Elora

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ZAYNE

❄️ Love between the lines (Angst/Comfort) (Completed)

Part 1 , Part 2

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ CALEB

🍏 You aimed before you asked (Angst)

🍏 To bleed and belong (Caleb x Vampire! Reader)

Part 1, Part 2

🍏 What the Heart meant (Caleb x Pregnant! reader)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ LADS MEN

In every lifetime, I choose you.

Bound by prophecy and past lives, two souls must decide if their love belongs to memory or to the present.

⋆˚࿔ Sylus version

⋆˚࿔ Rafayel version

⋆˚࿔ Xavier version

What the Heart Meant

A nervous confession of pregnancy sparks misunderstanding when fear masks itself as rejection, driving love into chaos. Yet in the ruins, walls crumble, and a desperate vow of protection rekindles a passion stronger than the dangers that surround them.

⋆˚࿔ Caleb version

Synopsis: Across galaxies and timelines, Xavier Shen must show (Y/n) that his love is not a relic of Elora (her past life) but to the woman standing before him now.

Sylus version | Rafayel Version

The silence between stars was something Xavier Shen had grown accustomed to. The darkness of deep space, broken only by distant pinpricks of light, mirrored the stillness inside him. He had been called calm, reliable, mysterious. Words spoken with half-awe, half-mistrust by those who had fought beside him. But for all their labels, they never quite understood him.

Perhaps no one did, not until her.

“Xavier,” Y/n’s voice carried softly through the ship’s comm, laced with that exasperated warmth he had come to recognize as uniquely hers, “you forgot to patch up again.”

The hunter shifted in the pilot’s seat, his tall frame leaning back, expression as neutral as ever. His silver hair caught the faint blue glow of the console, brushing against his cheekbone. “It’s nothing,” he replied, his tone flat, unhurried. The same words he always used whenever she caught sight of blood or the subtle limp in his step.

“It’s not nothing,” Y/n’s voice persisted. He could picture her frowning, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in frustration. She had that habit of chewing on her bottom lip when worried. He never told her he noticed, but he always did. “You can’t just keep ignoring wounds, Xavier. One day—”

“One day,” he interrupted gently, “I’ll still be here.” His eyes flicked to the stars beyond the cockpit glass, their reflection caught in the ice-blue of his irises. “I promised, didn’t I?”

Promises. He was careful with them, not one to give words he couldn’t uphold. But when it came to her, he found himself making them without hesitation.

She entered the cockpit then, boots tapping softly against the metallic floor. She always seemed to bring warmth into a room, even in the cold expanse of the ship. Y/n placed a small med-kit on the console in front of him, nudging it closer with deliberate stubbornness.

“Patch. Up.”

His lips twitched, just the faintest suggestion of amusement. For anyone else, Xavier Shen’s expression would have seemed unchanged. But Y/n had learned to read the subtlest shifts. The way his gaze softened, the way his silence stretched a fraction longer when he wanted to tease her.

“You really want me to?” he asked, voice even.

“Yes,” she replied firmly.

“Then…” he leaned slightly forward, silver hair falling over his forehead, eyes narrowing with quiet mischief that very few ever saw from him. “…patch me up yourself.”

The sudden boyish tilt to his words caught her off guard. She blinked, cheeks warming, though she tried to cover it with a huff. “You’re impossible.”

But she still reached for his arm, carefully rolling back the sleeve of his uniform. Beneath lay a shallow graze, angry and red against his fair skin. She worked with steady hands, though he felt the faint tremor in her touch.

“You worry too much,” Xavier murmured.

“You worry too little,” she shot back. “Do you even realize how reckless it looks when you throw yourself in front of everyone else? Like your life doesn’t matter?”

His gaze drifted to her, unreadable at first glance. The truth was, he did realize. He knew exactly what it looked like. But he also knew he would do it again without hesitation.

“Of course it matters,” he said simply. “It matters because of you.”

Her hands froze. She looked up at him, but he was already turning his eyes back toward the starlight outside, tone flat as ever, as though he had only stated a fact of physics. He wouldn’t look at her when he said things like that. Things that made her chest ache and her heart feel too full.

That was Xavier. Outwardly still, inwardly burning.

The UNICORNS team was not known for their quiet moments. Xavier, brash and efficient, always filled the air with sound and movement, while the others argued, bantered, laughed, fought. Xavier was the anchor, the one who steadied them all. He rarely raised his voice. He rarely spoke unless necessary. And yet, when the fighting began, when the Wanderers emerged from the void with their twisted forms, it was Xavier’s blade they instinctively moved behind.

Y/n often found herself watching him in those moments. Not just as a comrade, but with that strange sense of familiarity she still couldn’t quite name.

The way his movements flowed, calm yet decisive. The way his presence felt both protective and distant, as though part of him was always somewhere she couldn’t reach.

And then there were the dreams.

They had started faintly at first, fleeting glimpses of a classroom filled with golden light, a boy with a wooden training sword glancing back at her from across the room, the weight of her own heart straining against her chest. Another dream of a crown gleaming beneath starlight, a boy who looked exactly like Xavier but younger, softer, holding a sword tassel with reverence.

And then darker ones, blood-soaked caverns, a man with silver hair and a dark sword, his face half-hidden in shadow as he whispered her name with a voice breaking.

She would wake in Xavier’s quarters sometimes, he had an annoying habit of falling asleep anywhere, from briefing rooms to stairwells, but when he found her restless, he always wordlessly offered her his space. He never asked about the dreams, though she wondered if he knew.

One evening, after a particularly brutal mission, they sat on the ship’s observation deck. It was quiet, save for the hum of the engines. Y/n leaned against the railing, staring out into the sea of stars. Xavier was beside her, arms folded, posture relaxed but eyes vigilant, always scanning.

She glanced at him, at the faint scratch on his jaw, at the way his hair fell carelessly, at the stillness he carried like armor. Something inside her tugged, something that had been tugging for weeks now. Ever since the dreams began.

“Xavier,” she said softly.

“Hm?” His gaze stayed on the stars, expression unreadable as always.

“…Who was Elora?”

The name slipped from her lips before she could stop herself. It tasted strange in her mouth, but it had been echoing in her head for nights on end, a whisper left behind by dreams that didn’t feel like dreams at all.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Xavier’s composure cracked. Not visibly, not to anyone else, at least. His face remained calm, but his breath caught almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightening against his arm. His eyes turned to her with a sharpness she had never seen, a flicker of something raw and unguarded flashing in that ocean-blue gaze.

“Where did you hear that name?” His voice was low, steady, but there was a dangerous weight beneath it, as though the stars themselves had stilled to listen.

“I…” Y/n swallowed hard. Her heart pounded in her chest. “I don’t know. I just… I keep dreaming of her. Of you. At a school with golden halls, by a lake under a meteor shower. And you were there, Xavier. Always you. You called me Elora.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Xavier stared at her as though she had reached into the core of him and pulled something long-buried into the light. He had imagined this moment countless times, dreaded and longed for it both. But now that it was here, he felt the faintest tremor in the steadiness of his hands.

She knew.

Her memories were bleeding back through the veil of lifetimes.

“…Y/n,” he said finally, her name falling like a prayer from his lips. His voice, though calm, held a fracture at the edges.

She looked at him with searching eyes, tears glistening. “That’s why I need to know. Do you… love me? Or do you just see her when you look at me?”

His blue eyes met hers at last, steady, unblinking. For a moment, she wished he would just get angry, just show something. Anything but this silence.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he said finally, voice low, even.

Her chest tightened painfully. “That’s not fair, Xavier.”

“I don’t mean…” He paused, gaze flicking downward, searching for words he rarely used. “I don’t mean I don’t love you. I mean—I don’t know how to separate them. Elora. Y/n. You’ve always been…” His hand flexed at his side, as though fighting the urge to reach for her. “You’ve always been you.”

Tears stung at her eyes, hot and sharp. “That’s not enough. I’m not her. I don’t want to just be someone you’re trying to hold onto from before. I want to be loved for me. For now.”

His silence stretched again. He closed his eyes briefly, as though the weight of lifetimes pressed behind them. When he opened them, his gaze was softer, but still unbearably steady.

“I can’t show it the way you want me to,” he admitted. “But… Y/n, listen. When I fall asleep in strange places, it’s because I don’t rest unless you’re nearby. When I fight recklessly, it’s because the thought of you getting hurt terrifies me more than dying. When I carry every wound in silence, it’s because I can’t bear to let you see how fragile I really am. That’s what you are to me. Not Elora. Not anyone else. You.”

Her breath caught, but anger still simmered beneath her ache. “Then why does it feel like you’re always holding back? Like there’s a part of you I’ll never reach?”

His jaw tightened. He looked away, gaze falling back to the stars. “…Because if I let you see all of it, I’m afraid you’ll leave.”

Her tears spilled then, unrestrained, and she turned away, unable to bear the stillness in his voice anymore. The stars blurred through her vision.

Xavier remained beside her, silent. He didn’t reach out. Not yet. He never rushed things. But inside, the words he couldn’t say burned at the back of his throat, heavy and aching.

He loved her. He always had. Across lifetimes, across worlds. But now, faced with her doubt, he realized love wasn’t enough unless he could show it.

And Xavier Shen, who had faced monsters in the void without fear, felt the first true tremor of dread at the thought of losing her.

The dreams came harder after that night.

Y/n woke with her chest heaving, the taste of ash and lakewater clinging to her tongue, the sound of Xavier’s voice, young, desperate, calling her name across lifetimes still echoing in her ears.

Elora.

Y/n.

Both.

Her hands trembled as she splashed water over her face. Each fragment of memory was sharper now, no longer soft or dreamlike but visceral, lived. The Academy’s golden halls. The laughter of their friends. The night by the lake, when meteors fell like rain and his hand had hovered inches from hers, hesitant and trembling, before he whispered promises he never got to keep.

And always—the end. His cry as she slipped from his grasp, swallowed by fire. His blood-stained hands reaching for a body that no longer breathed.

She pressed her palm hard against her chest, as if she could keep her heart from splintering.

It wasn’t just that he loved Elora. It was that he had lost her. And here she was, alive, breathing, standing before him in another name, another body, carrying both the weight of her past self and the fragile hope of her present.

How could he not see both when he looked at her?

The breaking point came on a quiet night, when the ship drifted between missions and the stars outside burned like fire.

Xavier found her on the observation deck, curled into the window, her gaze unfocused, lost in galaxies.

“You’re avoiding me.” His voice was quiet, steady. But there was no accusation in it, only a kind of resignation, as if he had already accepted her answer.

She turned, startled, then forced a small, brittle smile. “I’m not avoiding you. I just… needed space.”

He studied her. For all his stoicism, she could feel his searching, the way his gaze always seemed to pierce deeper than she wanted it to. “…And did the space help?”

Her throat tightened. “No.”

Xavier’s steps were soundless as he crossed the room, stopping a few feet from her. The silence stretched between them, taut as a blade’s edge.

Finally, Y/n exhaled shakily. “I remember.”

For the first time in years—no, lifetimes—Xavier faltered openly. His eyes widened, his chest rising sharply as though she had struck him. “…You do?”

“Yes.” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “Not everything, but enough. The lake. The vows. The fire. The way you—” Her voice broke, tears stinging her eyes. “The way you held me when I died.”

Xavier’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. His composure fractured completely now, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. “No. Don’t—don’t say it like that.”

“It’s true,” she whispered. “I remember dying, Xavier. I remember you screaming her name—Elora.”

Xavier froze, the name cutting through the air like a blade. He swallowed, jaw tightening as though the weight of centuries threatened to crush him.

Her tears fell freely now, her hands clutching at her knees. “I know she’s part of me. But I’m not her. Not completely. I don’t want to just be… Elora’s shadow. I don’t want you to look at me and only see her.” Her voice cracked. “I want you to see me. Y/n.”

For a long moment, the stars burned between them and he said nothing. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, Xavier closed the distance. He crouched slightly, lowering himself to her level, his hand hovering in the air before settling gently against hers.

His voice was low, steady, each word weighed carefully.

“Elora was… the beginning. The girl I swore to protect. The one I lost.” His eyes darkened with memory before sharpening, grounding themselves on her. “But you—Y/n—you’re not just her echo. You’re the one beside me now. The one who drags me to hotpot stalls even after missions. Who forces me into festivals I’d rather skip. Who begs me to humiliate myself cosplaying as Lumiere.”

Her watery laugh slipped through, shaky but real. “Because you are Lumiere.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. But his tone deepened, earnest. “You’re the one I fight alongside. The one I come home to. The one I love. When I look at you, I don’t see Elora—I see you.”

Her breath hitched, tears shining on her cheeks. “Then… prove it.”

Something in him cracked at the challenge in her voice, raw and trembling. His hand slid up, cupping her jaw with a surety that stole her breath. And then his mouth was on hers. No hesitation, no restraint.

The kiss was fire and gravity, fierce and consuming. Xavier kissed her as though he could brand the truth into her bones, as though each press of his lips could erase every shadow of doubt. His other hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him, holding her like he had been starving for this—because he had.

Y/n gasped into him, clutching at his shirt, the flood of heat and relief making her dizzy. He swallowed her sounds, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers with unpracticed certainty that still managed to steal every ounce of strength from her. Innocent he might seem but here, Xavier knew exactly how to make her tremble.

When he finally broke for air, his forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged, words slipping out between the harsh rise of his chest.

“You’re not Elora,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re Y/n. My partner. My life. The only one I want. The only one I’ll ever choose.”

Tears slipped hot down her cheeks, but she was smiling now, the ache in her chest melting into something lighter, steadier.

He kissed her again—slower this time, tender, sealing his vow with the warmth of his lips. A kiss not just of hunger, but of devotion.

When they finally pulled apart, she stayed pressed against him, her head tucked beneath his chin. His arms wrapped around her, strong and steady, anchoring her in the here and now.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His hand threaded into her hair, his voice quiet but unshakable. “And I love you. In every lifetime. But especially in this one.”

The days that followed felt different. Not in grand, sweeping ways. The missions still came, the stars still burned, and UNICORNS still sent them to the farthest reaches of space. But in the quiet moments between, something had shifted.

Xavier still moved with his usual composure, still carried himself with the precision of a man who kept every thought tightly locked away. But Y/n noticed the changes, subtle as gravity, constant as breath.

The way his hand lingered a second longer on hers after a mission briefing. The way his gaze softened when he found her waiting in the doorway. The way, sometimes, when they walked together back to their quarters, his fingers brushed hers as if to remind them both she was here, she was real.

One evening, they slipped away from the bustle of the city outpost and found themselves at a food stall tucked between glowing lanterns. Y/n grinned as the bubbling pot of broth was set between them, steam rising like a warm cloud.

“Hotpot again,” Xavier murmured, though his eyes betrayed no resistance as he reached for the ladle.

“You say that like you don’t secretly like it.” She teased, poking his side with her chopsticks.

His lips curved in the faintest smile, almost hidden, but not from her. “I like it because you do.”

Later, at the autumn festival, she tugged him toward a costume booth where cheap fabric horns and sequined capes glittered beneath neon lights. He gave her a flat look, the kind only Xavier could manage, but didn’t resist when she placed the ridiculous Lumiere headband on his head.

“You’re glowing,” she teased, stifling laughter. Noticing the specks of light surrounding him.

“If I’m glowing, it’s your fault,” he deadpanned, earning a laugh so bright it lit the night louder than fireworks.

And in those moments amid lanterns, laughter, and the scent of broth clinging to their clothes, Y/n realized she no longer feared the shadow of Elora. Because Xavier’s love was here, in the ordinariness of now, in the warmth of every mundane ritual they shared.

That night, as they lay side by side in the quiet of their quarters, Xavier’s arm draped heavy and sure across her waist, he pressed a kiss into her hair.

“You,” he murmured softly against her crown, “are the best part of this life.”

Her smile was small but unshakable as she curled closer, whispering back, “And you’re mine.”

And for once, there was no weight of past lives, no burden of vows long broken. Just a man and a woman, holding onto the kind of love that didn’t need destiny, only choice.

if i was having a fight with my S.O and needed space, no contact, and my friend just ratted me out i would've crashed out bad. doesn't matter if callie thought she was doing a 'favour'

anyways don't need to respond to this ask, just thoughts

I really agreee!! I think Callie just want to help out in her own wayyyy but I would be pissed too.

Synopsis: Bound by an ancient oath, artist Rafayel Qi must prove to (Y/n) that his love is not for her past self, Elora but for who she is now.

Sylus Version

The mansion at Whitesand Bay had no neighbors. It stood alone on the cliff, glass walls opening to the endless ocean, the sound of waves battering the rocks below echoing through its halls like a hymn.

Rafayel Qi preferred it that way.

On the first floor, the vast space stretched like a private cathedral—his exhibition hall. The public never entered it, though they would have given fortunes for the chance. Canvases leaned against the walls, storms frozen in brushstrokes, vast oceans that seemed to crash out of the frame, glimpses of spires and arches that hinted at a civilization swallowed by the sea. Lemuria, the critics said. Rafayel never confirmed it, but he didn’t need to. Every line of paint burned with a devotion too precise to be imagination.

But tonight, the hall was quiet. Only the second floor breathed with life, where the air was heavy with turpentine and salt. Rafayel’s studio was chaos. Splattered canvases, overturned jars of brushes, the faint steam of the wide porcelain bathtub built into the living space, water still rippling as though someone had just stepped out.

Rafayel stood before the largest canvas, his hands and forearms smeared with blue and gold paint. His brush slashed across the surface, each stroke furious, like he was dragging something out of himself and forcing it into color. The image emerging was not of the bay outside his windows but of something deeper. Pillars rising from the seabed, light breaking through water untouched by waves, a city suspended in eternal dusk.

You watched from the doorway, your hand resting on the frame. His presence filled the room the way a storm filled the horizon.

His paintings always left a profound impression on people. Wild, consuming, almost unbearable in their beauty. But to you, it wasn’t just beauty. It was memory tugging at the edges of your mind, too vivid to dismiss, too strange to explain.

He didn’t notice you at first. Or perhaps he did and chose not to show it. Rafayel Qi was like that. Always a performance, even in private, even with you.

When he finally spoke, it was without looking away from the canvas.

“You’re staring,” he said. His voice was rough, but not unkind. “Do you like it?”

You stepped into the studio, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet. “It’s… overwhelming.”

A grin cut across his face, sharp and smug, though his eyes stayed fixed on the storm of colors in front of him. “Good. If it doesn’t overwhelm, it’s worthless.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

You came closer, until the salt-and-paint scent of him was dizzying. The canvas loomed over you both, Lemuria, though you didn’t know yet how you recognized it, glimmering in ghostly fragments.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly.

He finally turned then, paint streaked across his cheek like war paint, his purple hair damp from the bath. He studied you with the same intensity he gave his art, as if he was trying to etch you onto his mind.

For a moment, there was no mask. Just him.

And then, as always, he shattered it with recklessness. He flicked his brush at you, leaving a streak of blue across your arm.

“Now you’re part of it,” he said, smirking.

“Rafayel!” You swatted at him, but he danced back, laughing, his bare feet leaving faint paint marks on the floor. His laughter filled the studio like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Bright, disarming. But when it faded, the silence it left behind was heavy.

You knew he hated silence. That was why he filled it with theatrics, with recklessness, with chaos. Because silence let the cracks show.

Later that night, you found him not in bed but on the balcony, perched on the stone railing with his sketchbook in hand. He was balanced dangerously close to the drop, knees drawn up, charcoal streaks smudging his fingers as he scribbled furiously. The wind whipped his hair across his face, salt spray misting his bare skin.

Your heart stopped. “Rafayel—what are you doing?”

“Sketching.” His voice was light, but his knuckles were white against the spine of the sketchbook. “Or pretending to.”

“You’re terrified of heights,” you said, stepping closer, gripping his arm to pull him back.

“I’m terrified of everything,” he replied. “But boredom most of all.”

“Do you ever think,” you whispered, struggling to steady your voice, “what it would do to me if you fell?”

For just a second, his bravado cracked. His gaze dropped, shadowed, like the question had dragged him somewhere he didn’t want to go. Somewhere old. Somewhere deep.

You pressed on, your chest tight. “You paint the ocean like it owns you. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing you to it.”

Rafayel said nothing. He only stared at you, eyes storm-dark, as though weighing whether to speak or to swallow it whole like he always did.

And then the words slipped from you, trembling, unavoidable,

“I saw you.”

The sketchbook slid from his fingers, pages flipping open as it tumbled down into the dark.

“I saw you,” you said again, your voice breaking. “Not like a dream. Like a memory. A city under the water. A light that never touched the surface. And you—not as you are now, but the same eyes, the same voice. You called me…” You drew a sharp breath, the name catching like a hook in your throat. “…Elora.”

The color drained from his face. His breath caught like the tide slamming against rocks.

For once, Rafayel Qi—the man who never lost his words, who lived on wit and fire—stood silent.

When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper. “You remember.”

The weight of it crushed the air from your lungs.

“Who was Elora?” you demanded, tears burning at your eyes. “Who was I to you?”

His jaw clenched, his hands shaking as he dragged them down his face, leaving streaks of charcoal across his skin.

“You were everything,” he said hoarsely. “And I lost you.”

The confession cracked something open inside you, but it wasn’t comfort. It was terror. Because now the question that had been festering finally broke free, raw and desperate.

“Then tell me, Rafayel… Do you love me? Or do you only see her—Elora—in me?”

His face crumpled. His lips parted, but no words came. His chest rose and fell like a man drowning on dry land. And for the first time, you saw him—not the artist, not the showman, but the man who carried abandonment in his bones, the god who had lost everything and was terrified of losing again.

The sea was black that night.

The storm roared above the ship, rain slashing sideways, the sails screaming in the wind. The crew’s faces were grim, their eyes carefully averted from the small figure at the center of the deck—you.

Elora.

You were seventeen, bound at the wrists, your white dress plastered to your skin by seawater. Your knees shook, your stomach lurched, but worse than the storm was the certainty of what was to come. The sea demanded a sacrifice. The village had chosen you.

“Do not resist,” the priest had said before the voyage, his voice colder than the waves. “The Sea God takes what is his.”

You did resist. You clawed, screamed, begged as they dragged you forward, but your cries were lost to thunder.

And then the captain shouted, “Now!”

Hands shoved you over the railing.

The sea rose up to devour you whole.

You fell, screaming, salt searing your throat as the water closed over your head. The weight of the storm dragged you down, down into the abyss, your chest burning, vision narrowing. You fought, clawing upward toward the faint light above, but the ocean was merciless.

And then—

You saw him.

