hear was the hum of the computer and the occasional raindrops drumming against the tiny window. You couldn't bring yourself to turn around — you could feel his gaze on your back. Calm, waiting.

"Hey," he said quietly, carefully touching your hand.

You had to turn around slowly. He was sitting, head tilted slightly, watching you with a faint shadow of concern in his eyes. He always knew how to read moods, even when you wanted to hide.

Your hand reached into your pocket on its own. Your fingers closed around the cool surface of the pendant. And there it was — small, shimmering in the dim light of the desk lamp. Mother-of-pearl, pink as the morning sky, and a thin silver chain. Sebastian froze. His eyes widened — for the first time, he didn't just look surprised; he looked genuinely stunned, speechless. He kept glancing from the pendant to your face and back, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes.

"I know we've never talked about this..." the words came with difficulty. "I know all of this might seem silly or too fast. But I... I made a decision. I want to be with you. Forever."

Silence hung in the room. Sebastian slowly reached out and touched the small shell lying in your palm with his fingertips. His breath caught for a moment.

"Are you serious?" his voice suddenly turned hoarse, and you heard in it an unfamiliar uncertainty — unusual for him — that made your heart clench even tighter.

He looked up, and in the dark depths of his eyes, you saw not coldness, but warmth — the kind he rarely let anyone see.

"You know..." he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching in a half-smile, "I thought about it. About us. But I was afraid that you... that I don't deserve you."

"You're the reason I stay in this valley," you finally managed to push out.

He blinked, as if not believing what he'd heard, and then his face — always so gloomy, so closed-off — faltered, and something warm, almost shy, ran across it.

"Then... maybe..." he faltered and nervously ran his fingers along the chain, "maybe you'll put it on me?"

You moved closer, helping him fasten the tiny clasp. Your fingertips glided along his neck, traced the line of his collarbone. Sebastian closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly — he seemed to be savoring every touch.

The pendant settled onto his dark T-shirt, right at his throat. And in that moment, you saw his face — finally, truly — break into a smile. Not a mocking one, no. A real one, almost boyish, shy and happy, the kind you'd only seen a couple of times in all the time you'd known him.

"I..." He raised his hand, touching the pendant, and laughed awkwardly. "Damn. I don't even know what you're supposed to say in situations like this."

"I agree," you breathed out quietly, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

"I agree," he repeated, and his voice wavered.

He leaned toward you — slowly, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn't pull away. On the contrary, you closed the distance yourself.

Your lips met — cold from nerves, but so familiar. The kiss tasted bitter, like coffee, and salty from your tears. The world around you shrank to his warm hands on your waist and to the shiver that ran through your body.

And at that very moment, the door burst open with a crash, and Sam stormed in, carrying two cans of soda. Abigail followed him, apparently trying to wrest at least one away from him.

"Look what I fou..." Sam stopped mid-sentence. His gaze fell on the pendant gleaming on Sebastian's chest. The cans hit the floor with a dull thud, spilling into hissing puddles. Sam's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

For a second, he was silent, staring blankly at the shimmering shell. And then he exploded:

"OH. MY. GOD!" he roared so loudly that the glass in the basement window seemed to rattle.

"Sam..." Sebastian began warningly, but Sam had already bounded over to them, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning, and grabbed Sebastian by the shoulders, literally shaking him.

"You!" he jabbed a finger at the pendant. "That! Is that THE one?! Is that the Mermaid's Pendant, right???"

Sebastian went pale, then flushed deeply, and even his usually unflappable face broke out in blotches of embarrassment.

"Sam, shut up," he hissed through his teeth, but Sam had already turned to you, shining so brightly he could have replaced the desk lamp.

"And you!" Sam grabbed your hands, and for a moment the world spun around with you, nearly knocking over the card table with your elbow. "I knew it! I KNEW you had the guts! He's a stubborn blockhead — without you pushing him, he'd still be dragging his feet for another hundred years!"

"Sam, for the love of everything holy..." Sebastian groaned, covering his face with his palms, but even through his fingers, you could see the corners of his mouth lifting.

Abigail, who had been silently watching from the doorway, rolled her eyes, but smiled — wide and genuine.