Not the god you expected. Not the terrible, holy figure from the chants. No, he was lounging on a piece of storm-battered driftwood, as though the sea itself were a stage for his amusement. His purple hair clung to his face, his eyes gleamed even in the depths. He looked young, almost careless. He was laughing.

At you.

Panic surged through you. You thrashed, bubbles spilling from your mouth as you choked. You reached for him, your fingers brushing his arm.

“Please,” you mouthed, voice lost in the water.

His laughter cut sharp as broken shells. “Pathetic little human,” he said, though you couldn’t understand how you heard him beneath the waves. “Thrown to me like scraps. Why should I waste my breath on you?”

You remembered the stories then. Whispers traded among children, warnings spoken by mothers.

Kiss a Lemurian, and the sea will let you breathe.

It was absurd. Desperate. But you had no choice.

With the last of your strength, you lunged at him, pressing your mouth against his.

Shock ripped through his body. His hands shot up to seize your arms, holding you suspended before him. His laughter died, replaced by a seriousness that hollowed the depths around you.

“You dare?” His voice rang with something deeper now, resonant, godlike.

But your lungs were no longer burning. You could breathe. You gasped, salt and fear filling your chest with equal weight.

His eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, he smiled, a smile like a riptide, dangerous, inescapable.

“Swear to me,” he whispered. “Swear to be my follower. My tether. From the depths of your soul, devote yourself. Do that, and I will save you.”

You shook beneath his grip. Anything, you thought. Anything to live. “I swear.”

The oath sealed itself in your chest like a hook sinking into flesh. You felt it burn.

The next thing you remembered was waking in a bed of coral, light filtering through water that was not dark, not stormy, but radiant, an underwater sun blazing in the heart of a vast city.

Lemuria.

The Lemurians treated you with wary reverence, but not kindness. You were human, an outsider, a curiosity. They reminded you again and again, you had sworn yourself to their god, and they would hold you to it.

But the god himself, the boy with stormfire in his eyes, was stranger than all of them.

Rafayel.

You learned his name from whispers. You learned he was not yet the Sea God, but the successor. The current god, old and waning, had little time left, and Rafayel would take his place.

And you—Elora—were bound to him.

You tried to escape. Again and again, you tried. You stole pearls, bribed guards, slipped into shadowed tunnels that led toward the surface. But every time, he was there, waiting, smirking, intercepting you like it was all a game.

“I should let them catch you,” he drawled one night, leaning against a coral arch as you panted in frustration. “But then what would I do for entertainment?”

“You’re mocking me,” you spat.

“Always.” His grin faltered then, just for a heartbeat. “But I helped you, didn’t I?”

You froze. “…What?”

He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Who do you think left that passage unguarded? Who dropped those pearls for you to steal?”

Your breath caught. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to see if you’d make it. Because I wanted to see the world above.” He tilted his head, his expression suddenly raw, almost boyish. “I was never supposed to be at the surface the night you fell. But I was. Because I wanted to escape too.”

It was the first true confession he ever gave you. And it changed everything.

Days bled into weeks. Slowly, you began to see him not as god, but as boy, curious, restless, burning with the same hunger you felt. He showed you Lemuria’s wonders, the gardens lit by glowing kelp, the temples carved from living coral. In turn, you told him of the surface, of stars, of fire, of rain not filtered through water.

When the Sea God festival came, you whispered to him, “Come with me. Let me show you.”

He grinned like the tide itself. “Let’s go.”

That night, you slipped from Lemuria, his hand gripping yours as you rose through the water, breaking the surface together. The air burned your lungs, the moonlight stung your eyes, but it was freedom.

You led him to your island, where the festival raged. Torches lit the shore, drums pounded, villagers danced and prayed to the sea. To him.

Rafayel sneered, unimpressed. “They make rituals of fear.”

But you laughed and tugged him into the crowd, and for once he let himself be carried by your joy. You danced among your people, though none knew who he was. For a few hours, you were not god and sacrifice, but boy and girl.

Until someone shouted, “Thief!”

The accusation landed on you. Rough hands grabbed your arms. Fear knifed through you but Rafayel acted faster.

He scattered pearls from his sleeves into the crowd. Greedy hands lunged, the mob forgetting you both in an instant.

“Run,” he hissed, pulling you away.

You stumbled through the woods until you reached the cliff. His eyes gleamed with mischief and challenge. “Do you trust me?”

You hesitated.

And he pushed you.

The air tore from your lungs as you plummeted then water swallowed you whole. Before you could scream, he was there, his mouth pressing against yours, breath surging into your chest, the ocean bending to his will so you could breathe again.

When he drew back, his forehead pressed to yours, he whispered, “Walk with me.”

And the sea obeyed.

Your feet rose onto the water’s surface, the waves holding you as though you belonged there. Side by side, you walked upon the ocean. Stars wheeled above, bioluminescent currents glowed beneath, and for the first time, you felt infinite.

He turned to you then, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.

“In Lemuria, when a new god ascends, he needs a human follower,” Rafayel said softly. “One who gives their whole heart willingly. It is the purest devotion. The rarest.” His eyes searched yours, hungry and uncertain all at once. “So tell me, Elora—are you willing to be my follower?”

Your own heart thundered. You should have said no. You should have run. But instead, you whispered, “Yes.”

The day of the ceremony came. You entered the temple with him, your hand in his. The Lemurians sang outside, waiting for their new god.

Inside, the light of the underwater sun poured down on you both. Rafayel turned to you, eyes bright and wild, and for once there was no mockery, no mask.

“It is not worship I desire,” he murmured. His voice was low, trembling. “From the depths of your very soul, I seek the purest devotion.”

Your chest ached. You nodded. “You have it.”

The doors closed.

The night had darkened fully, but the sea below Rafayel’s studio still pulsed with a restless shimmer. Waves churned like a thousand unspoken words, their white crests catching the silver light. The balcony air was cool, sharp with brine, and between the two of them stretched a silence heavy enough to crack.

(Y/n) gripped the railing as though it were the only thing tethering her. Her knuckles were white, her shoulders drawn, but her eyes, they were ablaze. Not the softness he loved to bask in when she laughed or leaned against him, but the storm-light of someone trying to breathe past betrayal.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her voice a thread but quivering with demand, “do you love me, Rafayel? Or do you only see her—Elora—in me?”

The words pierced through him. For a moment, his world stilled.

Rafayel’s lips parted, but no answer came. He stared at her as if she had struck him across the face. Elora. The name fell from her mouth like a ghost, an echo he had carried for centuries and never dared to hear from her again.

His hand, the one that moments ago had been so casually resting against the iron railing, trembled. He quickly curled it into a fist, hiding the quake. But the effort did nothing to still the rushing in his chest. The collapse of walls he’d built stone by stone to keep himself from crumbling.

“You…” His voice broke once before he steadied it, though the steadiness was jagged, fragile. “You remember?”

(Y/n) frowned, confusion knitting her features. “Remember…?” She faltered. For a moment she looked like she wanted to take it back, as though she hadn’t realized what she had said. But her lips pressed together and her chin lifted. “I don’t know. Not fully. Just flashes. A name that keeps circling in my head. Feelings I can’t explain.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Elora. She feels like me, but not me. And you…” Her eyes glistened. “You’re always there.”

Rafayel staggered back a step. The weight of it hit him, so immense he had to grip the frame of the balcony door as though the ground beneath him had tilted.

For centuries, he had carried the memory of what happened beneath the deadened sun of Lemuria. He had borne it alone, smiling in public, flamboyant and sharp, mocking the world so it wouldn’t dare mock him first. And now she—his anchor, his curse, his salvation—was unraveling those memories with a single question.

His laugh came ragged, hollow. “Of course. Of course it would be you. You’ve always been the one to catch me unguarded.”

(Y/n)’s expression broke between pain and anger. “Then tell me! Do you love me, or is it just her shadow you’re chasing in me?”

The demand cleaved the air.

Rafayel looked at her, truly looked, the quiver in her jaw, the way her shoulders shook though she held herself rigid, the tears she was refusing to let fall. Something in him splintered.

He strode forward in two steps and cupped her face, but his hands shook so badly his touch was almost desperate. “Do you think I would suffer this much, crave you this much, if it was only a shadow?” His forehead pressed against hers, his breath ragged. “You are Elora. And you are not. You are both the memory and the miracle of her. Do you understand what that means for me?”

She blinked, eyes filling. “No. Then make me understand.”

Rafayel’s grip on her loosened. Slowly, he drew back. For the first time in years, his boldness faltered, not because he was afraid of her judgment, but because the truth itself was unbearable. His gaze dropped to the sea below, restless as his own heart.

“You want the truth?” His voice trembled, quiet, stripped of theatrics. He looked back at her, and his eyes, those tempestuous pink and purple hues that so often glimmered with arrogance or mischief were bare now, raw. “Then listen well, because once it’s spoken, I cannot take it back.”

He let out a breath like a man about to step into fire.

“In Lemuria… the day of the ceremony… the vows were meant to bind you to me. A human heart given wholly to the Sea God. That is the law written into our bones. But when you stood there before me, when you gave yourself. Your fragile, beautiful devotion. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t.”

(Y/n)’s breath hitched, and her hand rose slightly as though reaching for him, but she didn’t touch.

Rafayel’s mouth twisted, both grief and defiance in the line of his lips. “So I gave my heart to you instead. I severed my light. I broke the law. And Lemuria fell because of it.” His chest heaved. “Do you understand now why I am cursed to return to you, life after life? Because the last Sea God tied himself to a single mortal soul. Yours.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened, her body stiffening as though the words were an ocean wave slamming into her.

Rafayel stepped back, arms spread, like a man baring his wounds. “So when you ask me if I love you, or if I see only Elora in you. What am I supposed to say? Elora was a part of you. You are a part of her. Yet, you are the one I chose when I had the power of eternity in my hands. And I’d choose you again.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Only the sea spoke, crashing below, relentless.

(Y/n) shook her head, her voice breaking. “But that means… you never loved me for me. Only because you’re bound to me.”

The words lanced through him. Rafayel staggered forward, anguish flashing across his face. “No!” His voice cracked, louder than he meant, sharp enough to echo into the night. “Don’t you dare reduce it to that.” His hand pressed over his heart as if holding it in. “This thing inside me, it is not just the curse. It is not chains. It is devotion. It is madness. It is love that survived death and gods and centuries. And it is yours.”

He caught her shoulders, pulling her close though she resisted. His lips trembled as he leaned down, his words spilling against her skin like a prayer and a plea.

“It is not worship I desire. From the depths of your very soul, I seek the purest devotion.” His forehead pressed to her temple, his voice breaking. “Not because the oath binds you. But because I cannot bear this eternity if it is empty of you.”

(Y/n) froze in his arms, every muscle taut. The sea wind whipped against them, cold, salty, alive. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, the force of his confession too much, too raw. Her tears broke loose, slipping down her cheeks.

Slowly, she raised her hands. They shook as they touched his chest, just over the frantic beat of his heart. She pushed lightly, not to shove him away, but to create enough distance to look into his face. His eyes were wet, lashes spiked with unshed grief, and for once, Rafayel Qi, flamboyant, untouchable artist, looked like a man lost.

“I don’t want your eternity,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I just want you, here, now. No gods, no curses. Just you.”

Rafayel let out a broken laugh that caught on a sob. He pulled her back into his arms, tighter this time, desperate, burying his face against her neck. “Then take me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be yours. In every lifetime, in every form. Only yours.”

The balcony blurred as her tears fell freely now, staining his shoulder. She clung to him, feeling the tremor in his body, the heat of him, the raw truth he could no longer hide.

For a long time, they stayed like that, the sea raging below as if echoing their storm. The words between them had stripped every layer of armor, every mask Rafayel had ever worn. And now, only silence remained. Thick, trembling, alive with everything they had not yet said.

(Y/n)’s breath hitched as his hand rose, brushing her cheek as if afraid she might vanish. His touch was shaky, reverent, burning against her damp skin. Her lips parted, a soft gasp slipping free.

Then, without warning, Rafayel kissed her.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t measured. It was a storm breaking after centuries of drought. His mouth crashed against hers, desperate and hungry, carrying the weight of every lifetime he had spent searching, grieving, longing. He kissed her like a drowning man finally tasting air, like he might never get the chance again.

(Y/n) stiffened at first, overwhelmed by the sheer force of it, her fingers curling against his chest. But as his arms pulled her tighter, so tight she could feel the frantic pound of his heart beneath her palms, her resistance crumbled. Her lips opened beneath his, answering his hunger with her own unspoken ache.

The kiss deepened. His hand slid to the back of her neck, anchoring her, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His other arm locked around her waist, lifting her slightly as though even the balcony’s floor was too far away.

Her tears mingled with the kiss, salt and salt, grief and longing, but Rafayel drank them in like they were holy. He kissed the corners of her mouth, the trembling bow of her lips, again and again, as if trying to memorize the shape of her in this lifetime.

When he finally tore away for air, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath ragged, his voice hoarse with desperation.

“Elora was my beginning,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers with each word. “But you—you are my choice now. In this life, with these hands, with this heart. I choose you, (Y/n). And I would defy the gods again, and again, and again. Just for this. Just for you.”

Her eyes widened, tears streaming anew, but this time her sob broke into a sound that was both pain and relief. She gripped his face with both hands, pulling him down to her, and kissed him back. Fierce, claiming, pouring every fragment of doubt and devotion into that single act.

Their mouths moved together in a rhythm that was both battle and surrender. His teeth grazed her lip, she gasped, he swallowed the sound greedily. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss until she thought she might shatter from the force of it.

The sea roared beneath them, wild and ceaseless, as though the world itself bore witness to their collision.

When they finally broke apart, their lips were swollen, breaths colliding in the fragile space between them. Rafayel’s eyes shone wet, fever-bright, his thumb tracing her cheekbone as though grounding himself in her reality.

“You are my devotion,” he whispered fiercely, his voice cracking under the weight of truth. “Not Elora’s memory. Not the curse. Not the eternity I gave away. Just you. Only you.”

And before she could answer, he kissed her again, slower this time, lingering, tender, as if to seal every wound they had torn open.

“It is no longer worship I desire,” he said softly, rephrasing the vow of old, but reshaping it into something new. “From the depths of your very soul, I seek the purest devotion. Not to me as a god. Not to me as some legend. But to me, as a man who has only ever wanted to be seen. To be loved.”

Her throat tightened, her vision blurring with tears that spilled hot and free. She framed his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing away the wetness on his cheeks.

“Then take it,” she whispered, her voice fierce and trembling. “Take it, Rafayel. It’s yours. It’s always been yours.”

He closed his eyes, a broken sound escaping him, and leaned into her touch. Then he kissed her again, but this time it wasn’t stormfire, wasn’t desperation. It was gentle, slow, a vow sealed in the language of lips and breath.

When they finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his smile crooked and small but utterly sincere.

“I choose you,” he murmured again, almost like a prayer. “Every lifetime. Every version. Always you.”

And in the sanctuary of his studio, with the sea humming beyond the windows and the weight of centuries lifting from his chest, they held each other—two souls no longer bound by oaths or curses, but by love freely given.

For the first time, Rafayel Qi was not a god, not a legend, not a ghost.

He was simply hers.

And that, at last, was enough.

Sylus version

Pairings: Caleb x Pregnant! Reader Synopsis: When Y/n gathers the courage to tell Caleb she is pregnant, her heart trembles with both hope and fear. But instead of the joy she dreamed of, Caleb's shock twists into silence and then into words he never meant.

The clock ticked faintly in the silence of the living room, its steady rhythm filling the space like a quiet reminder that time could not be stopped no matter how desperately she wished it would. Y/n’s hands twisted together in her lap, fingers pale from how tightly she clasped them. Her heart hammered, each beat painfully loud in her chest. She had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in her head, whispered the words to herself in the bathroom mirror, but now, with Caleb only a few steps away, those words seemed impossible to form.

He was sitting on the couch, posture relaxed but eyes curious, watching her. Caleb Xia was always a difficult man to read when he chose to be. His handsome features were calm, his lips pressed into a faint, unreadable line, his purple eyes catching the soft glow of the lamp beside them. The man who could command fleets, who could face down enemies without flinching, was here, patient, waiting for her to speak. He was the same Caleb who teased her over burnt pancakes, who wrapped her up in his arms on nights she couldn’t sleep, the one who smiled with warmth that made the world’s chaos seem less daunting.

And yet, in this moment, he felt unreachable.

Her throat tightened. The words caught, heavy as lead. “Caleb…” she began, but her voice cracked, almost a whisper.

Immediately, he leaned forward, concern flickering across his face. “What’s wrong?” His tone softened, and his hand reached for hers, large and warm as it covered her trembling fingers. “Y/n, talk to me. You’re scaring me.”

She almost broke right then. Tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and let him tell her everything would be okay. But she knew this wasn’t something he could just soothe away. This was truth, raw and heavy, and it could change everything.

Her lips parted, shaking. “I… I’m pregnant.”

The words escaped, fragile, almost breaking in the air.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Caleb froze. His hand stilled over hers, and though his face remained composed, his eyes widened ever so slightly, the purple deepening with shock. A thousand emotions flashed across his features, too quick to pin down. His breath hitched faintly, though he tried to steady it.

Y/n’s voice wavered, desperate to fill the silence that followed. “I didn’t know how to tell you… I was so scared, Caleb. I—” Her throat closed, a sob threatening to rise. She bit down hard, her chest aching. “I don’t know what you’ll think. If you’ll even want this. If you’ll—”

“Pregnant…” His voice was low, almost inaudible. His brows furrowed, as though trying to make sense of it. “You’re… carrying my child?”

She nodded, quickly, almost shamefully, as if admitting something wrong. Her vision blurred with unshed tears. “Yes. I am.”

Caleb’s mind spiraled. Pregnant. His child. The woman he loved with every fiber of his being was carrying life—his life—within her. A fierce surge of warmth hit him, joy that shook him to his core. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to tell her how much he wanted this, how much he wanted her. But that warmth was instantly met with something colder, darker.

Ever Group.

The name clawed into his mind, ripping away his fleeting happiness. The organization that would stop at nothing to reach their goals. They experimented on soldiers, civilians, anyone they could sink their teeth into. They were ruthless, obsessive, merciless in their pursuit of immortality. If they knew about this child… if they discovered Y/n was pregnant with his heir, they would come for her. They would come for both of them.

His chest tightened painfully. A knot of fear wrapped around his heart.

Caleb inhaled, long and shaky. He needed to tell her. He needed to protect her from even the thought of what Ever Group might do. He wanted to swear to her that he would die before letting anyone lay a hand on them. But the words tangled. His mouth opened, the weight of his fear twisting what he meant to say.

“Y/n… this… this is dangerous. We can’t… we can’t have this baby.”

The words slipped out like venom.

Her heart stopped.

Her wide, tear-brimmed eyes stared at him as though he had struck her. For a second, she thought she misheard. But the cold finality in his tone left no room for doubt. Her lips parted, trembling. “W… What?”

Caleb’s stomach dropped the instant he heard himself. That wasn’t what he meant. That wasn’t what he wanted to say. But the panic, the fear in him, had twisted it into something cruel. He reached out, desperation flashing in his eyes. “Y/n, wait—I didn’t mean—”

But she was already pulling back. Her chair scraped sharply against the floor as she stood, tears spilling freely now. “No. No, I heard you.” Her voice shook, half-sobbing, half-breaking. “You don’t want it. You don’t want our child.”

Her words stabbed through him like a blade. “That’s not—Y/n, please—”

But she was already moving, her steps quick, frantic, her breath ragged as she rushed toward the door.

Caleb surged to his feet, heart in his throat. “Y/n!” His voice cracked as he called after her. He could see her shoulders trembling as she shoved the door open, vanishing into the cold night air without looking back.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Caleb stood frozen, his chest heaving. His hands trembled violently. He wanted to run after her immediately, but his legs felt heavy, his body numb from shock. His mind screamed at him—What have you done?

He had seen fear on battlefields, had faced men who wanted him dead, had stood in front of towering enemies without hesitation. But nothing had ever terrified him like this. The thought of losing her. The thought of her believing, even for a second, that he didn’t want her or the child they had created together.

His chest constricted painfully. He grabbed his coat with shaking hands and bolted out into the night, heart pounding with a frantic rhythm.

“Y/n!” His voice echoed down the street as he searched desperately, purple eyes burning in the dark. Panic clawed through him as he pulled out his phone, dialing her number again and again. Each time, it rang without answer.

“Come on, come on, pick up,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice raw. Every second without her answer carved deeper into him.

He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

The night air was biting, sharp against Caleb’s skin as he tore down the street. His breath came in ragged bursts, the cold burning in his lungs, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Each second that passed widened the gap between them, each unanswered call on his phone drove the knife of panic deeper into his chest.

Her number blinked on his screen again. He pressed the phone hard against his ear, desperate, pleading. One ring. Two. Three. Voicemail.

“Dammit, Y/n!” His voice cracked into the darkness, half a curse, half a plea. He pressed the phone to his forehead, shutting his eyes tightly for a split second before dialing again. “Please, answer me. Just—just let me hear your voice.”

He felt powerless. And Caleb Xia hated feeling powerless.

Normally, he was a man who thrived on control. On the battlefield, every move was calculated, every decision weighed against the lives of those under his command. He didn’t falter. He couldn’t afford to. But this wasn’t war. This was worse. This was her. And he had said the worst possible thing, shattered her trust with words he hadn’t meant.

“Y/n…” His chest ached as he whispered her name, as though saying it softly might summon her.

He began searching the places he knew she always went when she was upset. The small café down the block where she liked to sit by the window, nursing a cup of tea. Empty. The park bench near the fountain where they had spent countless evenings watching the stars. Empty.

His heart sank with each absence. His legs burned as he ran, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Every corner, every alley, he searched, scanning with frantic eyes, replaying every memory of her. Where would she go, when the world hurt too much?

And then it hit him.

The overlook.

A quiet hill that stretched above the city, a place where she often sought solitude. Where they had sat together countless nights, her head resting on his shoulder, watching the lights below. He had kissed her there for the first time.

His stomach twisted painfully. If she was there, she was cold. Vulnerable. Alone.

Caleb sprinted, his long strides devouring the pavement, his breath harsh and fast. By the time he reached the path leading up the hill, sweat clung to his temples despite the chill. His pulse thundered in his ears as he rounded the bend—

And he saw her.

She sat on the worn wooden bench near the edge, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her head was bowed, dark strands of hair falling into her face. The lamplight overhead was faint, casting her in a pale glow, making her look heartbreakingly fragile. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs, though she tried to stifle them.

Caleb’s chest caved at the sight.

“Y/n…” His voice came out rough, broken, as he approached slowly, almost afraid she would vanish if he moved too fast.

She flinched at his voice, her head snapping up. Her eyes, swollen and red from crying, met his. Pain, betrayal, and heartbreak swirled in her gaze. “Go away, Caleb.”

The words hit harder than any bullet ever could. He froze for a heartbeat, but then he shook his head quickly, desperately. “No. No, I can’t. Not like this.” He took a step closer, his hands trembling at his sides. “Please. Just… let me explain.”

Her lips quivered as she looked away, hugging herself tighter. “What is there to explain? You made it clear.”

“No, I didn’t.” His voice cracked, and for the first time in years, tears stung at the edges of his eyes. The proud, composed Colonel who had stared down death itself was crumbling. He took another step toward her, his words spilling out like a dam breaking. “I didn’t mean it, Y/n. Not like that. I was scared. I’m terrified.”

Her body shook with a sob she tried to swallow, but her silence cut him more deeply than words.

Caleb’s breathing grew uneven, his chest heaving as he moved closer still, dropping to his knees in front of her. His height, his strength, his command—none of it mattered now. He was just a man begging the woman he loved not to walk away.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “God, Y/n, I love you so much it kills me. When you told me you were pregnant, I—I can’t even explain what I felt. I was happy. More than happy. You’re carrying our child. Do you understand how much that means to me? But then I thought of them. Of Ever Group. Of the things they’ll do if they find out. And I…” His hands curled into fists on his knees, shaking. “I panicked. The words came out wrong. I swear to you, I didn’t mean that. I never meant that.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her tears spilling freely now. She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to—but the wound was still raw, his words still echoing in her chest.

Caleb saw the hesitation in her eyes, and his heart shattered all over again. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against her knees as his voice trembled. “Please come home with me. I can’t stand seeing you out here, cold and hurting. I’ll explain everything—everything—just… not here. Not when you’re shivering like this.” His shoulders shook as his voice cracked into something close to a sob. “I’ll beg if I have to. I’ll crawl if that’s what it takes. Just don’t push me away.”

Her lips parted, trembling. The sight of him—this man who never bowed to anyone, kneeling before her with tears in his eyes—pulled at her heart painfully.

“Caleb…” she whispered.

He lifted his head, eyes glassy with desperation. “Please.”

The night air pressed around them, heavy with their ragged breaths. Y/n hesitated, torn between the hurt still raw in her chest and the fierce love she still felt for him. Slowly, after what felt like an eternity, she gave the faintest nod.

Relief crashed into Caleb so intensely his body almost gave out. He let out a shaky laugh that was half a sob. “Thank you. Thank you.”

He rose to his feet quickly, wiping at his face before crouching in front of her again, turning his back toward her.

She blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Piggyback ride,” he said simply, his voice still hoarse but softer now.

Her brows knitted, a faint trace of disbelief breaking through her sorrow. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.” His tone left no room for argument. “You’re exhausted, and I’m not letting you walk another step in this cold.” He glanced back at her, purple eyes raw with sincerity. “Please. Let me carry you.”

She hesitated. Instinct told her to refuse. To cling to her anger, to her pride. But her body ached from walking, her legs heavy, her heart worn thin. And deep down, she knew he wasn’t asking just to carry her body. He was asking to carry her burden, her pain. To prove, in some small way, that he wouldn’t let her go.

With a soft, weary sigh, she placed her arms around his shoulders. “Fine,” she murmured, though her voice still carried bitterness. “But only because I’m tired.”

Caleb’s lips curved faintly—relieved, not playful—as he hooked his arms under her legs and lifted her with ease. Her weight against his back felt grounding, a reminder she was here, with him, not lost to the night.

As he walked back down the path, the silence between them was thick, broken only by the sound of their breaths and his steady footsteps. He didn’t dare speak yet. Not until they were home. Not until he could give her everything she deserved: the truth, his heart laid bare.

But in the quiet, he held onto her tighter, silently promising he would never let go again.

The quiet hum of the city faded behind them as Caleb carried Y/n through the dark streets, each step heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. The night was crisp, the air cold enough to bite, but all Caleb could focus on was the warmth of her against his back. The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the occasional hitch of her breath when a suppressed sob threatened to break free.

Every little sound from her cut into him.

He adjusted his grip, holding her thighs a little tighter, as if reminding both of them that he wasn’t letting go. Not now, not ever. His purple eyes burned with a storm of emotions, each one clawing to escape, but he bit them back. Not here. Not while she still turned her face away from his neck, her silence screaming louder than any words.

By the time they reached the door to their apartment, Caleb’s heart was pounding with anticipation and dread. He set her down gently, his large hands lingering at her sides for a moment longer than necessary, as if afraid she’d vanish the moment he let go. She avoided his gaze, wrapping her arms around herself, her body rigid with the anger and sorrow she still carried.

Caleb swallowed hard and opened the door. “Y/n,” he whispered, his voice frayed and raw.

Y/n stepped inside, her movements hesitant, wary. She stood in the middle of the room, staring at the floor as if the wood grain was suddenly fascinating. The silence stretched taut, unbearable. Caleb shut the door and leaned against it, his breath uneven.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Y/n.”

Her shoulders flinched at his voice, but she didn’t look up.

He took a step toward her, then another, until he stood a breath away. His chest heaved, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. His hand lifted, trembling, before falling uselessly back to his side.

And then, his knees buckled.

The proud Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, the man who commanded soldiers and bent enemies into submission, dropped to his knees in front of her. His broad shoulders hunched, his head bowed low, his hands pressed flat to the floor in a gesture of raw surrender.

Y/n’s eyes widened, tears gathering once more. “Caleb…?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice broke, the words spilling like blood from a wound. “I’m so damn sorry.”

She bit her lip, her throat tightening. “You said…”

“I know what I said!” His voice rose, desperate, then cracked into something softer. “I know, and I swear to you it wasn’t what I meant. The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to rip my tongue out. I wanted to take it back, but it was too late, and I saw your face and—God, Y/n, I’ve never hated myself more than I did in that moment.”

His hands curled into fists against the floor, shaking. He lifted his head, finally meeting her gaze. His purple eyes were glossy, broken wide open, every barrier stripped away.

“When you told me… when you said you were pregnant…” His voice softened, trembling as he placed a hand over his chest. “I can’t even describe it. I felt like my heart was on fire. I was happy, so damn happy, because you—you are my everything, Y/n. And the thought of you carrying my child, our child—it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Her breath caught.

“But then I thought of them. Of Ever Group. Of what they’d do if they knew.” His voice darkened, his jaw tightening as rage flickered beneath his grief. “They’d come after you. After our baby. They’d tear apart everything I love. And I—” His voice cracked again, and his hand pressed harder against his chest, as if to hold himself together. “I was terrified. I’ve faced death, I’ve killed without blinking, but the thought of losing you? Of losing both of you? That fear—” His words broke entirely, his breath shuddering. “That fear destroyed me.”

Y/n’s lips trembled, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

“I wanted to say I’d protect you. That no matter what, I’d put my body between you and the world a thousand times over. But the words tangled, and what came out…” His head bowed low, shame radiating from him. “It was the worst thing I could have said to the woman I love more than my own life.”

The room was thick with silence, save for Caleb’s ragged breaths.

Slowly, he crawled forward on his knees until he was at her feet. His large hands trembled as they hovered near hers, not daring to touch. His voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Please, Y/n. Please don’t doubt me. Don’t think for a second that I don’t want this. Don’t think I don’t want you. I would burn this entire universe before I let anyone take you from me. I’ll fight them all. I’ll fight God himself if I have to. Just… please don’t leave me.”

Her vision blurred with tears, her chest aching with the weight of his words. She wanted to stay angry, to punish him for the wound he had carved into her heart. But looking at him now, on his knees, trembling, his voice breaking, his pride stripped away. She saw the truth.

He was terrified. Not of fatherhood. Not of her. But of losing them.

Her knees weakened, and before she knew it, she was sinking down in front of him. Her small hands reached out, gently cupping his face, her thumbs brushing over the tears that finally spilled down his cheeks.

“Caleb…” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He leaned into her touch like a man starved, his hands rising to clutch her wrists, holding them as if they were lifelines. “I’ll protect you,” he choked out. “I swear it. I’ll protect both of you. Nothing will touch you. Not while I’m alive.”

A shaky laugh, watery and broken, escaped her. “You idiot… you should have just said that from the start.”

His lips parted, breath catching. And then a strangled, desperate laugh tumbled from his chest, half joy, half agony. “You’re right. God, you’re right. I’m an idiot. The biggest one alive.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his shoulders trembling as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Her tears mingled with his, their breaths uneven, their foreheads pressed together as the weight between them finally cracked.

“Just… don’t ever say something like that again,” she whispered, her voice trembling with both warning and affection.

“Never,” he swore, his voice fierce, absolute. “Never again.”

And then, without hesitation, his lips crashed against hers.

It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate, a kiss that poured every ounce of fear, sorrow, and love into her. His hands slid to her back, pulling her flush against him as though he could fuse them together, as though letting go was unthinkable. She clung to him just as fiercely, her fingers threading into his hair, her lips answering with equal fire.

Tears streamed down both their faces, but neither cared. The kiss was messy, aching, filled with every word they couldn’t say, every wound that needed healing.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together once more, Caleb’s chest heaved with shaky breaths. His purple eyes, still glistening, burned with fierce devotion.

“I love you, Y/n,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady now. “More than anything. More than life. And I’ll love our child just as fiercely.”

Her lips trembled into a soft smile, even through her tears. “I know. I love you too, Caleb.”

He exhaled, his entire body loosening as though he had been holding his breath for hours. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, holding her as if he never intended to let her go again.

And in that embrace, tear-streaked, raw, but whole, the world outside didn’t matter. Not Ever Group. Not fear. Nothing.

There were only them.

Synopsis: Cursed to remember eternity, Sylus Qin must prove to (Y/n) that his heart belongs not to his past, but to her—here, now, always.

Note: Elora is the name of (Y/n)'s past self. I will also write this concept on other LADS men. I hope you like it! .☘︎ ݁˖

The city of N109 pulsed like a dying star, its lights harsh and unsteady, throwing jagged neon veins across rain-slick streets. This was the lawless zone—where the old world’s laws dissolved into ash and only men like Sylus Qin carved out order from chaos.

He leaned against the iron railing of a fractured balcony, silver hair catching the light in strands like molten steel, ruby eyes reflecting every flicker of the broken signs below. His smile was lazy, sharp-edge. The kind of expression that unsettled rivals and disarmed lovers. A man who never seemed to take life seriously, and yet controlled an empire that thrived in the city’s darkest arteries.

The empire of Onychinus was vast and untouchable, threaded through N109 like a second heartbeat. But none of it mattered in this moment. Not the gang wars, not the smuggling routes, not the assassins lurking in alleys.

Sylus’s attention was caught entirely by her.

(Y/n) stood in the dim interior of the room, arms folded across her chest, shoulders tense, eyes dark with unshed words. She had been silent since they returned from the mission. Silent in a way that wasn’t her usual thoughtful calm, but something heavier, brittle as glass.

Sylus exhaled smoke into the air, head tilting just enough to catch her gaze. His grin was a weapon, playful, coaxing. “You’re glaring at me again,” he drawled, the kind of voice that turned mockery into something intimate. “Careful, sweetie. If you keep it up, I might start thinking you enjoy staring at me too much.”

She didn’t bite. Didn’t smirk back like she sometimes did. Her jaw was clenched, fists tight at her sides, fury vibrating under her skin.

“You could have died tonight.” Her words were low, but sharp enough to cut. “You were reckless. You always are.”

For a moment, his grin held. Gaze flicking skyward as though to dismiss the weight in her tone. “And yet,” he murmured, “here I am. Alive. Irritating you, as always.”

But she wasn’t smiling.

And that unyielding, furious grief in her face gnawed at him in ways no enemy blade nor gun ever could.

Her breath hitched, sudden, like something slipped from a locked place inside her. And then, as though her lips had betrayed her, she spoke a word.

“…Elora.”

The air in the room shattered.

Sylus went utterly still. The grin that was as much a mask as it was a habit fell from his lips, leaving nothing but silence. Ruby eyes, always dancing with mischief, widened with something raw—fear, disbelief, longing.

“What did you just say?” His voice was no longer velvet and teasing, but low, strained, rough-edged like stone scraping stone.

(Y/n)’s lips parted, confusion flickering across her own face. She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even known the name before it spilled out of her. But now it tasted both foreign and familiar on her tongue, a ghost she somehow recognized. “Elora,” she whispered again, slower this time. “I… I don’t know why. But I know her. I was her.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Sylus took a step forward, every line of his body taut, desperate, as though she might vanish if he blinked. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “You shouldn’t remember. Not this. Not her.”

But she did. The fragments of memory pressed harder against her mind, unrelenting, bleeding into the present—fire, scales, blood. A lamp with dragon etchings, warm between her hands.

Hands, claws, wings shielding her in the darkness.

His body, broken, in her arms.

A sob built in her throat, though she couldn’t say why. And when she finally looked back at him, the question tore from her lips, trembling and sharp.

“Tell me the truth, Sylus… do you love me? Or is it just Elora you see when you look at me?”

The words were a blade. He felt them drive straight into the centuries-old wound he carried.

For the first time in decades, Sylus Qin, dragon disguised as man, leader of Onychinus, master strategist who always smiled in the face of death had no smile at all.

Her memories came in waves, ragged and fractured, dragging her backward into a world long dead.

She was younger, smaller, in the Sanctuary’s stone halls, where every breath reeked of incense and judgment. She remembered clutching the forbidden lamp under her blanket at night. Its golden etchings of a dragon winding around its glass belly, glowing faintly when lit. She had thought it beautiful, mysterious.

But beauty was blasphemy there. The priests had seen it. Dragged her into the center of the courtyard, faces twisted in outrage.

“Her soul is tainted,” they hissed. “Dragon imagery is forbidden. She defies the holy laws.”

And when she cried out that it was just a lamp, that she didn’t understand why it mattered. They bound her wrists in chains and cast her into the Abyss.

She remembered the fall, endless and cold, stone walls streaked with ancient claw marks, her voice breaking as she screamed. The impact had stolen her breath, bones shattering, pain blooming white-hot. She had thought she would die there, alone in the dark.

But then—

The darkness moved.

A shape coiled in the shadows, vast and terrible. Scales gleamed faintly, ruby eyes glowing like embers. A dragon. The monster the Sanctuary warned her of. The one in the prophecy.

He had lowered his head, and she had felt his breath wash over her, scorching yet steady. His voice rumbled not in her ears, but inside her bones.

“Human. You are dying.”

Her lips had quivered, blood choking her throat. “I… I don’t want to die.”

The dragon’s gaze lingered, piercing, as though weighing her soul. Then slowly, carefully, he uncoiled a talon the size of her body, pressing it against the shackles that bound him.

“Free me,” he whispered, a voice like thunder. “Break these chains and I will give you life.”

She had reached out, trembling, hand slick with her own blood. The instant her fingers touched the chains, light flared, searing, breaking them apart.

The abyss shook. His roar filled the void, and the world seemed to collapse inward—

And when the dust cleared, she was alive. Whole again. But not untouched.

She felt it. A tether deep in her soul. A piece of him lodged inside her, and a piece of her in him. Bound.

Sylus.

(Y/n)’s breath trembled as the memory faded, leaving her standing once more in the dim room of N109, staring at the man whose eyes burned with the same fire as that dragon’s.

Sylus was motionless, his mask torn away, the weight of centuries bare in his expression. He looked at her as though she was both salvation and damnation.

“You remember…” His voice was low, reverent, broken. “Gods help me, you actually remember.”

(Y/n)’s throat ached. Tears pricked her eyes, though she didn’t know if they belonged to her or Elora. “Tell me,” she begged, voice cracking, “was it ever really me you loved? Or was it always her?”

Sylus’s hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting skin, his entire being straining against the question. His ruby eyes shone, fierce and tormented.

And for the first time in her life, she saw him falter.

The room was silent except for the hum of the broken neon sign outside, its light flickering through the cracked window. Sylus stood there, every inch of him strained like a bowstring pulled too tight.

She had asked the one question he had spent centuries avoiding.

(Y/n)’s words. “Was it ever really me you loved? Or was it always her?”. Hung between them like a blade suspended over both their throats.

He wanted to laugh, to tease, to say something reckless and charming to shatter the tension, to pull her back into the rhythm of their usual dance. But he couldn’t. Not when she had spoken that name. Not when she had torn open the wound he thought he had buried under centuries of blood and smoke.

“Elora…” His lips shaped the name like it was both a prayer and a curse. His ruby eyes locked onto hers, wild and searching. “You weren’t supposed to remember. You weren’t supposed to carry this weight. I—”

His voice cracked, sharp and unsteady. He turned away abruptly, fingers digging into the railing, knuckles white. The iron groaned under his grip.

(Y/n) watched him, chest tight, tears burning at the corners of her eyes. For all his careless smiles and sly remarks, Sylus looked broken now, silver hair falling across his face, shoulders hunched, every ounce of confidence stripped bare.

Her voice trembled. “Then tell me the truth. Do you love me? Or is it Elora you can’t let go of?”

At that, he spun back toward her, eyes blazing.

“You think I don’t know the difference?” His voice thundered, sharp and raw, nothing like the smooth, flirtatious cadence he wore as armor. “You think I would mistake you for a memory?”

He stalked toward her, each step heavy, deliberate. She wanted to back away, but her body wouldn’t move. Not from him. Never from him.

“You don’t understand,” Sylus said, voice dropping low, guttural with anguish. His hand lifted, trembling, as though he wanted to touch her cheek but didn’t dare. “I watched you at deaths’ door. I felt your blood on my hands. And I forced you to kill me.”

The words slammed into her, shoving her deeper into the half-formed memories clawing at the edges of her mind. Fire. Screams. Her own hands trembling as she drove a blade into the chest of a dragon who had looked at her not with hatred, but with love.

(Y/n) staggered back, hand to her mouth, breath ragged. “I—I killed you.”

Sylus’s expression cracked open, grief raw on his face. “Yes. You did. And I begged you to, because it was the only way left to save you. And when I died, you cursed me—cursed me to never fade. You bound me to this endless existence because you couldn’t let me go.”

Her knees weakened. Tears streaked her cheeks before she realized they were falling. “I didn’t know… I didn’t—”

“You weren’t meant to remember.” His voice was hoarse now, a whisper dragged across broken glass. He stepped closer, until the space between them was a breath, a heartbeat. His hand finally touched her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. His touch was warm, trembling, reverent.

“You are her. And you are you. Elora’s soul, reborn. But don’t you ever—” His voice broke, then sharpened with desperate intensity. “—don’t you ever believe that I look at you and see only a ghost.”

(Y/n)’s breath caught. Her hands curled into fists against her chest, torn between anger and aching love. “Then why do I feel like I’m drowning in her shadow? Why do I feel like every time you look at me, it’s not really me you want, but the past you lost?”

The accusation made him flinch. His jaw clenched, ruby eyes shuttering for a heartbeat, then blazing open again.

He gripped her shoulders suddenly, pulling her closer, his forehead nearly touching hers. His breath was ragged, hot against her lips. “Because I am terrified.”

She froze.

His words came in a rush, spilling past the mask he had worn for centuries.

“Terrified that I’ll lose you again. Terrified that this curse, this prophecy, this damned bond between us will force your hand to kill me once more. Every time you step into danger, every time you look at me with fire in your eyes. I remember the last time. I remember your hands covered in my blood. I remember dying in your arms.”

His voice broke, raw and desperate. “And I can’t—” His forehead pressed harder to hers, trembling. “I can’t survive that again.”

(Y/n) gasped, chest aching with the sheer weight of his confession. Her hands finally moved, rising to clutch at his shirt, clutching him like he might slip through her fingers.

“Sylus…”

His eyes squeezed shut. And when he spoke again, his voice was low, fierce, unshakable.

“You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.”

The words landed like a vow, like fire branded into her soul.

Tears fell freely down her face as her grip tightened, pulling him against her. And then his lips were on hers.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hunger and desperation, centuries of pain and love and longing pouring out in one devastating rush. His mouth was hot and demanding against hers, stealing her breath, stealing her doubts, like he could prove his love with every press of his lips.

She answered him with equal force, fists clenching in his shirt, dragging him closer until there was no space between them, until she could feel the frantic beat of his heart against hers.

His hands cupped her face, slid down to her waist, gripping like he’d never let go again. A low, broken sound escaped him, half-groan, half-sob, as though he had held back centuries of agony and it was finally breaking free in her arms.

When they pulled apart, gasping, foreheads pressed together, Sylus’s ruby eyes burned into hers, wet with unshed tears.

“This isn’t about Elora,” he whispered fiercely. “This is about you. I would choose you in every life, in every world, no matter the curse, no matter the prophecy. You are the only one I love. The only one I will ever love.”

(Y/n)’s tears spilled faster, but her lips curved into a trembling smile. Her hands slid up to his face, holding him gently now, thumbs brushing his damp lashes.

“Then don’t be reckless,” she whispered back. “Don’t make me lose you again. I couldn’t bear it.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, exhaling a shudder that sounded like surrender. “Then I’ll live. For you. Always for you.”

And when he kissed her again, it was softer, but no less intense. A kiss that tasted of promises, of fire, of eternity bound between two souls who had already defied death itself.

Outside, N109 still pulsed with chaos and neon, the world unforgiving as ever. But in that moment, in that room, they were no longer dragon and nemesis, no longer haunted by prophecy.

They were simply Sylus and (Y/n).

⚜️Pairings: Zayne x Non! Mc Reader

⚜️Content: Hurt/ Comfort

⚜️Other works: Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The moment the last suture was tied, Zayne didn’t stay for the post-op debrief. He stripped off his gloves and muttered something about clocking out. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had in an operating room.

The automatic doors of the hospital slid open with a sterile hiss, but the cold night air hit him like a slap. He didn’t slow down. His shoes barely touched the pavement as he crossed the parking lot, his ID badge swinging violently against his chest.

Every step was a drumbeat in his head.

I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have left.

Three hours in the OR felt like years. The whole time, her face had been there — the way her eyes didn’t quite meet his that morning, the small, tight smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. The soft way she’d turned her head when he’d tried to explain. He could still see her standing in the kitchen, back to him, shoulders pulled in like she was holding herself together.

By the time he reached their house, his palms were slick with sweat, his throat bone-dry. His key scraped the lock from how hard his hand trembled.