"Thank Yoba," she exhaled, crossing her arms. "I thought you two would be dancing around each other until you're old and gray."

Sam was still spinning you around the room, until Abigail grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back so hard that he tripped over the miniatures box and crashed onto the carpet, still grinning stupidly and kicking his legs in the air.

"You ruined the moment, idiot," Abigail said without malice, picking up the damaged cans from the floor. "And you killed the soda."

"Who cares about the soda!" Sam jumped to his knees and fixed Sebastian with a radiant gaze. "Just look at him! Sebastian's getting married!"

But he just shook his head silently, hiding his smile in your hair, and his fingers — again, already familiar — found yours. You could feel his palm trembling, his uneven breath touching your temple, and how from this simple closeness, something warm and weightless spread inside you, as if someone had lit a tiny sun right beneath your ribs. Sam was saying something, gesturing and waving dice around, Abigail was snorting and gathering scattered tokens from the floor, and the rain outside kept whispering and whispering about something of its own — but you only heard him, Sebastian, and the way his heart beat in unison with yours.

"He's not going to calm down now," he whispered in your ear, and in his voice you heard such tenderness that it took your breath away.

Part Two: Sebastian

Part One

Sam

The sun was already quite high, flooding the beach with golden light that made the sand look almost white. The waves rolled gently onto the shore, leaving lace-like foam on the sand, and their rhythmic murmur mixed with the cheerful shouts of Jas and Vincent. The kids, armed with buckets and spades, were building a grandiose sandcastle.

You sat on the spread-out blanket, resting your chin on your knees, watching them with a slight smile. It was hot, and even the light breeze from the ocean brought no longed-for coolness. The warm sand pleasantly warmed your feet, and the salty sea wind played with your hair. You lay back on the towel, watching Vin and Jas squeal as they ran from another wave that barely reached their heels.

Sam sat next to you. His golden hair, tied in a careless ponytail, had already escaped the elastic band. His T-shirt, with its faded band logo, was smeared with sand—the result of a failed attempt to help Vincent search for treasure. He lazily plucked the strings of an old acoustic guitar he'd brought along but never really started playing in earnest. The guy hummed something melodic, occasionally glancing at his brother.

"Hey, Vinc! Don't go too far into the water!" Sam called out, glancing briefly at his brother, who had dashed into an oncoming wave with a shriek of delight. Jas, more cautious, stood ankle-deep in the water, intently collecting wet pebbles.

"Okay!" came the reply. "We're building a fortress here! Jas, let's dig a moat around the castle!"

The girl silently nodded, adjusting her summer sundress.

"So much energy in them," you murmured, nodding toward the kids, who had begun arguing with renewed vigor about the shape of the tower. Sam smiled softly.

"Vincent can run non-stop for ages until he drops," he muttered with a chuckle, "Mom can't keep up with him, she gets exhausted."

You sat in silence, watching the kids shift their focus to building a castle from wet sand. Jas, being the more serious one, was directing the process, while Vincent diligently carried water in a small bucket. The sun had almost touched the horizon, painting everything around in crimson.

"Look, Jas found a crab," you nodded toward the girl, who was hopping with delight, showing Vincent something small and scuttling. The boy ran over to her, and his eyes lit up with childlike wonder. In moments like these, he reminded you so much of his older brother—the same smile, the same spark in his eyes when he got excited about something new.

"They're so... amusing, aren't they?" Sam said quietly, nodding toward the kids. His voice sounded dreamy, almost absent. "Vincent grows so fast. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday he was learning to walk."

"You're great with him. He absolutely adores you," you smiled.

"Well..." Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Big brother, after all. It's my job to look after him." The wind stirred his hair again, and you noticed how tenderly he looked at Vincent.

You shifted your gaze to him. Sam always looked a bit boyish—that mischievous glint in his eyes and that perpetual half-smile. But now, when he looked at the kids, there was something different about him. Something mature, warm.

You found yourself staring at his profile, losing track of time. He was like a ray of sunshine that dispelled any gloom. Despite his carefree attitude and his eternal dream of a punk band, there was something very reliable and warm about him. His smile, his energy, his endless sincerity in everything. Even when things were really bad—Sam wouldn't let sadness take over, if only for the sake of his mother and brother. And that was just one of many reasons why you'd fallen in love with him.