“Y/n?” His voice was too loud. Too desperate.

The moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong.

No rustle of movement from the bedroom.

No faint hum from the TV she always left on low when she waited for him.

Just silence — thick and cold, like it had been sitting here for hours.

“Y/n? Love, I’m home—” His voice cracked. “We… we need to talk.”

Still nothing.

He moved through the living room, his eyes darting everywhere — couch cushions still in place, blanket neatly folded, shoes lined up by the door. The order of it all made his stomach twist.

That’s when he saw it.

On the dining table.

Two plates.

Two sets of cutlery.

Garlic rice, stir-fried vegetables, grilled fish — her favorites for nights when she wanted to make something warm, something that would remind them both that home was more than just a place.

His chair was pulled out slightly, like she’d been sitting there, waiting.

The sight hit him so hard he had to grip the back of the chair just to steady himself. The food was cold now, the shine of oil on the fish dulled, the rice clumped together. But the care was still there. He could see her hands in every detail — the way she’d cut the vegetables, the way she’d placed the plate closer to his side of the table because she knew he always sat there.

He swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

“Y/n…” The name left his mouth as a plea.

His phone was in his hand before he even thought about it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Straight to voicemail.

“Y/n, please,” he whispered into the phone, pacing the room like a man trying to outwalk his own panic. “I’m home. I—God, I should’ve said more this morning. Please… just… come back.”

He hung up and tried again. And again. Each unanswered call was another crack splintering through his chest.

He searched the bedroom next. The bed was neatly made, not slept in. Her sweater was gone from the back of the chair. The closet door was ajar, and one of her favorite bags was missing.

His pulse spiked. He felt like he was standing at the edge of something he couldn’t come back from.

By the time he made it back to the dining table, he couldn’t breathe right. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. He braced both hands on the table, fingers pressing into the wood until his knuckles whitened.

And then it broke.

The tears came without warning, hot and unrelenting, sliding down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away. He bent forward, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes like it could stop them, but it didn’t.

Zayne was not a man who cried. He’d stitched arteries without a tremor, delivered devastating news without so much as a crack in his voice. But here, surrounded by her absence, by the cold meal she’d made for him, he unraveled completely.

“Y/n…” Her name left him in a hoarse whisper, again and again, each time softer, as though saying it would somehow make her appear in the doorway, arms crossed, angry but still there.

His voice echoed in the empty apartment, a sound swallowed by walls that had never felt this quiet before.

The cold food sat between them like a reminder of everything he’d been too late to say.

And in that stillness, the truth landed hard and cruel in his chest.

She was gone.

The phone was still pressed to his ear when he shoved his arms into his coat and stumbled toward the door. His fingers fumbled with the lock, breath uneven, chest tight.

“Come on, pick up… please, just pick up,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking in a way that was unfamiliar and unwelcome.

The door swung open and the night swallowed him whole. Cold air biting his skin, streetlights painting everything in a dull, yellow haze. He didn’t even bother locking the door. He just ran.

Down the block. Around the corner. Past the closed pharmacy where she used to wait for him after late shifts.

He called again. Voicemail.

Again. Voicemail.

Each time her recorded voice played, his chest clenched. She sounded so calm in it — so warm. The sound of her, even from months ago, made his knees feel weak.

He went first to the small coffee shop two streets over. The barista looked up when the bell above the door chimed, and Zayne’s voice came out in a rush.

“Have you seen her? This tall—no, shorter—uh, hair like this—she’s usually here in the evenings—” The barista shook her head with a sympathetic frown.

He didn’t even thank her. He was already moving.

Next was the restaurant they always claimed as theirs, the one with the flickering neon sign and the mismatched chairs. He scanned every table, hope clawing its way up his throat, but the place was empty except for a couple in the corner, leaning close and laughing.

The sound cut into him like glass.

He could still remember her laugh here — the way it would spill over the table like sunlight, the way she’d lean her chin on her hand and just look at him like nothing else in the world mattered.

Now there was only the clink of cutlery and the low hum of a love that wasn’t his.

He turned before anyone could see the wetness gathering in his eyes.

The city felt colder tonight, as though it knew what he’d done — or rather, what he hadn’t done. Every street he walked down, every empty bench he passed, whispered the same thing in the back of his mind.

You’re too late.

He tried her number again, leaning against a lamppost when his breath came too fast from running. His fingers were stiff from the cold, but his hands still trembled as he pressed the phone to his ear.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Please, love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. We can— we can fix this. I’ll say everything I should’ve said. Just… don’t disappear on me.”

Voicemail.

The sound of the beep crushed him.

He walked without aim after that, checking the little bookstore they’d duck into on rainy afternoons, the park bench where she’d once fallen asleep against his shoulder, even the bus stop she’d wait at before they lived together.

Nothing.

Every place they’d once shared was now just a hollow shell. The outlines of their life together with her missing from the picture.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The café was quiet now, only the low hum of the refrigerator behind the counter filling the space.

Y/n sat at the farthest corner table, her untouched cup of tea growing colder by the minute.

She didn’t even like tea that much, Coffee had always been her comfort. But tonight, she didn’t want comfort.

She wanted distance.

The phone on the table lit up again.

His name.

Zayne.

Her breath caught, and for a fleeting second, her hand almost reached for it. Almost.

But she didn’t.

She just stared at the glow until it dimmed again, the silence that followed pressing heavy in her chest.

The tea had gone completely cold now. She didn’t mind. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the streetlight cast a lonely cone of light onto the empty sidewalk. It was the same street they used to walk together after late dinners, his coat draped over her shoulders because he always claimed she “shivered too easily.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing down the memory. She had told herself she wouldn’t cry tonight — not in public, not where anyone could see. But her eyes burned anyway, traitorous, and she had to look away from the window.

The phone lit up again.

Her fingers curled into the hem of her sweater.

Don’t answer.

She repeated it in her head like a mantra.

If she heard his voice now, she knew she’d falter. She knew she’d forgive him too quickly, and he wouldn’t understand the weight of her hurt.

Because it wasn’t about Adriana. Not entirely.

It was about the empty dinners.

The way his shoes would arrive at the door hours after she’d gone to bed.

The way his eyes, once so eager to find hers in a room, had grown tired… distracted.

It was the quiet in their home that had become louder than any argument they’d ever had.

She had loved Zayne for his steadiness, for the way he carried the weight of the world without letting it spill onto her. But somewhere along the way, she realized he wasn’t just carrying the world — he was keeping it locked away, and she was outside the door, knocking, asking to be let in.

And tonight, she was too tired to knock.

She turned her phone face down on the table, shutting out the glow. Her thumb traced the rim of the mug as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted to walk through the door and find him there, coat tossed on the couch, that rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She wanted him to say her name like it meant something more than a passing thought between surgeries.

But she also wanted him to feel it — the hollow ache of missing someone who was still alive, still breathing, but not there.

The café owner glanced her way, wiping down a table, the lights flickering in that subtle, closing-time way. She pulled her sweater tighter around her and stood, her legs heavier than they should’ve been.

As she stepped out into the cold, the phone in her pocket vibrated again. Her heart gave a painful twist. She didn’t check it.

The city was nearly silent now, and for once, she let it be.

Somewhere, she knew, Zayne was looking for her.

And the cruel truth was… she wanted him to find her.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she needed to know if he’d still be searching tomorrow.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night air bit into Zayne’s lungs as he ran, his breath coming fast, uneven — nothing like the measured control he had in the operating room.

In the hospital, he never trembled. He never let his hands falter.

But now, under the dim streetlights, his hands shook so badly he could barely scroll through his contacts to call her again.

No answer.

Again.

No answer.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep the panic from swallowing him whole.

He told himself she was okay, that maybe she had just needed air, space… but the way she had looked at him earlier — the wall in her eyes — made his chest tighten until it hurt to breathe.

Then, as he rounded the corner, he saw it.

The café.

Their café.

It was where they’d once spent rainy Saturday afternoons, where she’d stolen sips of his coffee and teased him for drinking it too sweet.

The warm glow spilling from its windows made something in him ache. If she was anywhere tonight, it would be here.

He crossed the street in long, urgent strides, his eyes scanning the inside through the glass.

Empty.

The last of the chairs were being stacked by the owner, the counter already wiped clean.

For a moment, he stood frozen on the sidewalk, heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed his palm to the glass, absurdly wishing he could somehow rewind time by just being here.

A thought gripped him suddenly — maybe she’d already left. Maybe she was walking home now, cold and alone, her phone in her pocket ignoring every call.

His eyes swept the street.

Zayne saw her.

It was a fleeting glimpse across the street — a familiar figure in a pale sweater, her hair tucked messily behind her ear the way she always did when she was deep in thought. For a split second, the world stilled. All the noise from the city — the hum of cars, the distant chatter, the faint drizzle tapping on the pavement — faded into the background. His heart kicked hard against his ribs, a sudden, raw jolt of recognition and hope.

“(Y/n)!”

He shouted her name, voice cracking in a way he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t the commanding tone of a surgeon calling orders in an operating room — it was desperate, ragged, almost childlike. He pushed forward, weaving through the thin trickle of pedestrians, his shoes splashing against shallow puddles as he crossed the street without caring if the light was red.

But when he reached the spot… she was gone.

The empty sidewalk greeted him with the scent of rain and a faint echo of her presence. His eyes darted left, then right, scanning every corner, every moving figure, his chest tight and his breaths coming faster than they should. He swore she had been here just seconds ago.

“Dammit… no, no, no—” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair before breaking into a jog down the nearest side street.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

Every shadow became her silhouette. Every woman with the faintest resemblance made his stomach lurch with anticipation, only for it to twist painfully when he realized it wasn’t her. He ducked into every coffee shop they’d been to, pushing the door open with too much force, scanning the tables for that familiar curve of her shoulders, that way she would cradle her mug in both hands. Each time he came up empty-handed, the disappointment cut deeper.

“Have you seen a woman — about this tall — hair like this?” His voice trembled as he asked the baristas, the street vendors, anyone who looked like they might’ve noticed. His usually calm, even tone was replaced by something raw, restless. Some people shook their heads with polite confusion. Others barely looked up from what they were doing.

He kept calling her phone.

Once. Twice. Ten times. Twenty.

Every time, the same thing—the dull, mechanical voice telling him the call couldn’t be completed, or that it went straight to voicemail. Her name glowed on his screen, mocking him. He tried leaving a message once, but his voice cracked halfway through, and he hung up, feeling pathetic.

By the fifth missed call, his hands were trembling. By the tenth, he could feel the burn of panic in his chest — the kind that no deep breath could control.

The streets felt larger without her. Too wide. Too empty. He moved from block to block, his pace quick but aimless, because what if she had turned in the opposite direction? What if he had walked right past her?

The drizzle had turned into a light rain now, beading in his hair and sliding down the back of his neck, but he barely noticed. His mind was a loud, looping litany:

Please be somewhere safe. Please don’t be mad enough to just disappear. Please let me explain. Please… just give me the chance.

But he knew. Deep down, he knew this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about every night he’d come home late, every time he’d sat silently at the dinner table while she tried to make conversation, every time he’d prioritized another surgery over the promises he made to her.

He passed another familiar coffee shop — one that stayed open until midnight — and shoved the door open, startling the lone barista wiping down the counter.

“She was here earlier,” the barista said slowly, when Zayne described her.

His pulse spiked. “Where did she go?”

The barista hesitated. “I… think she left with a taxi. Sorry, I didn’t see where.”

Zayne’s mouth went dry. A taxi. She could be anywhere now.

His legs felt heavier with every step after that, but he didn’t stop. He moved through the city like a man chasing a ghost, retracing places that held their laughter, their arguments, their quiet moments.

The bench at the park where they once sat watching the fountain lights. Empty.

The bookstore where she used to linger in the romance aisle. Closed for the night.

The small bakery that always packed an extra pastry “on the house” because the owners adored her. Dark, shutters drawn.

By the time his watch read 11:45 p.m., his phone battery was nearly gone from the constant calls, the dampness from the rain had seeped through his clothes, and his breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts. His heart ached — not the dull fatigue of a long shift, but something sharper, heavier, like it was straining against his ribs.

When he finally stopped walking, it wasn’t because he wanted to. It was because he didn’t know where else to go.

He stood in the middle of a quiet street, shoulders sagging, looking up at the dark sky as if it might hand her back to him. His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven motions, the panic refusing to fade.

For the first time in years, Zayne felt small. Completely powerless.

His voice came out hoarse when he spoke into the empty air. “Come home, please… just come home.”

The words were swallowed by the rain, by the hum of the city that didn’t care about the way his world had tilted. He looked down at his phone, her name still on the screen, thumb hovering over the call button again — even though he knew she wouldn’t answer.

He called anyway.

Zayne didn’t even know how long he stood there.

The rain pattered against his shoulders, soaking into the collar of his coat until it clung uncomfortably to his skin. Cars hissed by in the distance, but the street around him was nearly empty now — just the occasional figure rushing past with an umbrella, faces blurred by the low streetlight glow.

He finally moved when a cold wind swept through the street, rattling a loose sign overhead. His legs felt like lead, but they carried him back through the twisting grid of familiar roads. He didn’t have a plan anymore — his earlier frantic energy had given way to something slower, heavier, like his body had realized it was chasing someone who might not want to be found.

He still called her. Even when his phone battery dipped to a dangerous sliver of red, he pressed her name again and again, listening to the same hollow ring until it cut to voicemail. Once, he thought he heard someone answer — his heart jumped, breath catching — but it was only the rain slipping into his ear, playing tricks on him.

He passed their building more than once, unable to bring himself to go inside. What if she was in there, packing the last of her things? What if he walked in and found the apartment stripped of her completely? The thought made his stomach twist painfully, so he kept walking past, circling the block, scanning every passing taxi as though one might miraculously open and she’d step out.

When midnight finally crept close, the streets had gone almost silent. Storefront lights were dimmed, and the only people left outside were the ones hurrying home from late shifts or lingering under bus stop shelters.

He stopped in front of a small convenience store, staring through the glass at the fluorescent-lit aisles. A couple stood by the instant noodles section, laughing over something one of them said. The sight stabbed him — quick and mean — because that used to be them. Late-night snack runs, whispered jokes over cheap food, her hand slipping into his without thinking.

Now his own hand hung cold and empty at his side.

By the time he finally walked toward their building, the rain had tapered to a fine mist. His footsteps echoed in the stairwell, too loud, the kind of sound that reminded him how alone he was.

He unlocked the door to the apartment slowly, almost as if bracing for impact.

The first thing he noticed was the quiet. Not the usual peaceful quiet of a late night, but the kind that felt wrong — hollow, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

His throat tightened. He sank into one of the chairs, elbows on the table, staring at the plate in front of him. He could picture her here earlier, carefully arranging the food, glancing toward the door with that small, hopeful smile she always wore when she was waiting for him.

And he hadn’t come home in time. Again.

He reached for his phone. Out of habit now more than hope and called her one more time. It went straight to voicemail.

Zayne let the phone drop onto the table. His hands were trembling.

He’d been in operating rooms where the air was thick with urgency, where a patient’s life hung in the balance and every second mattered — but this? This felt worse. Because in those rooms, at least he knew exactly what to do. He had training, a clear path forward. But with her… he didn’t know how to fix this.

He looked toward the couch, where her throw blanket was still crumpled from that morning. The mug she’d used for coffee sat on the counter, a faint ring of dried liquid at the bottom.

Everywhere he looked, there she was — and yet, she wasn’t.

His chest ached in a way he couldn’t ignore anymore. Not the tight, temporary pang of panic, but something heavier, bone-deep. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, willing the burning there to go away, but it didn’t.

For a man who rarely spoke more than necessary, Zayne had always believed in actions over words. But tonight, words — the ones he’d left unsaid — were the things suffocating him. He’d never told her enough, never shown her enough, and now he was sitting alone at a table meant for two, whispering into the empty room:

“Please… just come back. I’ll do it right this time. I swear.”

The silence that followed felt louder than any rejection.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment felt colder than it should have.

Zayne stayed at the dining table long after his phone finally died in his hand, the screen going black without ceremony. He didn’t move. The food sat untouched, congealed in the dim light.

He wanted to sleep — no, he wanted to wake up from this — but the idea of lying down alone in their bed felt unbearable. That bed had her in it. Her side still faintly smelled of her shampoo, and he knew the moment he turned over and found nothing but empty sheets, it would hit him again like a punch.

So he stayed there, head in his hands, the slow hum of the refrigerator filling the room.

Somewhere else in the city, (Y/n) sat cross-legged on the edge of her best friend Lily’s couch. She wore an old oversized hoodie Lily had shoved into her arms earlier — not because she needed it for warmth, but because it felt safer to be wrapped in something that wasn’t his.

Her phone was face-down on the coffee table. She hadn’t turned it off, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at it either. She knew the calls would be there, stacked one after the other, and she wasn’t ready to hear his voice through the line. Not tonight.

Lily watched her from the kitchen, stirring a mug of chamomile tea. “You don’t have to explain anything,” she said gently. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

(Y/n) gave a small nod. Her throat was tight. She wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck. She kept seeing Zayne in her mind — not any one version of him, but pieces, flashes: the way he adjusted her scarf when she forgot, the sound of his laugh when she caught him off guard, the look in his eyes when he was lost in thought.

And yet… lately, those moments had been fewer and farther between. She had been speaking to a closed door for months, waiting for him to open it. Tonight, she’d stopped knocking.

Back in the apartment, Zayne finally stood when his legs cramped from sitting too long. He walked toward the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. The faint scent of her shampoo was there, just like he feared. It made his chest ache.

He sat on her side of the bed, head bowed, fingers clutching the blanket as though it were the only thing tethering him.

“I can’t… do this without you,” he murmured, the words breaking in the quiet. His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable to himself.

When he finally drifted into a shallow, restless sleep, it was still dark. He woke to the pale light of dawn spilling across the floor. His clothes from yesterday clung uncomfortably, still damp from the rain. His phone was dead, but he plugged it in instantly, watching the battery icon crawl to life.

The missed calls screen filled in quickly — almost all to her. None returned.

He didn’t waste time. He left the house, heading first to Lily’s café. The door was locked; they wouldn’t open for another hour. He knocked anyway, ignoring the odd looks from early pedestrians.

Lily’s younger brother was inside prepping for the day. He unlocked the door just enough to peek out.

“She’s not here,” he said before Zayne could speak.

“Do you know where she is?” Zayne’s voice was low, controlled — but the urgency bled through.

The boy hesitated. “I’m not supposed to—”

Zayne’s jaw tightened. “Please.”

Before the boy could answer, another familiar voice came from inside — one of (Y/n)’s other friends, Callie, who must’ve been helping with the morning shift. She glanced up, caught sight of Zayne, and frowned. “She’s staying with Lily,” she said bluntly.

The boy shot her a look, but it was too late.

Zayne didn’t wait. He was already moving before she’d finished the sentence, his footsteps quickening into a run.

The city blurred around him. He barely registered the cars honking as he crossed against the light, or the way people turned to look at him — a tall man in yesterday’s clothes, hair still slightly damp, running like the only thing that mattered was what waited at the end.

He had one thought, pounding in rhythm with his footsteps. Don’t let her leave again.

Zayne didn’t slow down until Lily’s apartment building came into view. A modest gray structure tucked between a small convenience store and a laundromat. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but none of it mattered.

He took the steps two at a time, heart pounding loud enough to drown out his thoughts. By the time he reached the third floor, his breaths came in ragged pulls, his throat dry. He didn’t knock right away. He pressed his palm against the cool metal of the door, as though touching it might bridge the impossible distance between them.

When he finally knocked, the sound echoed hollow down the hallway.

It was Lily who opened the door. Her brows immediately furrowed. “Zayne—”

“Is she here?” His voice was hoarse, a rasp dragged over gravel. He wasn’t looking at Lily, his eyes searched the space beyond her shoulder like he could will (Y/n) into view.

“She doesn’t want to see you right now.” Lily’s tone was firm, protective — but there was a flicker of pity there too. “You need to give her time.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have time. Not for this.”

Lily crossed her arms. “Zayne, you—”

“Please, Lily.” His voice cracked. It startled them both. The last time he’d sounded that unguarded, (Y/n) had been in the hospital for a high fever, and he had stayed by her bed all night.

Something in Lily’s expression softened. She stepped aside reluctantly. “She’s in the living room. But if she tells you to leave, you leave.”

He nodded quickly, stepping past her like a man heading toward a precipice.

The moment he saw her — curled up on the couch, knees drawn to her chest, wearing a hoodie too big for her frame — the air left his lungs. She didn’t look at him right away; she was staring at a mug of tea on the table, her hands tucked into the sleeves.

“(Y/n),” he breathed, the name trembling in the space between them.

Her head turned slowly, and when her eyes met his, it was like being punched in the gut. There was no anger there — worse, there was distance.

“I’m sorry,” he started, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m so—God, I’m so sorry.”

She blinked once, expression unreadable. “You should go home, Zayne.”

“No,” he said instantly. He stepped closer, and when she shrank back slightly, it made something inside him twist painfully. “I’m not leaving. Not until you hear me out.”

“There’s nothing to hear,” she said quietly. “You made your choice.”

Her words hit harder than any shouted accusation. He dropped to his knees without thinking, the sound of it hitting the hardwood sharp in the small room.

“I didn’t choose—” He broke off, his breath hitching. He scrubbed a hand over his face, but the moisture gathering in his eyes betrayed him. “I didn’t choose the hospital over you. I chose the hospital because I thought you’d understand. I thought you knew that I—” His voice faltered again, cracking under the weight of everything he hadn’t said in months.

Her silence was a wall he couldn’t climb.

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “I thought… if I just kept my head down, kept working, I’d be building something for us. But all I was doing was… leaving you behind.” His shoulders trembled. “And now you’re gone, and I—” His voice broke entirely this time, the sound raw, desperate.

She closed her eyes, but not before he saw the faint glimmer of tears she wouldn’t let fall.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, leaning forward until his hands braced on the floor. His head hung low, like he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes. “I’ll do anything. I’ll walk away from surgeries, from the hospital, from everything if it means I get to keep you. Just—please—don’t end this.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not about one night, Zayne. It’s about every night before it. Every time I waited, and you didn’t come home. Every time I felt like I was… asking for too much just by wanting you there.”

Each word landed like a blade. He flinched, but didn’t move from the floor. His knees ached, but he stayed there, grounded by the ache, as if it was the penance he deserved.

“I know,” he said, voice low and shaking. “I know I made you feel like you weren’t worth my time, and that’s… the worst thing I’ve ever done. But you are. You’re worth more than my time, more than my career, more than anything else in my life. I just—” He sucked in a breath that caught painfully in his chest. “I just didn’t tell you enough. I didn’t show you enough.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

When she didn’t respond, he shuffled closer on his knees, ignoring the sharp bite of the floor against them. “Please look at me,” he said, his voice so soft it was almost a plea to the universe itself.

She did. And the sight of her eyes, glassy but guarded, made something inside him splinter.

“If I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you come first, I will,” he said, the words fierce despite the tears now streaking down his face. “If I have to beg every day, I’ll beg. If I have to crawl—” His voice wavered, but he didn’t look away. “I will. I’ll crawl as far as it takes to bring you back home.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move toward him.

“Zayne…” she started, and for a moment, hope flared. But then she shook her head slowly. “It’s not that simple.”

He closed his eyes, and two tears slipped free, hot against his chilled skin. “I know. But I’ll be here, however long it takes. I’ll be here until you believe me.”

For the first time that night, she looked away. Not out of dismissal, but because her own composure was cracking.

Y/n stared at him, her hands gripping the blanket tighter around herself. The way he was looking at her. Eyes swollen and glistening, lips trembling with words he seemed terrified to say — should have made her want to pull him into her arms. But the ache in her chest was still too sharp, too fresh.

“Zayne,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady, “you can’t just walk in here and expect me to forget weeks of feeling invisible.”

He flinched at the word invisible, like it cut deeper than anything else she’d said all night. “I don’t expect you to forget. I don’t even expect you to forgive me right now. I just—” His throat tightened again, forcing him to swallow before he could speak. “I just need a chance to prove that I can be the man you thought I was.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And what happens when the next emergency call comes in? When another patient needs you? You’ll go, and I’ll be left behind again.”

“Yes,” he admitted, voice low, raw. “I’ll go… but I’ll come back to you. Every single time. And when I’m there, I’ll be there. Not just sitting beside you thinking about work. Not just a shadow in the same room. I’ll be yours, the way I should’ve been all along.”

She looked away then, as if she couldn’t bear to see the sincerity in his face. “You say that now.”

He shifted closer, still on his knees, his hands resting on her knees with a hesitation that told her he was ready for her to push him away. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth. And if I have to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, I will. If I have to tear myself apart and rebuild into someone who never makes you doubt me again, I will.”

Her eyes flicked back to him. “You think it’s that simple? That a few promises and tears will undo everything?”

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “It’s not simple. It’s going to take time. And I’m going to earn back every single piece of your trust until there’s nothing left broken between us.”

The blanket slipped from her shoulders, revealing the slight tremor in her hands. She hated that his words stirred something in her. A dangerous longing to believe him. But she’d been here before, hoping things would change.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how we were,” she whispered.

Zayne’s voice was hoarse when he answered. “Then let me give you something better. Let me give you more than how we were. Just… let me try.”

He sank even lower until he was fully sitting on the floor, his hands gripping hers before she could pull away. “Y/n, I swear on everything I am — on every life I’ve ever saved — that I will not lose you. I can’t… I can’t breathe knowing you might not be mine anymore. I’ve faced death without shaking, but tonight—” His voice broke, and a sob tore through him, unrestrained. “Tonight I was terrified. Because for the first time, it wasn’t a patient I was losing. It was you.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak. The sound of his crying filled the small space between them, each uneven breath pulling at something deep inside her.

He pressed his forehead against her knees, his voice muffled but still desperate. “Please, Y/n… I’ll beg as many nights as it takes. I’ll sleep outside your door if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you see that I can be better. Just… don’t let this be the last time I’m close to you.”

Her chest ached painfully at the sight of him — this man who had always been so composed, so unshakable, now reduced to trembling hands and tear-streaked cheeks. And yet… she stayed silent, because the hurt in her hadn’t loosened its grip.

Zayne looked up at her again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading in its fragility. “I know I’ve lost the right to ask for anything. But if you can give me even the smallest chance… I’ll take it. I’ll fight for it. I’ll fight for you until you don’t doubt me anymore.”

The room seemed to hold its breath with them, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background and Zayne’s uneven breathing. “Love,” he pleaded softly, almost unsure.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away. She sat there, eyes searching his face as though weighing the truth in his every breath. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the quiet hum of the rain against the window and the uneven rhythm of Zayne’s breathing.

He didn’t move closer. He didn’t dare. All he could do was hold her gaze, afraid that if he blinked, she’d slip away again.

Her lips parted, and for a moment he thought she might say no. That she might walk past him and leave him standing there with his heart in his hands. But instead, her voice came—soft, careful, as if testing the weight of each word.

“One chance, Zayne.”

His chest constricted.

“That’s all I can give you right now,” she continued, her tone steady but fragile. “Don’t… don’t waste it."

It was not forgiveness. It was not the warmth they once shared. But it was something, and to Zayne, it was everything. His head bowed, a tear slipping down despite his effort to hold it in.

“You won’t regret it,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, as though making a vow to the only person who mattered.

And as she turned toward the window, Zayne stayed on his knees a moment longer—because even in this sliver of hope, he wanted to remember the cost of nearly losing her. He wanted the ache to stay, to remind him every day of the promise he had made.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The first few days back in the house were… different.

(Y/n) was there, but not entirely. She moved through the space like a quiet visitor, her touch never lingering, her eyes never meeting his for longer than a second. Zayne noticed every shift in her—how her voice was softer, how she avoided their bedroom for hours, how she laughed only when speaking to Lily on the phone.

She hadn’t forgiven him—not yet. And he didn’t expect her to.

The first night, he took the couch. Not because she asked him to, but because he couldn’t imagine lying beside her when she still carried the weight of what he’d done. That didn’t stop him from lying awake, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, listening for the faint rustle of her moving in the bed they once shared.

Every morning, he left something for her on the counter. Coffee brewed exactly how she liked it. Warm pastries from the bakery she loved. Handwritten notes, his normally confident script shaky with hesitation,

I’m sorry.

I’m here.

I love you.

She never responded to the notes. But she never threw them away either.

The change in Zayne came in the quiet acts of devotion.

He shifted his schedule, trimming away the overtime he used to drown in. If an emergency called him in, she heard it from him first. Between surgeries, he sent short messages—never overbearing, always steady: Thinking of you. Get home safe. I miss you.

One rainy Thursday, she came home to find the dining table set. Not with takeout, but with her favorite home-cooked meal. The kitchen was a battlefield of flour and spilled sauce.

He didn’t say look what I made. He just pulled out her chair, offering the smallest smile. She hesitated, but sat.

Halfway through, his hand brushed hers as he reached for her empty glass. She didn’t move away. He didn’t say anything, but in that brief contact, he felt hope stir in his chest for the first time in weeks.

The thaw was painfully slow.

Late one night, she found him sitting at the edge of the bed, head bowed, his fingers curled against his knees.

“You’re awake?” she asked quietly.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

He looked at her then, his eyes unguarded, heavy with something deep. “Because every time I close my eyes, I see the night you left and how I couldn’t breathe.”

She didn’t answer. But something in her chest cracked, just slightly.

The shift came on an ordinary evening. They were on the couch, a muted movie playing. Zayne kept to his side, until her toes brushed against his leg under the blanket. His head turned toward her, but he didn’t speak. He simply slid the blanket so it covered her completely. Their hands touched. This time, she didn’t pull away.

He looked at her then—really looked—and the air between them shifted. Her eyes flickered to his mouth for just a heartbeat before she caught herself.

That was all it took.

When the kiss came, it wasn’t gentle.

It was sharp with longing, desperate from weeks—no, months—of silence and restraint. Zayne’s hands cupped her face like he was terrified she’d disappear if he let go. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

He kissed her like he’d been starving, like every second without her had been a slow death. She kissed him like she hated him for making her want him still, hated herself for never stopping.

Their breaths tangled, fast and uneven, the kiss deepening until she felt dizzy. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against hers, his voice breaking.

“I’ll never stop making this right,” he whispered, the words brushing her lips. “Never.”

Her eyes searched his face—every scar, every shadow, every piece of him she once thought she’d lost. And though her heart was still cautious, it betrayed her with the way it beat against her ribs, hard and aching.

It was instinct more than thought that made him reach for her. His hands cupped her face like she might break if he held too tightly. Her skin was warm beneath his calloused palms, her lashes lowered in something halfway between fear and surrender.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t the restrained brush of lips they’d once shared in the quiet mornings before work.

It was desperate. Hungry. Starved.

Zayne kissed her like a man who had been dying of thirst and finally found water, like every second without her had carved a deeper hollow in him that only she could fill. His lips moved against hers with a feverish urgency, tasting the salt of her lingering tears, memorizing the curve of her mouth as if he could imprint it into his soul.

Her hands were pressed against his chest at first, a barrier, a silent reminder of the distance he’d created between them. But his mouth softened, then deepened again, his breath ragged against her cheek, and that wall began to crumble. Slowly, her fingers curled into his shirt, gripping it like she wasn’t sure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his thumb brushing along her jaw in a tender counterpoint to the ferocity in his mouth. He kissed her like every apology he couldn’t put into words, every night he’d left her waiting, every “I love you” he’d failed to say.

When she finally kissed him back, truly kissed him back, he nearly groaned against her lips, a sound pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, equal parts relief and ache. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. It was something rawer, messier. A fragile thread pulling them together despite the wreckage between them.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers, his breath still trembling.

“I’m not letting go again,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Not now. Not ever.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes, her grip still tight in his shirt. She didn’t tell him she believed him. She didn’t tell him she forgave him. But she didn’t step away either. And for Zayne, in that moment, it was enough — enough to keep fighting, enough to hope.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest like he could shield her from every hurt, including the ones he’d caused. And though the road ahead would be long, uncertain, and riddled with the work of healing, Zayne held her as if they’d already survived the worst. And he intended to make sure they never went through it again.

Outside, the city moved on, lights flickering in distant windows, cars passing on wet pavement. But inside their humble abode, in that single, breathless moment, it was just the two of them. Still standing. Still holding on.

And maybe — just maybe — that was their first step back home.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

✶ Pairing: Caleb x Vampire! Reader ✶ Synopsis: In a fractured world where monstrous Wanderers stalk the wastelands and humanity survives behind militarized cities, the elite force known as the Fleet makes a dangerous pact with a creature they once hunted: a century-old vampire named (Y/n), known on the record as Nyx.

Powerful, composed, and no stranger to being treated like a weapon, (Y/n) offers her strength in exchange for something more than survival—a place in a world that has long cast her aside. But when she is placed under the reluctant supervision of Colonel Xia, a gravity-wielding war hero bound by duty and haunted by silence, their uneasy alliance becomes something far more dangerous than the monsters outside the walls.

When secrets surface, and missions begin to blur the line between survival and sacrifice, Caleb must choose: his oath, or his heart.

Together, they’ll burn against the rules that chained them—and maybe, rewrite what monsters are made of. ✶ Content warnings: Violence & Bloodshed, Mild Language. ✶ W.c.: 11,735 words ✶ A/n: This will be a three to four part series. I hope you like it!

Part 1

The war room at Skyhaven was buried six floors underground. Concrete walls. Fluorescent lights flickered. A dozen top-ranking officers circled a steel table littered with maps, blood-smeared dossiers, and half-burnt reports. The air reeked of desperation.

The air in the chamber was thick with sweat, smoke, and the stench of blood barely scrubbed off from the last skirmish. Maps of ruined sectors lay scattered across the table, marked with red ink and desperate notes.

General Lance's voice cut through the silence like a blade. “We’re running out of time. The Wanderers are evolving faster than we can respond. Our current squads are ineffective in the no-hunt zone. We need something stronger. Smarter. Less… human.” There was a pause, everyone looked at the General with incredulity. He slid a file down the table. 

Its label read: 

Subject: Nyx Last name: Unknown Age: Indeterminate Classification: Unregistered evol/ Vampire/Electrokinetic 

Caleb curious at what the file entails opened it, his eyes scanned through the images. Blurs of violence. A high-ranking wanderer torn apart by lightning. Military convoy incinerated by a an electrical storm. And in the center of it all, a woman standing, barefoot in the ash. Her body was covered with smoke, grime and blood. 

“She was captured a few days ago.” The General clasped his hands together, “I doubt she was weakened by our squad.” The general play a footage on the big screen of her recent kills, both wanderers and soldiers,  “The vampire offered a pact.”

Murmurs erupted. Caleb who’s sitting on the edge of the long table crossed his arms, jaw clenched. Listening to the general intently, flipping through the files with his brows furrowed. 

“You’re trusting a bloodsucker over trained soldiers?” His voice was neutral. However it has a tint of uncertainty. 

“She’s not just a bloodsucker,” Commander Gray corrected grimly, tossing down a photograph of a woman mid-combat, lightning erupting from her fingertips like controlled chaos. “She’s a pureblood with centuries of experience. Her evol is Electrokinetic. Adaptive. Highly intelligent.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed at the picture in front of him, a woman who he guess is over a hundred years old standing in the center of wanderers, he can’t make out the face but knows she is not human. Who in the right mind let herself be outnumbered by high-ranked wanderers. “She’s a fucking vampire.”

“And she can wipe out S-class Wanderers like they’re made of smoke,” General Lance shot back. “We’ve seen it.”

The silence that followed was telling.

“We brought her here.” Some soldiers stood up with panic as the General gestured to open the metal door. Some were yelling at the him for bringing a monster on the underground. Some are holding onto their seats, curious yet petrified of the fact that General Lance have the audacity to bring a killing machine in the vicinity. 

“This is madness!” Some Commanders cried out at the General.

The General looked at them sternly, “We know of her weakness.” He stated as he opened the metal luggage full of vials. “Vervain.” 

Murmur can then be heard as the General showed them the green liquid. “A vial of this can cause intense pain in their system. If it’s potent enough it can kill them.”  

The steel doors creaked open with a low mechanical hiss, and every soldier on the room turned toward the sound as they stood up on high alert. Boots stilled. Conversations dropped. Guns were not drawn, but fingers hovered just a little closer to triggers.

Then she walked in.

Caleb stood at the threshold. Out walked a woman—silent, barefoot, regal even under restraints. Subject: Nyx. 

Her eyes scanned the crowd lazily, like a predator bored of the hunt. She was chained from her hands to her feet. The soldiers holding the chains were seen holding an electric whip, a tranquilizer and a shot of vervain ready if anything goes south. 

The air grew colder as everyone held their breath, even Caleb.

The smell of gun powder, blood, and something burnt curled into the room like smoke, subtle but suffocating. Some swore later they heard a faint electric hum in her presence, like the buzz before a lightning strike.

“That’s her,” someone muttered.

“The bloodsucker.”

“She’s the one who fried the entire Zone-7 sector.”

No one spoke above a whisper. No one stepped forward.

Except one.

Caleb leaned back against a wall near the weapons rack, arms crossed, his eyes trained on her—not with fear, but a calculating interest. He was the only one who didn’t look away when her gaze passed over him.

She stopped.

Her gaze could freeze fire. Caleb simply raised a brow.

This man is interesting. She thought as she smiled. Barely. The kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes. The kind that knew how you’d die. Then she turned to the room, voice cool and unhurried.

“You’re afraid. Good. It means you’ll live longer.” Her voice was deep as she looked at the soldiers staring at her. She almost chuckled at the sheer horror their expression conveyed. 

A collective shiver ran through the room.  

The general turned to the woman as he cleared his throat. Her presence is enough to make him shiver. “You have made a pact with the fleet.” He started, the woman glanced at him for a moment before scanning the room. Slowly, taking note of their labored breaths and their hands on their holster. Ready to fire. As if their weapons can kill her.

“Your squads don’t last beyond the disambiguation area. Much more on the no hunt zone. The S-Grade Wanderers adapt faster than your evols can mutate. You’re breeding martyrs, not victories.” She pauses, feeling the dull, aching pressure of the chains on her feet and hands.  “And I would know. I’ve killed more of them than your entire fleet combined.”

“You expect us to believe that? You’re a vampire.” Some soldier shouted from the end of the room.

Tilting her head she spoke, “I’m the kind your war needs.”

“So you just came to help?” Caleb asks, his voice was accusatory as he stepped towards where she was standing, “Why?”

“Because these monsters you’re fighting?” She pulled on her chains, the soldier holding it was just a quarter of her strength, yet the chains were lathered with vervain. Every movement digging on her skin, making her feel sharp stinging pain. But despite all of it, her expression was neutral. Years of pain made her numb, or that’s what she is trying to convince herself of. 

“I’ve seen them before. They’re evolving… into something worse.” She murmured, her brows furrowed. Remembering the wanderers she had encountered in the past, they are more agile than before. “And you’ll be extinct before you understand what they really are.”

There’s silence as the lights on the underground flickered. She can hear their shaky breaths and erratic heartbeats. 

Then, she offers it. Clean. Measured.

“I’m offering a pact. I will help you win this war. You give me limited sanctuary. I fight under your command. You treat me like a weapon, not a threat—unless I give you reason.”

“You want us to trust a vampire?” someone snaps.

She meets Caleb’s eyes across the room. His gaze was neutral, she couldnot see what he’s thinking. His arms are crossed, his gaze lingering.  “No,” she says. “I want you to use me.”

She turns her back to the room, exposing her spine, her nape. ”This is part of my weakness.” She stated, the people eyed her with curiosity.  “Put a bullet in me the moment I step out of line. But until then? Let me help you stop what’s coming.”

The room was dim, save for the amber glow of the monitor on General Lance’s desk. Rain tapped against the reinforced glass windows like a ticking clock. The war maps were gone. Only two men remained: the General and Colonel Caleb Xia.

Caleb stood stiffly in front of the desk, jaw locked, arms crossed. His body still bore dried bruises from the last run in the Deepspace tunnel, but this meeting wasn’t about wounds. This was something else.

Lance didn’t look up right away. Just tapped at a file with his index finger—the top read:

Subject: Nyx– Vampire / Evol Class: Electrokinetic

“I already said no,” Caleb said flatly. “I’m not housing a bloodsucking war relic under my roof.” His voice was final as he looked at the General with a frown. His whole body was full of restraint, trying not to punch the person in front of him. 

Lance’s eyes finally met his. “You don’t have a choice.”

Caleb stepped forward. “I’m not babysitting her. You want eyes on her? Assign someone from intel. Or a reinforced lab. Hell, chain her up in the observation tower if you’re feeling generous. But not in my goddamn home.”

Lance leaned back, his chair creaking, the shadows deepening around his face. “We considered that.”

“And?”

“She refused containment.” He answered flatly. “Offered full cooperation—but only under one condition: she chooses her own handler.”

Caleb laughed dryly at his statement, rubbing his temples with frustration. “And she picked me? That’s rich.”

“No.” Lance stood, walking to the liquor shelf. He didn’t pour a drink. Just stared at the bottle. “We did.”

Silence crackled like static.

“Why?” Caleb asked tightly. Now he is ready to punch the shit out of him.

Lance turned. “Because you’re the only one who didn’t flinch when she walked in.”

Caleb huffed at his statement, crossing his arms as his brows furrowed together, “I didn’t flinch because I’m not an idiot. I know monsters. And I don’t trust this one.”

“Good. You’re not supposed to trust her. You’re supposed to watch her. Close. Up very close.”

Caleb’s fists clenched, glancing at the pictures placed in front of him. Picture of the supposedly cooperative vampire who vowed to wipe out the wanderers, “I’m not dragging a centuries-old vampire into my space just to keep your hands clean. This isn’t intel—it’s suicide with a nightlight.”

Lance's expression didn’t change. “Adriana’s still in Recovery Ward, isn’t she?”

The air shifted. He said it casually—almost like a footnote.

Caleb’s voice dropped to ice. “Don’t.” She’s the only family he have.

“Her evol’s unstable. Yet she is a hunter.” The silence was no longer heavy—it was choking.

“You’re blackmailing me,” Caleb said through his teeth. His fingers were digging onto his skin and he is sure that he’s already drawing blood.

Lance finally poured the drink. “I’m giving you a mission.”

He took a sip. “Adriana’s file stays clean. She stays safe. You take the vampire in. Monitor her. Control her. And if needed—neutralize her.”

“You son of a—”

“—Or I reassigned Adriana to the N109 zone. The ones without shields.”

Caleb said nothing for a long moment. His jaw flexed. His fists tightened. Then, finally—

“Fine.” The word dropped like a knife. Lance gave a single nod.

“She moves in tomorrow.”

The overhead lights buzzed as he walked away from the office, the weight of the deal digging into his spine.

Adriana.

His only family left.

And now he was dragging a nightmare into his own home to keep her safe.

He muttered under his breath, bitter as a gunmetal, “You better be worth it, vampire.”

═══════════════════════

The door slammed shut with a violent clang.

Three steel locks. An interior bolt. Biometric security.

Followed with silence. (Y/n) stood in the center of the room, her coat damp from the rain, hair clinging to her cheekbones, utterly unbothered. She turned slowly, taking in the space—bare concrete walls, no windows, a simple cot, sink, and weapons cabinet.

Clean, sterile. Impersonal.

“You always keep your guests caged like this?” she asked, voice smooth. Chuckling at how bare her room is, a single bed. No light, not even a window. 

Caleb stood by the door, staring at her like she was a landmine with a ticking light under her skin. “You’re not a guest,” he said flatly. “You’re a test I haven’t agreed to take yet.”

She raised a brow, stepping towards the bed sitting, legs crossed, perfectly poised.

“Are you scared of me, Colonel?” Her voice were teasing as she touch her wrist, still feeling the chains that were wrapped on her arms and feet a few minutes ago. 

“I don’t fear monsters,” he said.

“No, of course not,” she replied, eyeing the security panel behind him. “But you fear what they make you feel.”

He didn’t respond. Just left. His footsteps echoed in his home. She was alone. Just as she always was. 

It was the fourth day. 

The silence in the hallway had a pulse now. Something wrong stirred behind the steel door. At first, it was faint—barely a sound.

But then he heard it. A soft gasp. Then another, more shakier.

Then something like a choked sob swallowed back with effort. Caleb sat up from the sofa he kept in the hall. He’d slept there, rifle and vervain within reach, boots still on. His brows drew tight as he listened.

A moment later— “Colonel…”

Her voice was barely audible, muffled through the door. He stood, inching towards the door, not responding.

“I won’t hurt you…” she rasped. “I haven’t fed in days… I—I need something. Just something raw. Chicken liver… pigs’ blood… anything. I’m holding back but I can’t—” her breath hitched, he can hear her pained expression “I can’t breathe right.”

She was trying to stay still. Trying not to scare him. “I’m not asking for a body, Caleb,” she said, lower now. “I just don’t want to go feral in your living room.”