You smiled, feeling the warm evening breeze touch your face. In your jacket pocket lay a small velvet pouch, and you kept touching it with your fingers, checking that the gift was still there. The mermaid pendant—so delicate, so full of promise. You'd been waiting for the right moment for weeks, but the right opportunity just never seemed to present itself.

"I wonder," he began slowly, as if tasting the words, gazing somewhere into the distance beyond the horizon. His voice was quiet, almost dreamy, as if he were talking to himself, "what our children would look like..."

Your ears started ringing, and the sound drowned out the surf. The air around you seemed to thicken. You froze, unable to move.

He, however, seemed not to notice his slip. He kept looking at the horizon, where the sun was slowly touching the water, turning the sea into molten gold.

"OUR" children. He said "OUR."

"What?" you barely whispered.

"What?" Sam finally turned, noticing your fixed, glassy stare. Confusion flickered in his eyes, then fear. "Oh. I... I said that out loud?" He straightened up abruptly, a bright blush spreading across his cheeks. He waved his hands quickly, as if trying to dispel the words in the air. "Listen, I just meant... I didn't mean it like that... I mean, no! Of course not!"

"You mean, you don't want children?" you asked softly, feeling tears of laughter and relief welling up in your eyes. So ridiculous, so flustered, he seemed to you the most wonderful person in the world.

"No! I mean, yes!" he was completely tangled up and grabbed your hands, squeezing them in his. His gaze was bewildered, but sincere. "I just wanted to say that it would be... great. If we had children. Little, noisy ones, who'd run along the beach like those two, and who would be like you. Or like me... but better if like you." He swallowed, horrified that his attempts to fix things were only making it worse. "Damn, I'm talking complete nonsense, aren't I?"

You laughed, and the sound broke the tension that had hung in the air. You freed one hand and, after a moment's hesitation, pulled the treasured item from your pocket. Sam's gaze dropped to your palms, where, peacefully shimmering in the light of the setting sun, lay a small mother-of-pearl pendant in the shape of a seashell.

A ringing silence fell, broken only by Jas's babbling as she showed Vincent a beautiful shell. Sam looked from you to the pendant, and a whole range of emotions played across his face: first shock, then disbelief, and then... such a bright, such a sincere, warm smile that made your eyes sting.

"Are you serious?" he asked again, his voice trembling with happiness. "We... I mean, you... You want to marry me?"

You nodded, feeling the blood rush to your face.

"I... I don't know what to say," he exhaled, and there was no trace of his earlier confusion in his voice—only reverent awe. "I just... I couldn't even imagine that you..." He paused, finally taking the pendant with trembling fingers and bringing it to his lips, kissing it. "This is the coolest gift I've ever gotten."

He leaned toward you, and your lips met. It was a light, almost weightless kiss—but it held so many promises, so much warmth, so much certainty about tomorrow, that you felt a calmness spreading somewhere inside you, one you hadn't felt in years.

"Sam?" Vincent called out, running up to them out of breath. "I want ice cream!"

Jas followed, eyeing suspiciously how Sam was holding your hand. "Sam, why are you both so red?" she asked with childish directness.

Sam coughed awkwardly.

"Uh... The sun's gotten to us, shorty. Come on, I'm treating you both to ice cream," he winked at his future wife and stood up, helping you to your feet. You walked toward the wooden bridge leading into town, and Sam, quietly so the kids wouldn't hear, leaned toward your ear and whispered:

Dance

Fred Weasley

The Great Hall was stunning in its beauty. Instead of long and boring faculty tables, there are small, elegant crystal tables, laden with snacks and glasses of punch. The walls, once gray and gloomy, were now covered in frost, and the massive columns were hung with white lanterns, illuminating the surrounding space. The enchanted ceiling, reflecting the sky, was strewn with thousands of stars this evening, and hundreds of garlands of holly, mistletoe, and ivy were strung across it. Giant fir trees stood majestically in the corners, decorated with all manner of handmade ornaments, their branches dusted with falling snow. What had once been a place for ordinary school meals now resembled a fairytale snow palace, its decorations difficult to tear one's eyes away.