Silence.

He clenched his fists. He wanted to ignore it. She was a predator. An immortal. A threat.

But she sounded weak. And those weren’t growls. They were whimpers.

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tense. She could be faking this. This could be manipulation.

But then again… what if it wasn’t?

Another broken breath filtered through the reinforced steel. Then came the words, barely whispered, “Please.”

Caleb swore under his breath, then grabbed the security panel and unlocked the first bolt.

Clank.

Then another.

He stopped at the final lock.

“You so much as twitch toward me, and I’ll blow your heart out your back.”

“Fair trade,” she whispered.

The final lock was released.

As Caleb went inside the Room, a rifle in hand. Knife on his thigh and vervain on his neck. 

“Not afraid my ass.” She teased between breaths at how ready he is to annihilate her. 

She hadn’t moved from the floor. Her body was curled in on itself near the wall, knees to her chest, trembling. Her skin looked waxy, pale—even for her. Her breath stuttered like she was suffocating without touch.

But her eyes lifted to meet his—tired, red-veined, desperate.

No hunger. No rage. Just restraint hanging by threads.

“I don’t want to be a monster,” she murmured. “But you’ve locked one in here anyway.”

Caleb didn’t answer. He stepped out. And returned five minutes later with a sealed bio-pack from the med labs—synthetic blood, heavily rationed and never meant for enemies.

He tossed it at her feet. She didn’t pounce. Didn’t bare her fangs. Just picked it up with shaking hands and sank her teeth in quietly, like someone ashamed of needing to breathe.

He watched the whole time.

When she finished, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, leaned back against the wall, and exhaled.

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

Caleb stayed silent. But for the first time…He didn’t lock the door again. 

═══════════════════════

Location: Sector 11 — Fogged Out Zone

The wind was wrong.

It was too still.

Too quiet.

Colonel Caleb moved between the skeletal remains of collapsed steel towers, his boots crunching over ash and shattered glass. His team was gone—slaughtered or scattered—leaving only him and the echo of screams fading into nothing.

His fingers clenched around the hilt of his gun, his evol ready to activate with his command. With a flick of his wrist, metal plates and debris hovered midair around him like orbiting satellites.

“Come on,” he muttered. “I know you’re still here.”

Then he felt it.

A pressure shift. Not in the air—in him. Something pushed back.

And then— BOOM.

A creature landed hard from above, shattering the ground beneath it.

Not a standard Wanderer. Its skin was stretched too tight over a crystallized skull, its veins glowing with a sickly green bio light. Long, serrated claws twitched and its elongated neck turned in unnatural, slow, precise movements.

Its eyes were intelligent.

Worse—it smiled.

Caleb launched every piece of debris at it in a single wave.

With a twist of his fist, the gravity field compressed—a localized implosion around the creature’s chest. As he load his gun and aimed at it’s core. 

CRACK— The creature stumbled. But didn’t fall.

Then it lunged.

It moved like a bullet—a blur of claws and teeth. Caleb barely got a shield up in time, his body thrown backwards and slammed into a collapsed container.

His ribs screamed.

He twisted, flicked his wrist again. The earth buckled beneath the creature as he tried to pin it down using sheer force—he increased the weight a thousandfold.

It screamed, its bones beginning to bend. But then it adapted.

The creature sank into the ground, letting itself compress with the gravity field, and twisted out in a liquid motion, lunging again. It learned his power in seconds.

Caleb grunted, blood in his mouth, as the creature leapt—and then it stopped.

Midair. Frozen. Electrified.

A blinding spear of blue lightning struck the creature’s side, frying its mutated muscles mid-motion and slamming it sideways into a broken pylon. Steam rose from its convulsing frame.

A shadow stepped between them.

Eyes glowing faintly under the storm-lit sky.

Nyx. 

Hair loose. Hands crackling with violent, unstable current.

“Get up,” she said to Caleb, voice calm but burning. “You look pathetic.” Her voice was flat but it showed a hint of concern. Looking at his state, she frowned. 

He coughed and dragged himself to a knee, glaring. “You—what are you doing here?”

“You left the door unlocked,” she shrugged. “I took that as an invitation.”

The Wanderer rose—half its face scorched, snarling now. No more words. Just rage.

It darted toward them again—but Y/n didn’t move.

She lifted one hand. The air changed. Electricity snapped like a whip, striking the creature in the chest. It screamed, but kept coming.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Stay. Down.”

BOOM.

A second bolt erupted from her palm—this one laced with sound, vibrating at a frequency only Wanderers could hear. The ground beneath the creature shattered. Its skin began to peel back from its skull, melting, twitching, screaming.

And then she was there, faster than the eye.

She moved like light itself.

One hand gripped the creature’s jaw, the other on its throat, and she channeled every volt she had through it.

It convulsed, screamed—and then went silent, eyes burning out from the inside.

The corpse dropped. Smoking.

Silence returned.

Caleb stared, breathing hard, blood running from his temple.

“…You killed it.”

She turned to him slowly. Her hands were still sparking.

“You’re welcome.”

He stood shakily. “I had it handled.”

“Mm. Sure,” she said, stepping closer, eyes flicking over his injuries. He is clutching his sides. Noting the smell of blood on his wounds “Gravity can only do so much. You bend the world. But I burn it.”

He didn’t reply. But he didn’t look away, either.

═══════════════════════

Location: Caleb’s Quarters – Skyhaven

The storm outside had not stopped. It rattled against the steel panels like war drums—steady, hollow, ominous.  Inside, Caleb sat at the edge of the sofa, shirt stripped off, bloodied gauze in one hand, alcohol bottle in the other. His torso was a tapestry of bruises and fractured ribs, purple and black swallowing every breath he took.

He winced as he poured the alcohol over a deep gash across his side. The hiss of pain escaped through clenched teeth. “You’re doing it wrong.” Her voice broke the silence. Looking at how poorly he was treating his wounds. 

He didn’t jump at her sudden statement. 

She was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, still wearing his uniform that she grabbed out of haste. Her eyes glowed faintly in the low light, but her posture was… human. Still. Unthreatening—for once.

Caleb didn’t look at her. “Didn’t ask for help.” His voice was neutral as he tried so hard not scream at the intense pain of the wound that wanderer inflicted.

“You didn’t ask for a rescue either,” she said, stepping forward slowly. “But here we are.”

She stopped in front of him, crouched down. Without waiting for permission, she took the bottle from his hand and the gauze, moving with precision and terrifying gentleness. Her fingers were cold against his skin, but not unkind.

Caleb watched her in silence. Letting her.

Lightning flared outside the windowless wall, and for a moment, it cast her features in sharp, beautiful angles. Like marble brought to life. “You weren’t ordered to come,” he said finally. “I checked.”

She paused only a second. Her eyes flickered on his, making him catch his breath. 

“No.”

He blinked at her, breath shallow. “So why did you?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just kept cleaning the wounds. Her brows slightly drawn. Something fragile flickered through her features—but it disappeared almost as quickly.

“Because I heard your comms go dead,” she said softly. “And I thought…” She stopped. Looked up at him. “I thought I was too late.”

Caleb stared at her. His breath caught—not from pain this time. He swallowed. “You thought I was dead?” He questioned as he heard the crackle of lightning and thunder outside. 

She gave a faint laugh. It sounded more like an exhale. “You’re a pain in the ass, Colonel. But… the silence felt different this time.”

The storm growled outside. And the soft chatter of the television made the scene more intense. 

He spoke again, quieter now. “You could’ve stayed. In here. Safe. I locked you in for a reason.”

“I know,” she said. “But you left the lock open.”

That stopped him.

He hadn’t realized he did. Or maybe… he had.

She sat down beside him now, not touching, just close enough to feel the static hum of her body. She looked ahead, voice steady but quieter than before.

“You see me as a threat. A weapon. I don’t blame you. You’re trained to see monsters.”

“You’re not wrong,” he said, as he looked at outside the window. “But not completely right, either.”

Silence stretched between them. Caleb is still watching outside the window, every flash of lightning reminds him of the sparks in her fingertips when she saved him. That raw untamed energy. The kind of power that didn’t just strike, it claims. 

He finally glanced her way. “You saved my life.”

She smirked, just a little. “You’ll get over it.”

Another pause. Taking note of the outfit she is wearing. It was his colonel uniform. A bit big for her but it looks nice.

He realized he was staring and so he cleared his throat. He can hear her teasing how red his ears were. Trying his hardest to deny it. 

Then he asked about it. The one that mattered. “Why me?”

Her smirk faded with his question. She tilted her head as she looked at his purple and orange hues. 

She turned to look at him fully now, eyes searching his face like she was measuring how much of herself she was willing to give away.

“Because when I walked into that room, everyone flinched.” She paused as she finished up wrapping his bandage.  Trying hard not to breath in the air around him. His blood is invading her senses that before tending his wounds, she inhaled an antiseptic to somewhat cloud her predator instincts,  “Everyone but you. And I wanted to know why.”

Their eyes locked.

Caleb’s voice was lower now. Rough. “Are you still looking for that answer?”

“Maybe,” she said, standing again. “Maybe I found it.”

She moved toward the far side of the room but stopped just before reaching the wall.

“Sleep, Colonel. You’re no use to me dead.”

“You came for me.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

And then she disappeared into the dark corner of the room where she usually sat—quiet, still, watching. “And my name is not Nyx. It’s (Y/n).” Her voice echoed on his home. 

His head whipped at her voice, feeling cold as he missed how her fingers felt when tending his wounds.  He wasn’t watching her out of fear. This time, it was something else.

═══════════════════════

Location: Skyhaven command – War room 

Caleb stood tall, slightly flinching at the dull pain on his torso,  arms behind his back as General Lance reviewed the report on the holo-screen, eyes scanning the debrief. “Single-handedly brought down an S-grade. That what you’re telling me?” the General asked, raising a brow.

Caleb didn’t blink. “No. She brought it down. I just stayed alive long enough to watch it.”

Lance leaned back in his chair, studying him.

“I’ll be blunt, Colonel. I expected you to be digging a grave today.” His voice was neutral, yet impressed at what Nyx is capable of.  “Instead, you’re limping and—miraculously—not bleeding out. Consider this an anomaly worth rewarding.”

A flick of his wrist. “Take 48 hours off. I want your body functional next cycle. And your judgment…” he paused as he looked at Caleb’s state. “recalibrated.”

Caleb offered a short nod. “Understood.”

═══════════════════════

Location: Caleb’s Quarters

The door creaked open with a low metallic groan.

Caleb stepped in, tossing his gloves onto the shelf by instinct. His eyes went straight to the corner of the room—where she always sat, legs drawn up beneath her, expression unreadable.

(Y/n)—known to the rest of the Fleet as Nyx—lifted her head lazily. She looked… settled. But not weak.

Caleb didn’t say anything at first. Just walked past her and dropped a sealed black container on the table. She stiffened as she inhaled the contents inside the container. Her eyes zeroed in.

She looked better than she had the night of the fight—less like a coiled weapon, more like a woman trying to survive in a space that barely tolerated her.

Caleb said nothing at first. He walked to the counter and pulled something from the portable cooler.

She tilted her head. “You came back.” 

“Was I not supposed to?” His tone was light as he placed the contents out for her to see. 

“You left the door unlocked again,” she said, watching him closely. Trying to make sense of his expression, he is difficult to read. “Maybe you hoped I’d vanish while you were gone.”

He opened the black container and placed it gently on the table between them. Then a second. Both warm. Sealed. Marked “Raw Supply – No Additive.”

“I hoped you’d still be here,” he admitted. His nose scrunched upon smelling the blood, stepping away from it. 

That made her pause. She stared at the blood packs. Slowly stood from where she was setting, carefully putting the soft pillows where it belonged and stepped into his space.

“Deer and pig,” she murmured, reading the label. “Better than synthetic. Where did you get these?”

“Off-record source. Don’t ask.” He muttered as he sat on the opposite of her, away enough for him not to smell the blood. Turning on the humidifier, desperate to smell the essential oils and not the metallic smell of blood. Making her laugh at his actions, amused at his attempts to omit the smell, but thankful for his gift. 

“That was risky,” she said, eyeing him now—not suspicious, but intrigued.

“You’re still bleeding under your ribs,” he said instead, nodding toward the faint spot on her shirt. “Drink.”

“You’re bossy today.” She mused, noticing his sharp eyes. 

“Only when someone refuses to heal properly.” It is true, healing and blood consumption goes hand in hand. The less she feeds, the harder for her body to heal. 

She took the blood pack without breaking eye contact. Bit the seal with clean precision and drank from it.

Caleb watched her—watched her throat move as she swallowed, the way her shoulders loosened slightly with relief. There was something disarming about seeing her like this—not in a battlefield, not burning with voltage—but here, just… trying.

“You don’t flinch anymore,” she said softly, lowering the empty pack.

“I never did.”

“Not true,” she smiled. “The first time I spoke, your heart skipped. I heard it.”

He gave her a sharp look, a slow roll of his eyes, but there was no bite behind it. 

“You eavesdrop on heartbeats now?”

“Yours is unusually steady these days,” she said, stepping slightly closer.  There were only inches between them now. The air was dense—not with tension, but with something that hadn’t existed a week ago.

He should’ve stepped back. He didn’t.

“You saved me,” he said suddenly.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he continued, tone quiet now. “You weren’t ordered. You weren’t even supposed to be near any zones yet.”

“I’m well aware.”

“So why?”

Her gaze flicked down. Then back up as she shrugged, “You left the lock open.”

That again. He exhaled through his nose, shook his head. But he didn’t deny it.

She looked at him for a long time. Then stepped back—carefully—not because she wanted to, but because if she didn’t, something between them might give.

Caleb’s voice was rough when he finally spoke again:

“I’ll bring more tomorrow. Real stuff.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

She turned, her back to him now, but she said one last thing before slipping into the far corner:

“You should be careful, Colonel.”

He raised a brow. “Of what?”

She looked over her shoulder, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips as she went back inside her room. “Caring.”

Then she vanished into the dim part of the room again, silent and still.

Caleb stood there for a while after. He didn’t move. He just looked down at the empty blood pack on the table, then at the place where she had stood.

His heart? It skipped.

This time, he was pretty sure she heard it.

═══════════════════════

Location: Command Briefing Room — Skyhaven Base

The ceiling lights hummed, casting a sterile white glow across the sleek, obsidian table. Holographic projections hovered above it—displaying Zone 14’s terrain: jagged ridges, collapsed bunkers, and a dim pulsing dot where the Aether signal flickered like a heartbeat.

Caleb stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, posture tight.

(Y/n)—still going by Nyx in this space—sat alone at the far end of the table, lounging like she didn’t care. But Caleb had watched her long enough to know that when she looked relaxed, it meant she was paying very close attention.

Her eyes scanned the hologram in silence. Then the General entered. Lances’s boots clicked with precision, his uniform pressed so sharply it looked like it could cut. The man always carried the weight of authority like a loaded weapon and used it with the same precision.

“Nyx,” he greeted without warmth. “You’re being deployed at  Zone 14.”

She didn’t move. Just blinked slowly. Trying to make sense at his order,

“I wasn’t aware Zone 14 was cleared for operation,” she said flatly. That zone is closed for a valid reason. 

“It wasn’t. Until now,” Lance replied. “We’ve detected a dormant Aether core. Minimal resistance, low-level Wanderer movement—if any. You’re to retrieve the core and return.”

A flick of his fingers, and the map rotated. Another pulse blinked—a slow, weak signal. Barely anything.

But something in the simplicity made Caleb’s stomach twist.

It was too clean. Too quiet.

(Y/n) stared at the projection, then leaned back in her chair. She twirled one of her pen with two fingers—casually, like she was trying to stay awake in class.

“And why me?”

“You’re fast. Lethal. Disposable, if need be.” Lance said, smiling faintly.

Caleb’s jaw clenched at the General’s statement, leaning over the table. “Ouch.” She responded with a smirk. The general is indeed blunt.

“She just defeated a S-rank wanderer,” Caleb said coldly. “Her evol hasn’t fully stabilized.”

Lance didn’t even look at him. “And yet here she stands.”

(Y/n) didn’t flinch as she looked at the map intently. “You want me to go in alone?” She asked, despite knowing the answer she wanted to clarify it.

“Your presence would only spook the energy readings,” Lance replied, calm as ever. “Too many boots in the zone could trigger Wanderer aggression. Besides—what could take you down? You’ve killed more things than any soldier in this room.” She grew silent as her lips pull into a tight line. This man is more monstrous than herself. He really see her as something disposable, a machine with no soul. And that made her frown for a split moment. Caleb who’s been looking at her intently noted her expression. Clenching his jaw at the absurdity of the General’s orders. 

Caleb’s voiced cut to (Y/n)’s thoughts, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the glowing red circle on the map – the Aether core.. “What kind of surveillance are we working with?”

“Minimal. Static drone support—just enough to track her signal,” Lance answered, lifting a hand. “Comms will remain open, but no reinforcements unless your vital signs flatline.”

Flatline.

That word echoed in Caleb’s skull like gunfire. His hands were fisted now, hidden under crossed arms.

(Y/n) gave a crooked smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You think I’m stupid?”

“No,” the General said. “I think you’re efficient.”

She didn’t answer right away. She glanced over the mission files again, then turned her gaze—not to the General—but to Caleb.

Only for a second. That second stretched too long.

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Not without risking giving something away.

But his silence? It wasn’t neutral anymore. And she saw it.

“I’ll leave at dawn,” she said, standing.

Lance nodded. “Your gear will be prepped. One firearm. A standard ammo belt. Take what you need and nothing more.”

She passed near Caleb on her way out. He didn’t move.

She paused just briefly—long enough to whisper, “You left the lock closed this time.”

Then she was gone. The door sealed behind her with a hiss.

Then there was silence. Leaving him and General in the room.

Lance finally turned toward Caleb, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve grown… invested, Colonel.”

Caleb’s gaze was cold, unreadable. “I don’t make it a habit.”

“You’re not a fool,” Lance said, circling the table slowly. “You know what she is. What she was.”

“She’s what you made her into,” Caleb spoken, his gazed towards the map of Zone 14.

“No,” the General said, voice almost gentle. “She’s what the world made her into. I just gave her a reason to keep breathing.”

Caleb stayed quiet. “Don’t lose focus,” Lance said. “She’s a weapon. Treat her like one.”

Then he left. 

Caleb didn’t move for a long time. But something in his chest felt like it was splitting.

═══════════════════════ 

Location: Lower Armory Hall

The lights in the hallway buzzed overhead—cold, flickering strips that made everything feel like a countdown. (Y/n) stood alone in the prep bay. Her coat was slung across a crate, half-buttoned. Her gear laid out with military precision: Five reload clips, one compact gun, and a blood pack she didn’t even glance at.

She moved calmly. Quietly. Like someone used to going in alone. The silence was heavy. Yet she was used to it. 

Wandering alone is something she is used to.  Until she heard him. His footsteps were heavy, especially when he is still limping from his injury. 

The door slid open behind her with a hiss.She didn’t turn around. But she knew it was him. Caleb.

“Colonel Xia,” she said, voice flat. “I’m not due for escort.” 

“I know.” Caleb stood just inside the doorway, arms stiff at his sides, jaw set tight. He looked like he’d come here to deliver an order. But forgot what it was the moment he saw her.

She zipped the final strap on her thigh holster and turned to face him.

Their eyes locked. “Did you come to watch me leave?” she asked.

The room pulsed with silence. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until only the metal table stood between them.

She reached for her coat. “Zone 14,” she said, as if testing the words. “Four-day march in and out. No reinforcements. Aether core in a ghost sector.”

He didn’t respond. Just watched her hands tighten the buttons.

“You still think it’s a clean mission?” she asked, voice quieter now. Even she knew something is up, and yet she made a pact with the fleet. It is her duty to follow commands. 

“No,” he admitted. She looked at him then. And for a second, something flickered between them.

“Say it,” she said, looking at the storm brewing in his hues.

“What?”

“Whatever you came here to say.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His throat bobbed with the words he couldn’t form.

Be careful.

Don’t die.

I’ll wait.

Please come back.

Instead, he said…“Make it quick.”

Something in her expression faltered—just barely—but she caught it before it could fall apart.

“Right,” she said, nodding once. “No one likes a lingering monster.”

He flinched. Not visibly—but it was there. She reached for the blood pack, tucked it into her coat. Reached for her gun.

Then paused.

“If you tell me not to go,” she said, not looking at him, “I might stay.”

The silence was absolute. Caleb’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. His heart thundered in his chest. Not from fear. From her words. From what they asked of him. But he stayed quiet.

And that silence?

It was the answer.

(Y/n) nodded again. Just once.

“Didn’t think so.”

She turned, slowly pulling on her gloves. The mechanical click of her gear strapping into place echoed louder than anything either of them said. Caleb finally stepped forward, brushing past the table. He reached into his coat and held something out to her.

“Here.”

She looked at it. A blade. A narrow silver combat knife—not Fleet-issued.

“Not your style,” she said, hesitating as she took it.

“It was mine. Before I joined the Fleet.”

Her brows lifted faintly, eyeing at the blade. Taking note of the text placed there.  

Anticipating for your return. 

“Didn’t peg you as sentimental.” She mused as she placed it on her thigh, securing it with a belt. 

“I’m not.” Their eyes met again. Words of yearning floated around them, but not a single word has spoken. 

“I’ll bring it back,” she said.

“You better.” They stood like that for a moment. No words left. Just heavy, almost unbearable stillness between them. And then she turned and walked away, the sound of her boots the only thing filling the room now.

Caleb watched her until she vanished through the exit doors—his jaw tight, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. And when the silence swallowed her steps, he whispered to no one,

“Please come back. (Y/n).”

═══════════════════════

It had been four days.

Four days since the Zone 14 deployment. Three days since the last signal ping.

Forty-five hours since Caleb’s unease turned into something worse.

He tried not to show it. He tried.

The rain outside the base was relentless, smearing the viewports with gray. Every hallway he passed echoed louder than usual—like the entire structure was holding its breath.

Caleb stormed into Central Operations with his usual silence, but this time, it carried weight.

He walked straight to the main terminal. His steps were sharp, deliberate. His jaw locked. Shoulders squared. Every movement coiled tight with something he hadn’t put a name to yet.

“Where is she?”

The lieutenant on duty flinched. “Sir?”

“Nyx,” Caleb said, voice clipped. “Zone 14. Status update.”

The young man blinked, typing hastily. “Uh—yes, sir. Just a moment—”

Caleb leaned forward over the edge of the console, his feet tapping with impatience. The screen loaded.

“Last known ping—Day 3, 3:21 A.M.,” the lieutenant read aloud. “Tracking ceased due to environmental interference. No signal since. No report filed. The mission was tagged low-risk. No evac scheduled.”

Caleb’s voice turned to ice. “You haven’t received anything in two days, and no one flagged it?”

The officer stammered. “We—General Lance said the operative could handle herself. She was briefed solo. Said she’d return once the core was secured—”

“And you just accepted that?” he snapped as he looked at the screen again. There were no updates on the last thirty hours and there were no reports or even an announcement for back up. 

The room paused. Several lower-ranked officers looked over warily.

“She’s not a robot,” Caleb said, he was seething but kept his voice neutral. “She’s running on limited blood. One gun. No backup. No support. And you’ve been sitting here waiting for her to walk through the damn gate like it’s routine?”

No one answered. Caleb turned sharply and walked to the second terminal himself. He pulled up the encrypted logs—his access clearance overriding half the locked sections.

His fingers moved fast across the glass.

Movement logs—nothing.

Comms—silent.

Drone telemetry—mostly static.

But then—A blip.

Just one.

A weak, flickering signal. Faint. Fading in and out near the edge of the outer perimeter. No visual. No ID tag. No sound.

It wasn’t a transmission. It wasn’t even a beacon. Just motion.

“Is that her?” he asked.

“We can’t confirm—”

“Run it through infrared.” There it was. The outline of a body.

Staggering. Slow. Dragging itself over the rocks and wire.

The lieutenant fumbled to comply. “It’s—sir, it’s… unstable. But there’s movement. Slow. There’s… a blip moving toward perimeter Gate 3. It—it might be her.”

He didn’t wait. Caleb was already gone before he finished the sentence.

Location: Gate 3 – Outer Perimeter

The air outside the gate was colder. Biting.

Caleb didn’t wait for clearance. He took the side route, the manual override. Mud splashed over his boots as he ran through the gravel path beyond the shield lines, the wind howling in his ears.

His eyes scanned the horizon, his movements were frantic as he tried to make sense of the fog—And then—there.

A figure limping along the tree line. One leg nearly giving out with every step. Torn coat. Streaks of dried blood on the side of her face. Her gun dragging uselessly in one hand. Her other hand gripping her ribs, as though her bones were holding her up more than her will.

His chest locked.

“(Y/n)!” She looked up slowly. Her face registered him—but only barely. Her lips parted like she might say something, but her knees buckled—in a split second he was right by her side and caught her.

Her body collapsed into his like a ghost finally allowed to rest. He dropped to his knees in the mud, pulling her against his chest. She was freezing.

“Hey. Stay with me,” he said, louder than he meant to. “Don’t close your eyes.”

She exhaled against him—weak. Shallow. But alive. “You… you came,” she rasped, her voice was hoarsed and her lips were cracked. It could be from exhaustion or from the lack of blood.

“Of course I did.”

“Didn’t think you would,” she whispered, barely audible. “Didn’t leave the lock open this time.”

His eyes stung. He pulled off his coat, wrapped it around her body, pressed his hand to the back of her neck.

“I didn’t think you’d make it this far,” he said, voice rough. “Neither… did I.”

He scooped her up, mud, blood, and all. And carried her through the gate, shouting for the med team as he moved. She didn’t protest. Couldn’t. Her mission was horrific, it was the first time that she felt like she was dying. The wanderers are swift, she can barely graze their core with her evol. 

Caleb hold her against his chest and stormed through the gate. His increased heart beat somewhat lull her to sleep. And she barely even sleep given her nature. 

When the med team reached out to take her, Caleb didn’t let go right away.

“She needs blood,” he said tightly. “Not synthetic. Not diluted.”

“Sir—” the medic tried to protest. 

“Get it.”

Only then did he lay her down. She never opened her eyes. But her hand twitched—barely—and brushed his coat as he stepped away. A silent thank you.

The medic worked in silence. Though their movements were hesitant, they are not treating a human. A vampire’s system is different from what they are used to. And it didn’t help that a certain Colonel was hovering in the distance. Staring at their movements intently, making sure they did what they needed to do and didn't have any foul play. 

Caleb who has paperworks to do, soldiers to train didn’t leave (Y/n)’s side. He sat beside her, arms crossed tightly, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. The machines beeped softly, steady but slow. Too slow for his liking.

A nurse moved to inject a synthetic plasma pack. Caleb stopped her.

 “She needs real blood,” he said quietly.

“Sir, we’re out—”

He raised her brow at her, “Then get some.”

“Colonel, that kind of blood isn’t—”

He stood. The nurse stepped back instinctively. His presence itself made her shiver with fear. This man can kill her if he wanted to, “She made it back from a suicide zone. Alone. And no one even noticed she was gone.”

“We weren’t informed—” she tried to protest, but Caleb’s gaze was stern. He wouldn’t take no for an answer

“I’m informing you now.”

Silence.

He sat back down. Rested his forearms on his knees. Stared at her bruised face. The cracked lips. The unconscious way her fingers twitched in her sleep like she was still reaching for her weapon. His gaze softened at the state she was in, the fleet refused to give her real human blood. Probably to assert dominance, if they give her human blood she will be unstoppable. 

She has barely fed. Yet she is strong enough to defeat Six high ranking wanderers and five low-ranking ones. All by herself. That amount of wanderers would’ve need four of the fleet’s top squads and there wasn’t any guarantee that they will be unscathed. 

He looks at the slope of her features. She looks peaceful when sleeping, he can’t help but hover his fingers on her cheeks but stop himself midway. 

He stared at his hovering hands, confused at his own actions. 

He leaned forward slightly, his voice so low it barely reached her,

“You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“I should’ve stopped you.”

“I should’ve said something.”

And though she didn’t wake—

Her fingers curled slightly toward the sound of his voice.

═══════════════════════

Location: Command Operations Center – General’s Office

The base was quiet. But not in a peaceful way. The kind of quiet where the storm had already come and gone, leaving behind blood on the snow and a name no one wanted to speak aloud.

Caleb stood in front of the General’s door for exactly three seconds before he opened it without knocking. General Lance looked up from his console, unsurprised with his presence.

“Colonel Xia,” he said coolly. “I didn’t schedule a debrief.”

Caleb stepped inside. Shut the door behind him. Didn’t even sit. “You sent her there to die.”

Lance blinked slowly. Leaned back in his chair like this was just another strategy review. “Zone 14 was a live test. The Aether core was real, the wanderers were unexpected.”

“Bullshit.” Caleb’s voice dropped low. Controlled. But behind that calm was a storm.

“There were six high-ranking wanderers patrolling that zone. You had that intel. You sent her alone, without backup, without blood, without even a long-range beacon.”

“And yet she returned,” General Lance said mildly. “Which proves what I’ve said from the start. She’s more effective than any of us give her credit for.”

“She almost died,” Caleb hissed at his words, trying not to unravel the fury he felt blooming on his chest, “She was starving. Bleeding out. And no one was even watching for her return. You didn’t just gamble with a mission. You gambled with her life.”

General Lance stood then. Calm. Imposing. His hands folded neatly behind his back. “You’re speaking very emotionally for someone who claimed he could remain objective.”

Caleb’s jaw ticked. He can even feel the vein popping out on his forehead.

General Lance took a step closer. “You think I don’t see it? The way you hover around her now. The extra blood packs in your requisition. The way you defend her like she’s something fragile. She’s not, Colonel. She’s a weapon. A perfect one. And like all weapons—she was made to be used.”

“She’s not just a weapon,” Caleb said, low and dangerous.

Lance tilted his head. “No? Then what is she?”

Caleb didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not without giving too much away.

But the silence was louder than a scream.

Lance’s voice softened, mockingly gentle, “You’re getting attached. That’s not like you, Colonel Caleb.”

“You put a leash on her and pretended it was mercy,” Caleb said through his teeth as he remembered her return, she was weak, bloodied–starving, “But what you did out there—that wasn’t strategy. That was extermination.”

Lance let out a slow breath. Almost a sigh as he look at his subordinate. “Do you know why I made you her handler?” he asked, walking back toward his desk. “Because I thought you were the kind of man who understood sacrifice. Cold decisions. Doing what needs to be done.”

He paused, looking over his shoulder. “Was I wrong?”

Caleb didn’t flinch. “You were wrong about a lot of things.”

Lance sat again, unfazed. “Then submit your reassignment request. If you’re no longer fit to oversee the asset, I’ll find someone else who is.”

Caleb’s fingers twitched. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to drag the truth out of this man by force. But he turned.

His voice was quiet but it was lethal. “You sent her out there to break her.”

“She didn’t break.”

He stopped at the door and clenched his jaw. And then, without waiting for permission, he walked out.

═══════════════════════

Location: Recovery Wing

The steady beeping of the vitals monitor had become white noise. (Y/n) sat upright now, a thin blanket draped over her legs. Her coat lay folded beside her on the bed, and fresh gauze was wrapped around her shoulder, though the wounds had mostly closed. Her body was healing—slowly, but surely. A full blood infusion helped.

So did the fact that he was there. Again.

She heard him before she saw him.

Boots.

Confident, even strides. Too familiar by now.

The door hissed open, and there he was—Colonel Caleb Xia. Dressed in full uniform. Fresh from wherever the hell he stormed off to after he left her bedside the night before. This man looks sharp with his uniform that she sucks in a breath to just ogle at him but catch herself before he would notice. 

“Back so soon?” she asked, voice dry as she pulled the blanket to her torso, yawning. 

“You’re being discharged.” 

“No hello, no flowers, no dramatic monologue?” she teased, tilting her head. “Shame. I nearly died.” 

“You didn’t.” His answer was clipped as he stepped inside, holding a small black case. Dropped it gently on the table beside her. She glanced at it.

“What’s that? Another tracker?”

“Clothes.” She blinked.

“Fleet-issue. Figured you were tired of the bloodstained look.” 

“I was going for war-torn chic.” She smirked at his reaction, he was looking at her sharply but noticed how his gaze lingered as a faint twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth—just a flicker—but she saw it.

“You’re walking,” he said, glancing over her chart. “Vitals stabilized. They want the bed cleared for the next poor soul who comes back in pieces.”

She exhaled softly. “Charming.”

“You can rest in my apartment.”

(Y/n)’s brows rose. “Again? You sure that’s not a General’s order?” She is sure that his actions on Gate 3 were not under the command of the General. 

“It’s mine,” he replied, almost too quickly. Then added, “Temporary.”

She slid her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing slightly as her shoulder pulled. He moved instinctively—ready to steady her—but stopped when he saw her smirk.

“What, scared I’ll collapse and bleed all over your shiny boots?”

“I’m not the one who almost got torn in half by a high-rank.”

Upon his statement, several high-ranking wanderers flashed through her mind, four days of fighting them non-stop for a single aether core made her frown, “Mm. Don’t remind me.” She pulled on the coat he brought her—it was a size too big, smelled faintly of iron and pine.

His scent.

She stood, slower this time, but on her own feet. She adjusted the coat sleeves, then looked at him over her shoulder. “So. You bringing me back to your fortress of silence… again. Am I going to be locked in this time?” She jested.

“No.”

“You sure? I could always try the vents.” She winked at his neutral expression. It’s fun teasing him. 

“The locks don’t matter,” he said simply. She stilled and turned to face him. There was something different in his voice. Not gentler. Not softer. Just… honest. Grounded.

“You could leave whenever you wanted,” he added.

“But I didn’t,” she said, voice quiet. She wanted to add that she always keep her word of being the Fleet’s weapon but decided not to. 

Their eyes met—too long, too heavy. He looked away first.

═══════════════════════

Location: Caleb’s Quarters

The door slid open with a soft hiss. She stepped in first, scanning the familiar space—same black counters, same spare walls. Same cold air that used to feel like a cage. But this time, he followed her in.

She turned back to him with a lazy smile.

“Back where it all began. Where you glared at me like I was going to murder you in your sleep.”

“You were.”

“Only if you snored.” She jested as she stretched her limbs. It’s still sore but her body is healed now. 

She dropped the coat onto the couch and moved toward the kitchenette. The same place she once vomited Fleet rations into the sink, trying to pretend she was fine. That damn General fed her human food. 

Caleb watched her carefully. “You need anything?” he asked. “Blood’s in the fridge. The good kind.”

“You stocked up?” she teased. “How thoughtful. How suspiciously domestic.” He didn’t answer, just crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching her. She opened the fridge, pulled out a sealed blood pouch—deer, she could tell. Rich, raw. Her hands slowed. “…Thank you.”

It wasn’t sarcastic this time. Just soft and honest.

He didn’t say anything. But she didn’t need him to. She took the pouch to the couch, flopped down, tore the seal open with her teeth.

Caleb followed slowly. Sat on the other side of the couch.

A full arm’s length between them.

Still.

But it’s not as far as it used to feel. She sipped from the pouch, then smirked at him over the rim.

“You know… most people wouldn’t let a vampire move in. Especially one with a tendency to stab first and ask questions never.”

“You’re not most people.” He didn’t even realize he’d said it until she froze. Her eyes met his again. For once, they weren’t teasing. Just… searching.

“And what does that make me, Colonel?” Silence.

That was the question he couldn’t answer. Not yet.

But he didn’t look away this time. And neither did she.

═══════════════════════

It was quiet. 

Not the tactical kind of quiet. Not the Fleet’s cold silence. This quiet was… domestic. Almost peaceful. If you didn’t count the vampire sitting cross-legged on the couch, sharpening a blade while humming something vaguely threatening.

Caleb stood in the small kitchenette, sleeves rolled up, stirring what passed as soup in a steel pot. The scent was mild—broth, herbs, barely seasoned—but it was something warm. Something human.

Behind him, (Y/n) tapped her knife gently against the whetstone.

“You cook now?” she called lazily. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Neither,” he said without looking back. “You’re still healing. You need food. Real food.”

She frowned, “I don’t eat human food.” 

Caleb rolled his eyes, he knows she doesn’t. But he has made her a light soup. Maybe she will like it, “Eat anyway.”

She grinned, amused at his tone. Still stiff. Still firm. But not cold anymore. Not like before.

“You know,” she said, stretching her legs, “I remember when you used to talk to me like I was a bomb about to go off.”

He ladled the soup into a bowl. “You still are.”

“So now you talk to your bombs like they’re… people?” Her eyes glinted, amused at their interaction. 

“Just the ones who came back from hell covered in my name.” That shut her up for half a second. Just long enough for him to bring the bowl to her.

He handed it over, his hand brushing hers for the briefest moment. Warm fingers against cool skin. She looked at him, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “This isn’t poisoned, is it?”

He chuckled at her reaction, she looks adorable with her wide eyes. “Not unless you count salt.”

She sipped it. And made a face. This isn’t the same food she has eaten from the fleet. It tasted different, it was bearable – warm.

“You call this edible?” She glanced at Caleb who was looking at her expression intently. Whilst crossing his arms, ladle in hand.

“It’s warm.”

“So’s blood.”

“But mine isn’t on the menu.” (Y/n) chuckled, low and dry. She leaned back, cradling the bowl, taking another spoonful without complaint this time.

“This is weird,” she said eventually.

His brow raised at her statement, “What is?” 

“You. Me. Soup. This house. The fact that I’m not locked to a room anymore.” He arched his brow.

“You never were.” He only locked the door for four days. But after that it was open. 

“Emotionally, I was.” He huffed, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Watching her.

She noticed. Of course she did. “You’re staring, Colonel.”

“Making sure you’re eating.”

“Uh-huh.” She set the bowl down on the table and stood. Her body still ached, but she hid it well—leaning just slightly against the couch as she crossed her arms.

“So what now?” she asked.

“You rest.” That word is somewhat foreign to her. She hasn’t rested for years. Always trying to survive, to ran away. 

“And after that?”

“We wait for Command to assign us another suicide mission.” Her smirk faded a little. Her forehead wrinkled at the thought of facing those wanderers again. She knows she will fight them eventually, but for now she wanted a break from those alien-looking creatures. 

“You think they’ll send me out alone again?” She asked as she prodded her soup. 

“They won’t.” His answer was sharp, almost final. 

“How do you know?” He looked at her then. Really looked. The wounds on her collarbone now are non-existent. The fire that hadn’t dulled in her stare even after all of it.

“Because this time,” he said, voice quiet, measured, unmistakable, “I’ll go with you.”

The air shifted.

She leaned closer to him. Slow, like testing thin ice. Looking into his eyes with confusion, “You’re not afraid of me anymore.”

“I never was.”

“Then what held you back?” He didn’t answer. She tilted her head slightly, voice softer now. “What holds you back now, Caleb?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

The distance between them could’ve been nothing, and it still felt like everything. But then she stepped back. Picked up her bowl.

“Thanks for the soup,” she said casually. “Five out of ten.” And just like that, the tension eased, slipping back into its shell.

But as she walked past him toward her room, she said one last thing, under her breath. Not playful. Not biting.

Just real.

“You can keep trying, though. I’m not leaving.”

And he stood there, in the silence she left behind with a heart that beat a little too loud in the quiet.

═══════════════════════

The world outside was asleep.

The rain had returned—soft this time. Barely a whisper against the windows. A storm that didn’t rage, just lingered. Like it was too tiring to fight anymore.

Inside, the place was dim. Just a low amber light above the kitchen sink. The couch was cluttered with a blanket she never folded, her gear half-dismantled on the table. Her coat hung by the door—dry now, for once.

(Y/n) sat by the window.

Not doing anything. Just sitting. Knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting atop them. Arms wrapped loosely around her legs like she was trying to feel smaller than she was.

Caleb walked in, quietly. He hadn’t been sleeping either.

“Couldn’t rest?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him. Just said, “Didn’t want to.”

He stood there a beat longer. Then, without a word, crossed the room and sat on the floor across from her—back resting against the wall, legs stretched out.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

Not with her.

Eventually, she spoke. “Do you ever feel like your name doesn’t belong to you anymore?”

He looked up. “Sometimes.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s why I go by Nyx.”

He waited. Let her speak on her own time. “It’s easier. Feels like armor,” she said, voice low. “The world hated what I became. So I gave them something else to hate.”

Her eyes reflected the rainlight. Cold and quiet.

“(Y/n) died a long time ago. The girl who cared. Who cried. Who was scared of being alone. She couldn’t survive the way I had to. But Nyx? She was sharp. Fast. Efficient. They trained her to kill before she could think. And I let them.”

She paused. “I let her take over.”

Caleb didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

“The first time I killed someone, I was still learning how to breathe without shaking,” she said, voice thinner now. “It was a clean shot. Back of the neck. No scream. I remember the blood hitting my face. Warm. Human. And all I thought was—Good. That means I’m doing it right.’”

She laughed once. But it wasn’t humor.

“I didn’t flinch. They praised me for that,” Caleb’s hands curled into loose fists on his lap. “They told me I was a weapon. So I became one. For years. Decades. I stopped thinking of myself as anything else. I forgot what my name sounded like in someone else’s mouth. I forgot what it meant to choose something—not because I was ordered to, but because I wanted to.”

She looked at him now. Really looked.

“Do you know what it’s like to live that long and not recognize your own reflection? To forget what you were before they taught you how to kill?”

His throat felt tight. “I do,” he said quietly.

Her eyes didn’t leave his. “Then maybe that’s why I don’t scare you.”

He didn’t deny it, didn’t pretend to. “You still think (Y/n) is dead?” he asked.

She gave a soft, tired smile as she sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s buried deep. Maybe she’s clawing her way out.”

“Maybe,” he said, “you’re both.”

The rain fell harder. She blinked. Once. Slowly. Then leaned her head against the window.

“You’re not what I expected, Colonel.”

“Neither are you, Nyx.”

She glanced sideways. “You called me Nyx.”

“You haven’t told anyone else your real name.”

“Not yet.” She mumbled under her breath. 

“Why me?”

A long pause. Her voice was soft when she finally answered. “Because you didn’t look at me like I was something broken. Even when you were terrified of what I was.”

He didn’t look away. “You’re not broken,” he said. “You’re still here.”

And for the first time in a very, very long time she believed it.

═══════════════════════

Location: No hunt zone 8 Mission: Protocore retrieval

Wind howled across the jagged expanse of the No Hunt Zone. Snow mixed with ash. The clouds above churned gray and heavy, the sky pregnant with a storm that mirrored the battlefield below. “Sector One secure. Minimal resistance. We’re pushing forward.”

Caleb’s voice cut through the comms, crisp, calm, commanding.

“Copy that, Colonel,” a soldier replied. “Moving to Sector Two.”

(Y/n) was perched on a ridge above the main field, coat flapping in the wind like a second shadow. Her eyes scanned the ground below—movement, structure, layout, heat signatures. But her gaze kept circling back to one figure.

Him.

Caleb stood in the front unit, gravity shimmer flickering beneath his boots, gun braced, Evol humming low around him like a storm just waiting to break.

Then, without warning the ground cracked.

From beneath the frozen earth, a burrowed S-class Wanderer exploded upward—ten feet tall, armored hide slick with frost and rot. It roared, swatting a soldier aside like it was nothing.

“CONTACT! Large variant—dead center!”

Panic spread fast.

But (Y/n) was already moving. She leapt from the ridge—no fear, no hesitation—and landed hard between the creature and the squad, dust and snow whipping around her like a veil of teeth.

“Fall back!” she shouted. “Keep the formation behind me!”

Her eyes flashed golden.

The Wanderer lunged—jaw unhinging, claws wide—And she met it head-on.

With a single sweep of her arm, she drew a curved blade, slicing through the beast’s forelimb in one clean arc. Black blood sprayed across the snow. The creature screamed.

She didn’t stop.

Slash. Turn. Elbow to the temple. Drive the blade up through the soft underjaw—

Crack. Squelch. Silence.

The body collapsed. Still twitching. Steaming.

Dead.

A hush fell over the squad—one of stunned, disbelieving awe.

Then— “LEFT FLANK—INCOMING!”

More Wanderers. Five. No—seven. Smaller–faster.

(Y/n)’s head snapped around. She scanned the line, reading their formation, calculating angles, escape vectors, high-value threats—Her eyes landed on Caleb. He was out of cover. His gravity field disrupted. A stray blast had cracked his defense. He was exposed.

She didn’t think.

She ran.

Not toward the line. Not toward the other soldiers.

To him.

“Colonel!” she shouted.

He looked up just in time to see two Wanderers lunging toward him from the side—mouths wide, claws like hooked steel. But then—A blur of black and silver. A roar of wind.

She was there.