It's a shame you never got to witness its splendor with your own eyes.

The Hogwarts dungeons greeted you with dampness and the smell of dust. It was especially cold and uninviting here on Christmas Eve, and the dim torchlight barely dispelled the darkness, causing shadows to dance on the stone walls.

You ran a brush across the bottom of another cauldron, glaring with hatred at the dried green crust that refused to come off. Professor Snape's punishment was unfair, insulting, and completely took the holiday spirit out of you. You should have been up there, dancing to the music of "The Weird Ones" in the Great Hall, having fun and celebrating Christmas. Instead, here you were, surrounded by stale dirt and the pungent smell of potion.

It was all Fred Weasley's fault.

Your cheeks burned with anger. When a Dungbomb exploded on the stairs outside the Potions classroom—it's not hard to guess whose work it was—you happened to be right there. Snape came out just as you tripped over someone's discarded textbook and flew straight into him, spilling some potion concentrate on his robes. He didn't listen to excuses - what can I say, they weren't even asked of you. Detention on a sacred evening for Hogwarts. Cleaning cauldrons until they gleamed like Professor Flitwick's bald head.

"Well, listen, it's not all that bad, huh? At least we have company for the evening."

Fred Weasley in person. Having thrown his robe into a corner and rolled up the sleeves of his snow-white shirt, the culprit of your imprisonment today was squatting by the nearby cauldron and, with an incredible carelessness that drove you crazy, was picking at the dried mud.

You hated him. You hated every freckle, every stupid witty remark, every strand of red hair sticking out in every direction. But most of all, you were irritated by that utterly idiotic and carefree smirk that never left his face.

“Shut up, Weasley,” you hissed through clenched teeth. “This is all your fault. I should have been there. In the Great Hall.” You looked at yourself with disgust. The vile green slime had already soaked into your robes in several places, leaving dark stains. “And instead I’m sitting here cleaning these damn cauldron!”

"You're angry," he stated, nodding his head slightly. "Come on. I brought sweets. Would you like a lemon drop? They recently filled them with this interesting thing—whoever eats it, their tongue becomes invisible!"

"Fred!" you exploded, throwing the brush into the bucket. You looked up at him, and he must have seen something, causing his smile to falter slightly. Tears, probably. You quickly wiped your face with your sleeve and stared into the cauldron again.

"I was supposed to dance tonight," you said, more to yourself than to him. "I had a dress! I spent a month looking for it! And shoes, and…" You trailed off, feeling a lump growing in your throat. "And instead, I'm here because you and your brother can't go a day without getting someone into trouble."

The dungeon became quiet, only the wind whistled faintly through the endless corridors. And suddenly, in this silence, you distinctly heard a melody coming from above. It was completely different from the cheerful music that had been playing before. Slow, drawn-out, full of languid sadness and tenderness. It was the very dance that, as your friends said, was worth going to the ball for. A slow dance, full of romance and first teenage crushes.

You sighed and lowered your head even lower, feeling a lump of resentment growing in your chest.

Fred was no longer smiling. And then he did something completely unexpected.

He stepped forward, grabbed your hand, pulled the brush from your fingers, and tossed it aside. Before you could protest, his palm landed on your waist. You shuddered at the touch, feeling how hot his palm was even through the layers of fabric. Fred's hand was warm and dry, and his fingers gripped yours with such confidence that your heart began to beat faster. "What are you doing?" you tried to break away, but he only held you tighter.

"Dancing with you," he said softly. "Yes, we're not in the Great Hall," he glanced around the dungeon, "but the music's playing, and you have a partner. So what are we waiting for?"

He pulled you into the center of the small open space, away from the tables with the cauldrons. You felt your breath catch. You were so close now that you could see the tiny freckles on his nose and the sparkle in his eyes. He smelled of pine and sweet butterbeer.

"Can you dance?" you asked, trying to control the tremor and embarrassment in your voice.

"Well," he chuckled, shrugging, "I'll try not to step on your toes too much."