(Y/n) crashed into both creatures mid-air—tackling one, twisting mid-spin, driving her elbow into its chest hard enough to shatter ribs like glass. The second snapped at her neck—but she twisted, let it bite, then sank her own fangs into its jugular.

It screeched—then went silent.

Blood soaked her collar. She tossed the corpse aside like trash.

Caleb stared—jaw tight, fury and something else burning behind his eyes. “You left the line,” he growled.

“You were going to die.”

“So were the others.”

“They’re not you.”

He faltered. (Y/n) turned back toward the battlefield. More Wanderers poured from the east.

“Everyone, regroup!” Caleb barked into comms. “Hold your lines!”

But the squad was already moving, pressing together behind the wall of black coat and teeth that was (Y/n). One of the younger soldiers—bloodied, wide-eyed—stared at her like she was the end of the world.

“She… she tore that thing in half,” he whispered.

And she had. Another had watched her shove her hand through a Wanderer’s chest, crush its core, and pull it back still beating.

“What the hell is she?” someone muttered.

“She’s not something to be reckon with,” said another. “She’s a demon.”

(Y/n) heard them. Didn’t even flinch at their murmurs.  But she didn’t take her eyes off Caleb either. One thing is on her mind: Protect the Squad, protect Caleb.

When the last Wanderer fell, the battlefield lay still. Quiet. Broken snow and steaming corpses littered the expanse. The team had survived—with only two casualty. Because of her.

═══════════════════════

An Hour Later – General’s Mobile Command Post

The air inside the command tent was tense.

General Lance’s glare could’ve cut steel. “You disobeyed your directive. I said NO casualties.”

(Y/n) stood across from him, coat bloodied, arms crossed. “I eliminated the threats.” Her tone was flat as she looked at the General who’s seething with anger. 

“You abandoned defensive coordination to protect one man.”

She didn’t blink. “I protected your Colonel.”

Lance turned to Caleb. “And you let her?”

“I was injured,” Caleb said. Voice tight, flinching at the injury on his arm. “She made a tactical choice.”

“A biased one,” the General snapped. “We don’t send monsters to fall in love with their handlers—we send them to fight.”

The air turned frigid. (Y/n)’s voice was quiet. But lethal. “Say that again.” 

Lance turned towards her, “You are an asset. Nothing more. You protect the mission. Not your—”

Crack.

The sound of her fist colliding with the steel pillar at her side. The metal dented inward, spiderwebbed with impact. Her eyes—golden now—glowed like molten frost.

“Then maybe you should’ve sent someone else.”

She turned and walked out without another word. Caleb followed her seconds later. 

They are now standing outside the base, the wind was sharper. Yet the horizon was calming, “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes,” she said, cutting him off. “I did.”

He watched her for a long moment. “You broke the line for me.”

“And I’d do it again.” The weight of it hung between them. So heavy. So unspoken. He didn’t stop her this time. Didn’t question it.

He just said—“Next time… I’ll cover your back.”

And for the first time in years, she smiled like she believed him.

— to be continued

⚜ Pairing: Zayne x Non!MC Reader ⚜ Content: Angst ⚜ wc: 3869 words

Other works: Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

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Dr. Zayne loves quietly. Not with grand gestures or sweet nothings whispered under city lights.

He loves in glances , the way his eyes soften when she’s not looking. He loves in silence, the kind that hums gently between two people who don’t need to fill the room with words.

In the way he sets an extra umbrella by the door when it looks like rain. In the way he memorizes her favorite songs but never sings along.

However as (Y/n) stared at the empty window of their shared apartment she can only heaved out a sigh. He has been busy lately that she has felt like they grew distant.

She knew he was a doctor. She reminded herself of that constantly. When the phone stayed silent, when plans were pushed back for the third time in a week, when he came home with tired eyes and hands that had held someone else’s life just hours before. People needed him, really needed him. They lined up in waiting rooms, clung to hope in hospital beds, looked to him like he was the last light in the dark.

Who was she to compete with that?

Still, there were moments she felt the ache of wanting. Wanting to be his priority, to be missed, to be chosen—not after the emergencies, but before them. And then the guilt would sink in. How selfish, she thought, to want more of him when the world barely had enough of him to go around.

She tapped her finger with impatience as she looked at the clock.

10:45 a.m.

She looked at the snacks she prepared, a box with his favorites. It has been a week since they last talked to each other where they sat down in their dining room, soft smiles and banters. Not where he arrived at dawn where she can feel the warmth on her forehead and embraced when she's asleep and wake up with an empty and cold bed the morning after.

He was busy, she knows that. He’s a doctor—needed by many. Wanting all of his attention might feel right, but when lives depend on him, even love has to learn patience.

It was already quarter to 12. She has just arrived at Akso hospital, with a smile she approached Dr. Greyson. “Good day, (Y/n)!”

“It’s nice to see you, Dr. Greyson. Is Zayne free at this hour?” She looked around hoping to see the Cardiac surgeon.

“He’s still at the E.R. doing some rounds," As he checked the time he noticed the lunchbox (Y/n) has been holding. The smell of macaroons caught his attention. “However, he’ll be done in a few minutes. You can just wait for him at his office.”

She shake her head with a polite smile, “I’ll just sit over there.” She pointed at the bench near the Emergency room. The doctor nodded with a smile as he continued reading his chart.

(Y/n) sat at the bench, holding the box close to her. The emergency room’s door has been slightly ajar, and she can’t help but lean over her seat and have a quick peek inside of it. The smell of antiseptic is strong, however the person standing tall next to a patient caught her attention, it was Zayne.

Who’s she? Why is he smiling?

Confusion was written all over her face as she tried to make out the patient’s face. She decided to scoot even closer to the door, curiosity got the best of her but before she can even make out the face, Zayne was now bidding his goodbye, not before giving her something.

Medicine? Candy?

She was so deep in thought that she didn’t noticed Zayne was standing in front of her. She yelped with surprise as white invaded her vision. “(Y/n)?”

“Oh Zayne!” She stood up from her seat as she handed him the box. “I brought some dessert for you.” His gaze softened as he looked at the blue colored lunch box. He muttered a soft thanks as he offered to eat it with her on his office.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶

“Is it your day off today?” Zayne who’s sitting across from her questioned, looking at his chart while eating the macaroons she bought.

She nodded in response, her gaze softening at the frame on his table. A portrait of them on their last vacation smiling while Zayne’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

They were silent for a moment, Zayne was busy looking at the chart and on his computer. The blue light emitted from the screen made his features look sharper. She can’t help but remember how he interacted with that female patient, “At the E.R.” She started, contemplating whether to continue or not as she fiddled with her hands.

Zayne’s swivel chair creaked as she caught his attention, “What of it?” He questioned, his eyebrow raised. Now looking at her.

She sucked in her breath, asking herself if it’s necessary to ask him about it. Is it a breach of patient confidentiality?

“I saw you with a patient.” She paused as she looked at him, trying to see his expression, “You’ve given her something. What is it?”

He looked at her with confusion, he tried to recall the patients' he interacted. “You mean, the last patient I checked?” He clarified, (Y/n)’s expression were neutral as she nodded with agreement.

He returned his gaze to the monitor, “It was a candy.”

Oh. A wave of jealousy hit her but she hid it well.

To her it's not just a piece of candy, given Zayne's sweet tooth he won't be giving candies to just anyone.

Zayne glanced back at his monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard while chewing on another macaroon. The faint clatter of keys echoed in the quiet room.

(Y/n) forced a smile as she pushed her fork into the small slice of cake she packed for herself, watching him from across the desk.

“So…” she spoke again, trying to sound casual, “You give candy to patients now? That’s new.”

Zayne didn’t look up. “Only when they used to steal mine in middle school.”

Her eyes flicked to his face. “What?”

“The patient. Adriana,” he replied, still typing. “We grew up in the same neighborhood. She used to bully me for my chocolate stash. I guess she’s still weak for sweets.” He chuckled quietly, then finally looked up. “Why?”

(Y/n) blinked. The smile stayed on her lips, but it faltered slightly. Now remembering her, she was his long time friend.

“Nothing.” She popped a piece of macaroon into her mouth, chewing slowly.

Zayne shrugged, reaching for another chart. “We lost touch for a while. She was transferred here yesterday. She’s under my rotation today.”

“Oh.” Her voice barely came out. "I see."

Zayne oblivious at the blooming chaos on (Y/n)'s mind, checked the time and almost grunted, exhaustion visible on his face, "It's almost 1. I need to do some rounds," he picked up his stethoscope, pen and charts. He's waiting for her to say that she'll go home, given that lunch time is already over. But with her lack of response, he knew she will be waiting here for him.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, just stay here in the office." He pat her head affectionately, "If you are bored you can stay in the canteen. There are some good food there."

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶

(Y/n) had been sitting on the same bench for almost an hour. Zayne continued his rotation, telling her to stay in his office. But it felt suffocating, the silence made her remember the softness of his eyes when he mentioned his childhood friend.

Adriana — just thinking about her name made her heart clenched. Jealousy and insecurity clouded her mind. Is he tired of her? She remembered the stories he told her of his childhood, about his friends Adriana and Caleb.

How they were annoying, an epitome of chaos. But she always notice the softness of his voice whenever he tell her about them.

Through the half-open blinds of the emergency room, she saw him again. There he was. In the same white coat. That same soft smile. But this time, he was sitting by the side of a hospital bed, leaning just a little too close. The patient, a woman, her arm attached to a line of fluids, was laughing softly.

Adriana.

Her name suddenly had weight. (Y/n)’s throat tightened as she watched Zayne place another candy on the table tray. The same ones he kept hidden in his drawer at home. The ones she used to steal when they were watching late-night penguin documentaries together.

She remembered that version of Zayne. Gentle, half-asleep, letting her lean on his shoulder while murmuring something dry but sweet.

The look on his face now, that quiet softness, she hadn’t seen it in weeks.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶

Zayne’s Office, 2:10 PM

The door creaked open as Zayne returned, glasses hanging from his collar. “Sorry, I got held up. A patient had questions about her meds.”

As soon as she saw Zayne exiting the emergency room, she was quick on her feet, returning to his office.

She glanced at him, as she placed the lunch box on her tote bag, a gift from Zayne from his recent business trip.

(Y/n) stood near the coat rack, collecting her things. Already knowing the patient he is talking about.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she replied, voice steady but cold around the edges. “You two looked like you were having a good time.”

Zayne glanced at her, brows pinched. “It wasn’t— It’s nothing like that. She’s just—”

“Your childhood friend,” she said quickly, finishing for him. “Adriana.”

Zayne sighed, rubbing his temples. “Why does it sound like you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset,” she said too fast. “Why would I be? You’re just smiling again, finally just not with me.”

He stared at her, words failing him.

“I brought lunch, Zayne. I sat here with you. And all I got was a nod and half a conversation while you were looking at patient’s chart and lab results. But she gets you — your candy, your smile.”

Zayne opened his mouth, then shut it.

“She’s sick, (Y/n). I’m just trying to—”

“I know,” she whispered, tears burning the corners of her eyes, “but so am I. Just not in a way you can treat.”

He looked at her. “Let’s talk about this,” his brows furrowed, taken aback at how she was hasty on leaving. Suddenly his pager rings, he grunted with frustration as he tried to look at the woman in front of him, he rubbed his temples with exasperation, “…later.”

She huffed, as she glanced at him standing still, his hands placed on his sides. His throat bobbing up and down. With a huffed she tried not to let her anger get the best of her, “What do you mean by later? Later tonight, tomorrow, next week?” Her voice was accusatory.

There was silence.

(Y/n) slowly adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “You can’t even answer it.” Her voice was in disbelief as she tried so hard not to sob, remembering his smile, the candy he has given her. She haven’t seen this side of him for weeks yet she—Adriana—earned it freely. “That’s what I thought.”

The door clicked shut behind her — no echo, no rush. Just a soft, final sound. Like the last page of a story being turned in silence. Leaving Zayne lost in his thoughts as his pager keeps on ringing.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶

The keys jingled at the lock, hesistant.

Zayne pushed the door open slowly. The soft creak echoed through the quiet apartment, a sound he hadn’t heard in what felt like weeks — home no longer felt familiar. It smelled like vanilla and clean laundry, but colder now, like the warmth had been aired out and never came back.

The rain outside was soft—tapping against the window. It was calming yet the coldness made him grimace. He can hear sounds from the kitchen, noting how she didn’t even greet him like she always does.

He called out her name, (Y/n) didn’t even bother turning around as she packed Zayne’s lunch for tomorrow. His gaze softened, feeling warmth that despite them fighting she never forget to pack him lunch.

He placed his bag on the sofa as he sauntered towards her, slowly, hesitantly. He is not one to show emotions, not big with words. Yet, looking at her expression that afternoon, he can’t help but feel frustrated for letting her feel that way.

As he grew closer, (Y/n) spun around now finished with the meal prep. “You’re early.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

She huffed at his response as she placed the piled boxes in the refrigerator.

Zayne slowly step forward, “Can we talk?” His voice was silent, even mumbled as he tried to hold her hand. But she moved away, quickly. In that moment he felt a pain on his chest.

“Please…” his voice wavered as he followed her going to their living room.

“If you want to apologize,” she turn around and crossed her arms, “dont.”

“No…” he stopped as he tried to reach for her hand again, but hesitated. “I knew I’ve been busy. Surgeries, meetings, but it doesn’t mean I forgot about you—“ he can hear her leaving. He quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him. “Please.” He begged, as he nuzzled his head on her neck. “Believe me.”

She nodded silently, “I don’t want to talk about it now.” She murmured, his heart clenched as he look at her pained expression.

“I understand.” He muttered as he swayed her whilst combing her locks. “We will talk about this tomorrow. Okay?” She nodded, although he can feel her hesitance. He is relieved he was able to hug her, like this. Even just for a while.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶

The room was bathed in shadows, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight pressing through the curtains. It washed over the bed in quiet silver — over the soft curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her chest, the strands of hair fanned across the pillow like ink on snow.

She was adamant of them sleeping side by side, but later on relented.

Zayne sat on the edge of the mattress. The scent of antiseptic still clung faintly to him, but so did the ache.

She is now asleep. And God, she looked like peace. His safety, his world amidst all the chaos the universe has to offer.

His eyes traced the delicate slope of her features. The flutter of her lashes, the way her lips parted slightly in sleep. The kind of beauty that didn’t scream or demand attention, just existed quietly, confidently. Like she always did.

He felt something pull in his chest. A slow, dragging pressure he didn’t know how to name. He touched her cheeks delicately. Gentle as not to stir her awake.

“I will make it up to you.” He whispered as his hands hovered on her lips, he wanted to kiss her so bad. Yet he’s afraid to wake her up.

Zayne had always been calm — always composed, always professional. In the operating room, he was a fortress. Emotions were distractions. Feelings were noise. A trembling hand could mean a lost heartbeat. A moment of softness could mean someone’s end.

So he locked his heart behind cold precision.

But with her, with (Y/n).

He felt everything. And it terrified him.

His love for her wasn’t loud, but it was vast. It filled every inch of his chest, pressed against the inside of his ribs, and threatened to spill every time she smiled at him like he still mattered.

He looked at her now, her face bathed in silver light, unaware of the storm unraveling in his silence.

“I don’t know how to say it,” he murmured. “But I love you more than any part of my life. More than the work I gave everything to. More than the mask I wear every day to keep the world from seeing I’m not as strong as I pretend to be.”

His voice broke, caught in his throat.

“I want to do better,” he whispered. “For you. For us.”

He reached out then, just once and brushed a knuckle against her hand, tender and fleeting.

“Tomorrow,” he promised, voice softer than breath. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you.”

But deep down, even he wasn’t sure if tomorrow would come easy. Not in the life he chose. Not with emergencies always pulling him away. Not with the silence he still hadn’t quite learned to break.

And yet, he stayed there. In the space between duty and devotion , watching her sleep, loving her with everything he didn’t know how to say.

⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶

It was morning, the chirping of the birds can be heard from the distance. Zayne groaned, trying to wake himself up as he patted the bed where (Y/n) was sleeping. It was cold, empty.

Loneliness. That's what he felt when he can no longer feel her warmth. He was about to call out to her when his phone buzzed violently on the countertop. His brows furrowed as he read the message.

Adriana – Embolism. Code Blue. OR in 20.

He looked toward the door, where the sound of (Y/n) moving in the kitchen reached him — soft clinks, cabinet doors closing.

He walked in, white coat already on, the knot in his chest tightening. He doesn't want to go, but it his duty as her surgeon to be there.

“(Y/n)," he said carefully, afraid that saying it might lose her. “Something came up.”

She didn’t turn around but her heart rate was erratic, disappointment can be heard from her voice, “Of course it did.”

“It’s Adriana. She had an embolism. I’m the supervising surgeon. I have to go.”

Now she turned. Slowly.

Her eyes were unreadable. Blank, but trembling at the edges.

“It’s always her lately, isn’t it?”

Zayne blinked at her words. “What?”

“Every time it’s an emergency, it’s her. Every time you’re too busy, too late, too tired — it’s Adriana.”

He stepped forward, panic rising in his throat. “(Y/n), she’s my patient. My childhood friend, yes, but that’s all. I swear to you—”

“It’s not about her, Zayne.” Her voice cracked. As she avoid looking into his eyes, otherwise she will break. “It’s about me. And how you stopped showing up for us.”

He reached for her, but she stepped back.

“You smile with her,” she said, quieter now. “You soften when you talk to her. I haven’t seen you look at me that way in weeks.” she swallowed her cries as she averted her attention, "You always arrive late. I can only have you for a short while."

His voice rose in frustration, his phone has been buzzing again. “Because with you I have to keep everything together. I can’t fall apart in front of you, (Y/n)! I thought being strong meant protecting you from everything, even myself.”

Her eyes shot wide at his sudden outburst, though his voice wasn't booming. The words were sharper, “But I didn’t need a protector, Zayne. I needed a partner.”

Silence. Painful. Thick. Then louder now.

“I stayed, Zayne. I waited. I kept hoping you’d choose me the way I kept choosing you.”

His jaw clenched. His ears are ringing as he put his phone on silent mode.

“Don’t make this about you being noble,” she spat. “You don’t get to justify neglect with a white coat and a scalpel.”

Her words hit him like a truck. It was hurtful, yes, but the accusation of her saying that he has attraction towards Adriana was even more painful.

“So what? I should’ve let her die instead? Would that have made you feel better?”

Her expression twisted, like he had slapped her.

“That’s not fair,” she said, backing away. “That’s cruel.”

“Then stop acting like I’m cheating on you with my job!” he shouted.

(Y/n)’s lips parted in disbelief. Her hands were trembling now.

“I never asked you to stop saving lives,” she whispered. “I just needed you to stop forgetting I have one too.”

And just like that, the air changed.

Zayne’s chest heaved. (Y/n)’s eyes glistened.

A plate on the counter slipped from her fingers, landing in the sink with a loud crack. Neither of them flinched.

There were no more words left to wound, only the echoes of everything they wished they hadn’t said.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

Zayne stood outside the sterile doors, fully scrubbed in. The blue cap was snug against his head, the N95 mask tightly placed.

His hands were clean. Too clean. But they were shaking.

His fingers, the same ones praised for stitching torn arteries and holding fragile hearts wouldn’t stop trembling.

He stared at them.

He had saved hundreds of lives with these hands.

But he couldn’t hold onto hers.

The hallway was buzzing. Nurses moved swiftly, a resident read off Adriana’s vitals. He barely heard any of it. Their voices blurred into the background like radio static. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, loud, hollow, arrhythmic.

All he could see was her face.

(Y/n). Standing in the kitchen with tears she tried to hide.

(Y/n) flinching when he raised his voice.

(Y/n) finally saying the words he feared the most.

“I just needed you to stop forgetting I have a life too.” that statement, echoed on his head the moment he step outside the door.

He wanted to run back home. To throw off his coat, to fall to his knees and beg her not to give up. But the OR doors slid open with a cold hiss.

A nurse called gently, “Dr. Zayne. We’re ready.”

He nodded. Once. Mechanically.

And then, with the weight of his own failing heart, he stepped inside.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹

The silence was deafening as (Y/n) sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the small framed photo on the nightstand — the two of them, arms wrapped around each other, drenched in sun and laughter from a time that felt like another lifetime.

Her fingers hovered over it. She almost picked it up.

Instead, she turned it face down. Remembering the words they said earlier, words that could've been avoided

Her suitcase was still by the closet. Unzipped. Half-packed.

Like her — halfway gone, halfway hoping.

She wiped her cheek and whispered into the silence.

⚜ Pairings: Caleb x Non! MC Reader ⚜ Contains: Angst , gun violence, emotional distress

⚜ Other works: Masterlist

A/n: This is my first ever fic I posted here on Tumblr! Please tell me your thoughts and suggestions.

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"Pull the trigger."

Y/n’s voice was sharp, almost daring. But behind it—behind the cracks in her voice and the shallow rise and fall of her chest was devastation. Her eyes locked on Caleb’s, wide and shining, barely masking the storm within.

She took a shaky step forward, unblinking. “Do it,” she whispered, the corners of her lips trembling. “You trust her, right? Mc? Then do it.”

Caleb stood still, gun raised, his jaw clenched tight. He looked at her like she was something foreign, something unfamiliar. And that, more than anything, made her heart cave in on itself.

"You really think I did it." Her voice faltered. “You think I’d sabotage the mission. Betray you.”

“You did,” Caleb said hoarsely. “You fed Ever information. Mc saw you—”

“Mc saw what she wanted to see!” she screamed, finally breaking, her tears flooding down in hot streams. “And you believed her over me?”

Her voice cracked under the weight of those words, and Caleb flinched—just slightly. But not enough. She took his hand—the one holding the gun—and slowly, deliberately, pressed the barrel harder into her chest. Her heart pounded beneath it, wild and terrified.

“I love you,” she whispered, shaking. “I trusted you with everything in me. I would’ve died before betraying you.” The cold metal dug into her skin as she tightened her grip around the barrel. “And the moment things went wrong, you looked at me like I was just another enemy. Like you don’t know me.”

“Y/n...” Caleb’s voice broke. “Don’t do this.”

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound strangled by sobs. “I’m doing this?” She huffed with disbelief, “No, Caleb. You already did.” Her hands were trembling as she dropped them away from the gun.

“You chose her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You chose her over me. And that was the shot that killed me.”

The silence was deafening.

Caleb stared at her, the weight of the gun unbearable now. His grip loosened. She took a step back, the distance between them finally reflecting the gap that had torn them apart.

“I hope she’s worth it,” she murmured, before turning her back on him.

He didn’t stop her.

He couldn’t.