You laughed softly, feeling the tension evaporate. The slow music reached you as if through a thick layer of water, muffled by the walls, but that made it seem even more intimate. Fred didn't follow strict dance rules. He simply led you, making you forget about dirty clothes, soap-soaked hands, and a missed evening. The music seemed to pulse softly in the walls, in the floor, in the air between you. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to simply feel. His hand on your back, his breath touching your cheek, and the beating of his heart, so close, so alive. He twirled you around the tight space between the tables, deftly avoiding the cauldrons and cabinets filled with vials. The dance was very simple, but his touch was so gentle it made your head spin.

“There you go,” he said with a slight smile, “you’re smiling again.”

You couldn't help but giggle, feeling a strange, warm flower bloom inside you.

"I really didn't mean to be angry," you admitted quietly, twirling in his arms. "It's just... I was looking forward to this evening so much..."

"I know," he replied, a surprising softness in his voice. "And I'm sorry. Really." He pulled you a little closer, and now your chest was almost touching his chest. "I didn't do it on purpose. It's just... sometimes I feel like causing chaos. I didn't mean to drag you into this." He paused, and something like genuine regret showed on his face.

Your eyes met. Usually wild and sparkling with joy, his eyes now seemed deep and warm in the semi-darkness of the dungeon.

The waltz slowly came to an end, the last chords fading away, giving way to a short pause. Fred stopped but didn't let go of you. You stood in the center of the classroom, surrounded by the dim light and the smell of potions, and you looked up at him, feeling your heart pounding. His eyes looked at you with such warmth that it took your breath away, and you couldn't look away.

He leaned over slightly, and an expression you couldn't read crossed his face. Something serious, almost tender, so unlike his usual frivolity.

"Merry Christmas," he said quietly.

"Merry Christmas, Fred," you whispered.

He reluctantly let go of you, and you immediately felt a coldness in the place where his palm had just been. Fred walked back to his desk, but that familiar, mischievous smile played on his lips. Only now it seemed addressed to you personally, and this made you feel warm, despite the cold of the dungeons.

The dust from the cars driving along the potholed road had long since settled, but the air still smelled of burning and ozone—the aftermath of the battle, the sounds of which seemed to still echo in your ears. You sat in the passenger seat, your fingers gripping the edge of the dashboard so tightly your knuckles turned white. Your gaze was fixed on the intersection at the end of the street—the only road leading to the epicenter of this nightmare, to the neighborhood shrouded in the roots of the Qliphoth where they had gone. Nero, Dante. V.

Niko didn't stop talking. It was amazing how someone who spent all their time in the workshop, completely alone, could talk for so long. You didn't time it, but it felt like Niko had been chatting nonstop for a good couple of hours. She'd discussed everything: her new invention ideas, grumbled about the "ungrateful Nero's" bad temper, and reminisced with delight and awe about Kyrie's delicious cooking. You, however, had ignored almost everything she said, nervously tapping your toe on the floor.

It had been… how long? Half an hour? An hour? Time had lost its meaning, turning into a viscous, sticky substance. Every second of waiting echoed like a dull heartbeat in her ears.

Goldstein cracked the window, the metal lighter clanking softly in her hand. A pungent gray cloud of smoke instantly filled the cabin and evaporated just as quickly, leaving behind a barely perceptible aroma of tobacco. Unlike you, Niko was as calm as ever. She crossed her legs, leaned back in the seat, and relaxed, exhaling poison in small gray rings that immediately dissolved.

"Nervous?" she remarked mockingly, flicking her ashes onto the floor of the van.

You shrugged, but didn't take your eyes off the road.

"A little, yeah."

"Oh, come on," Niko waved her hand carelessly, flicking away the ashes. "Look at this group. Dante's a legend. Lady and Trish are absolutely scorching hot, they'll be fine. Nero might be a jerk, but with my guns, he's a killing machine now."

"Uh-huh," you mutter, continuing to gaze out at the deserted streets.

Niko fell silent. For a long, agonizing second. And then such a wide, knowing grin spread across her face that you wanted to sink into the ground.

"Ahh," Niko drawled, taking the cigarette out of her mouth. "I see. Are you waiting for your poet?"

You were about to snap back, but instead bit your lip, clenching your fist. You thought of him—the slender fingers gripping his cane. His dark, almost black hair falling over his pale face; the strange, painful grace in his movements. You remembered his slightly sad, yet still warm gaze, the one he briefly glanced at you before disappearing into the ruins; the heavy cane in his hand, the book of poetry clutched to his chest. You caught yourself thinking that every glance, every barely perceptible smile, or quiet laugh, echoed within you with a strange, piercing warmth. He didn't look strong, but there was a desperate, almost self-destructive determination about him that made your heart clench. And the thought of him right there, in the epicenter of hell, sent an icy chill through your chest. "Stop it, Niko," you muttered under your breath, which only seemed to spur your friend on even more.

"Oh, come on," she persisted, "I'm not blind. Or deaf, for that matter. When you talk to him, you forget to breathe. And when he starts quoting that… what's his name… Shakespeare?"

"William Blake," you corrected automatically, then bit your tongue. Nico burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the deserted neighborhood.

"Gotcha!" she exclaimed, slamming her palm on the steering wheel. "Okay, don't get so worked up. I don't understand a damn thing about this poetry, but you listen to it as if he's personally revealing the secrets of the universe to you. Come on, spill the beans. Do you like him?"

Your cheeks flushed with heat, your heart began to beat faster. You turned sharply, ready to launch into an angry tirade, but the words caught in your throat. "Never mind," you muttered, turning away and trying to hide your burning cheeks with your hair.

"As you say," Niko agreed easily, clearly pleased with your reaction. She flicked the cigarette butt out the window. "Just don't worry so much. Seriously. Well, that V… he didn't just show up here for no reason, right? He knows what he's doing. And he doesn't seem like the type to just die. And his familiars… hell, Shadow alone is a beast, not a cat. So, everything will be fine."

You remained silent, but the tension in your chest eased a little. Niko was right. She knew how to calm you, albeit in her own rough way. You took a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from shaking, and tiredly ran a hand over your face.

Another hour passed. The silence was broken only by the hiss of radio static and the occasional honk of a car. Suddenly, heavy footsteps sounded around the corner.

Nero appeared around the corner. He looked tired, dirty, but whole, his mechanical arm shimmering in the streetlights. Your heart leaped joyfully for a moment, but you immediately tensed again, your gaze sliding past him.

Dante emerged behind him, unsteadily, but with a smirk that never left his face. Behind him, Lady loomed, adjusting her holster, and next to her, Trish walked, a slight, barely noticeable smile on her face.

You yanked the car door open so hard it almost blew off its hinges. The resounding sound of metal hitting metal echoed across the deserted street. Jumping out, you were ready to run to meet them, screaming with joy. But… The smile that had already begun to spread across your face froze, then slowly slid away, turning into a mask of confusion and anxiety. You looked past Dante and Nero, hoping that V would appear at any moment, limping, leaning on the Griffin… But there was no one else behind them. You opened your mouth, but the words stuck in your throat. Your heart, which had been pounding wildly with joy just a moment ago, skipped a beat and sank somewhere down into the icy void.

He was not among them.

"Where…" you began, but the words died on your lips.

Your gaze fell on a figure emerging from around the corner. You expected to see a black cloak, a frail figure leaning on a cane, and a shock of black hair. But before you stood a man you'd never seen before.

Tall, stately. White hair combed back, stern features, a sharp gaze, and an icy calm. He moved with the confident grace of a predator, and every feature conveyed an incredible, almost frightening power. His dark cloak, trimmed with silver embroidery, fluttered in the wind.

"…where's V?" you whispered, your voice muffled and unnatural in the stillness of the night. Your gaze slid over Nero's face, then darted to Dante, who was shaking his head. The question hung in the air, but there was no answer.

The stranger paused for a moment. His icy gaze swept over the assembled group and settled on you. Those eyes, cold and piercing, held no trace of the vulnerable, poetic melancholy that had been in V's. These were the eyes of a warrior who had lived a long and cruel life. But deep within them, behind that icy wall, something flickered that took her breath away. It was… tenderness? And a deep, aching sadness. He looked at you as if he saw something infinitely precious and irrevocable. As if you were part of his brief, half-forgotten humanity.

He held a book in his hands. It was old, the leather binding cracked in places. On the cover was a gold-embossed "V".

"He asked me to tell you," the man said. His voice was low and velvety. "And to say… that he's sorry he can't say goodbye in person."

The book fell heavily into your trembling hands. You stared at the binding, unable to utter a word. A carousel of snippets of conversations flashed through your head, his quiet laughter when you didn’t understand the next turn of the verse, his attentive, studying glances.

"Where is he?" you asked, your voice breaking. The stranger's gaze lingered on your face for a moment. A hint of regret flickered in his eyes—and then he looked away.

You opened the book at random, and the soft, age-yellowed pages rustled softly in the mournful silence. The graceful lines of his handwriting caught your eye. Carefully, as if afraid to erase them, you ran your fingers over them, touching the dark ink almost weightlessly. A single tear escaped your eyelashes and immediately spread as a dark stain on the page.

"Then if chance along this forest

Any walk in pathless way,

Thro' the gloom he'll see my shadow

Thunder rumbles in the distance, heralding an imminent storm. You quicken your pace, the heels of your boots clicking on the wide stone path. The endless sky above Stardew Valley was quickly darkening, thickening the dark gray clouds, blocking out the tired autumn sun. A small gust of wind made you shiver and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the aroma of damp earth. It smelled of fallen leaves and the peace of nature falling asleep. The once green lawns were now covered with bright foliage like a blanket woven from red and yellow rags. A bright flash shone dully in the gray clouds and you nervously pursed your lips. You never liked thunderstorms. Even as a child, you were scared of this blinding light of lightning and the deafening bass of thunder. As a timid child, when nature was rampant, you often ran to hide under a blanket, covering yourself with it, or sought protection in the warm embrace of your grandparents. With age, the childish hostility, unfortunately, did not go away, but the warm blanket and grandparents were no longer around. Therefore, you tried to live through these unpleasant periods at home, behind closed doors, alone. In safety.

But today, trying to finish all your chores for the day, you (to your now great regret) did not have time to look at the weather forecast at all. "I hope I don't get caught in the rain," you think, crossing the bridge to the Eastern Scarp. The contents of the brown fabric bag jingle slightly when you adjust the embroidered strap and throw it over your shoulder for greater comfort. Your shoulders were stiff and aching unpleasantly from the strain, but your main concern now was to run to the right house as quickly as possible, to hide at least for a while. "Miss Farmer!" Eloise shouts happily and waves at you when you pass a small pond. The girl hastily pours out some corn kernels for the local ducks and then quickly wipes her small palm on the leg of her denim overalls. You don't stop, but wave back to her in a friendly manner when the first drops of rain lazily break against your leather jacket. Fussing, Eloise quickly jumps to her feet and, covering her head with her hands, hurries up the stairs, back home. The weather was rapidly deteriorating and the rare drops very quickly began to turn into an impenetrable wall of rain. You took two long strides up the front steps of the house, skirting the growing puddles, as water began to pour down from the roof, crashing against the eaves with a pleasant noise. "It's going to be fun getting to the farm," you mutter, knocking briefly on the carved wooden door. It was quiet at first. You knocked more insistently, praying that the Coopers were home. The smell of dust and wet asphalt hit your nose, and just as the wind began to rage behind you, the door finally opened. Despite your expectation of seeing your petite red-haired friend standing in front of you, you are greeted by Sterling. The momentary confusion on his face immediately gives way to a smirk as he leans his shoulder against the door frame in a relaxed manner.

"Oh my," he says, "can't spend a day without me, babe?" He keeps his playful gaze on you, and you immediately smile back. Your interactions with each other often took place in a similar "jokingly playful" manner, which made the people around you roll their eyes in irritation literally every time Sterling opened his mouth. In turn, this trait of the guy amused you more and more each time. It didn't matter at all where you met - be it Pierre's store, Gast's saloon or a simple chance meeting on the streets of Pelican - you never missed an opportunity to exchange barbs, and Sterling, in turn, did not miss an opportunity to embarrass you in the process. Of course, it didn't always work out, but the guy was sincerely happy when a blush touched your cheeks and you awkwardly pursed your lips. Today was not one of those days.

"Very funny," you answered sarcastically. The guy chuckled briefly, crossed his arms over his chest. Slightly pushing away from the doorframe, he stepped aside, clearing the way for you. "Come in," he nodded briefly to the side, inviting, "you will get wet". Inside, the house seemed much larger than from the outside. A spacious guest room with soft beige sofas, on which small decorative pillows rested, a small cozy kitchen, neatly furnished with all sorts of utensils for baking. The windows were hidden under small light curtains, on which small sunflowers were embroidered by a caring hand. At first glance, you would not even believe that two brothers lived in this house, one of whom was always absent, and the second did not exist without a hangover for a long time. The fact that Mia lives here clearly benefits this house. Speaking of her…

"I brought the order," you say, carefully placing the cloth bag on the kitchen counter, "Mia asked me to bring her a couple of jars of melon preserves." You place the paper-wrapped jars of treats away from the edge of the table and out of the corner of your eye you notice an active movement behind Cooper. Before he can react, Max rushes towards you, his claws scratching the wooden floor and his long tail wagging happily. The dog deftly stands on his hind legs and almost hugs you, resting his front paws on your chest. His tongue is rough and wet, but you laugh happily when he licks your face in greeting. "I'm glad to see you too, good boy," you giggle and pat the dog's thick light fur until Sterling finally gently pulls Max away by the collar. "Sorry about that, he's been really active lately," Cooper says guiltily as Max continues to circle around you, drawing your attention. He reaches for the jam, turning it over in his hands. The paper wrapper rustles softly under his fingers as he gently tugs on the string that holds it. "Mia's at Caroline's today, I don't think she'll be back anytime soon." The dog wags his tail contentedly as you scratch him behind the ear. "Too bad," you say, patting the dog's furry cheeks, "a lot of work lately, we haven't seen each other for a long time. Only you always catch my eye." "I don't see any downsides," his lips stretch into a teasing grin. You just roll your eyes, which makes him even more pleased. "Maybe you should wait for her? It's pretty nasty outside," you hear, but you just shake your head, throwing the strap of your bag over your shoulder again. "I have things to do, and it's just rain," you reply, but you don't have time to touch the doorknob. The living room light flickers for a few seconds, and then goes out with a click. It's just like when you were a kid. In the beginning, there was always a flash, bright, blinding. You automatically began to count the seconds - as a child, you always counted the time so that you could hide before the furious thunder ripped through the sky. Now there was nowhere to hide. When the sound crashes to the ground, you squeeze your eyes shut with a plaintive squeak and press your palms to your ears. The sound of your own breathing and furiously beating heart drowns out the rest of the world for you. You breathe raggedly, pressing your trembling hands hard to your head, completely oblivious to Max's quiet whines, or Cooper's agitated expression. "Hey, hey," he says worriedly, the smile instantly disappearing from his face, "what's wrong with you? Look at me, farmer." But you don't hear. You don't see the alarm in his blue eyes opposite you. It was scary before, but your body has never behaved like this before. "What's going on?" you think in a panic, unable to calm down. The room is spinning before your eyes, but a cold wet nose, softly touching the back of your hand, does not allow you to lose consciousness. Distantly, you hear Max whining, persistently making his way with his nose to your cheek in an attempt to calm you down. You hear Sterling's indistinct soft tone. The guy gently strokes your hair, pulls you towards him and you willingly hide, burying your face in the rough fabric of the jacket.

When the trembling begins to recede and consciousness clears, you will find the light crown of the dog, peacefully snoring on your lap. Peacefully rocking you in his arms, Sterling quietly says something hummed, his nose buried in the top of your head. The song is unfamiliar to you, but you listen quietly, relaxing.

"Is it a lullaby?" you whisper. The guy hesitates and you carefully look up at him. For the first time since you met, you see a blush on his face. Sterling looks away, hiding his embarrassment. "Henry was afraid of thunderstorms as a child, too," he says, "we went through it together and often lullabies helped… so…"

You smile weakly, hiding your face in the collar of his jacket. A bright blush warms your cheeks and you only gratefully exhale a barely audible "thank you."

"It's okay"

Later, Mia will be very puzzled to find the two of you in an embrace on the floor, and it seems that even a whole batch of melon jam will not be enough to prevent her from throwing sly glances in your direction, smiling mysteriously.