Luna

You’re just washing your hands, humming a soft tune as you run your hands under the warm water and smooth your palms over your soapy fingers to wash it away. You’re lost in thought, eyes focused on a spot in particular that just seemed to feel nice to stare at as you zoned out before a pair of strong arms circle your waist and pull you slightly back against a broad chest. You already know who it is. If the fluffy tuffs of hair tickling the side of your face wasn’t a dead giveaway, then the low rumble of a satisfied hum in the back of his throat much like a cat purr was more than enough to confirm your suspicions.

“Dove,” He whispers, blowing softly on the shell of your ear and you squirm to try and get away in response to which he chuckles at. You grumble, turning the water off and shaking your hands in the sink. You had half the mind to flick your wet fingers at his face in hopes water droplets would drop his guard so you could break free but you relent.

“Yuan, lemme go.” You sigh, looking over your shoulder to see the lazy smirk on his face as half lidded eyes stared back. His chin rests on your shoulder and he hums in thought for a moment.

“I don’t think I will.” He says, amusement rolling off his tongue as he gauges your reactions closely. He tugs you into himself further, inhaling deeply before sighing in content. “You smell wonderful by the way.”

“Oh, geez, thanks.” You scoff, scowling lightly at him as you dry your hands before grabbing at his arms around your middle in an attempt to pry his hold off yourself. You huff out an exaggerated whine when he doesn’t budge the slightest. You know he’s still smirking smugly, you can just feel it radiating off him. “Lemme go! I have to feed the finches!” You hiss at him, turning your head and craning your neck to see his face a bit more than before and his lazy gaze moves down to your hands as he hums slowly.

“Right, because the finches are more important than me, hm?” He smiles, a playful glint in his golden hues before his smirk is growing wider as he laughs and you raise a brow in question.

“What are you laughing at now?” You inquire, arms crossed over your chest as you lean back into his own firm one— something he notices but doesn’t point out —and look up at him. His hair tickles your neck and exposed collar bone before he’s spinning you around in his hold and pressing your back into the counter that’s now behind you. Your eyes widen in surprise and your lips part in a quiet gasp at his sudden action, completely catching you off guard. He tended to do that more and more often as time passed you’d noticed. You almost hated how much of your guard had gone down when around him the closer you two had gotten over the countless years.

“You just look too divine for me to let you go.” He purrs, breath warm as it fans over your face and you feel your tummy faintly churn and twist in knots with how he was looking at you now. Your hands subconsciously grab at the edge of the counter to ground yourself, nails digging into the hard surface as you look up at him with your breath nearly caught in the back of your throat. Oh, how you hated the effect he had on you in a mere instant.

He brings a hand up to your chin, thumb and index pinching it firmly yet gently between his fingers as he lifts your head up just a little more and leans down until his lips ghost over your own. “Won’t you spend some time with me before you tend to the finches outside? They can wait for your delayed presence.”

“And you can’t?” You quip in a sarcastic tone.

He grins down at you with a familiar glint of mischief in his eye, “Certainly not.” His strong arms lift you up abruptly, sitting you on the counter as you gasp once again and he takes up the space between your legs with that smug smirk on his face and a lazy gaze fixated on you, staring deeply into your eyes in his natural charming manner. It makes your cheeks heat up with newfound warmth that spreads throughout your body like a rushing current.

His head tilts and dips into the space where your neck and shoulder meet, lips finding their place against the delicate skin as he presses featherlight kisses to the sensitive area. Your entire neck was relatively sensitive, but he always knew the spots that had you melting the quickest in his hold. He hums in amusement against your soft skin when you release a shaky breath and your hands grab at his biceps.

“Jing Yuan,” You manage to breathe out with a voice threatening to rise in pitch the more he attacked your neck with his affections. He doesn’t respond, simply takes your reaction as encouragement and shortly after you call out his name, he’s suckling the soft area of skin with a satisfied hum. Your hands fly up to his broad chest, pushing against him as you pull your head back and lean away from him with an embarrassed giggle, trying to ghost over the fact you let out a sound a second ago at his action.

You can’t help but smile breathlessly at him when he leans in once more, nose bumping against yours and your upper body leaning back at an uncomfortable angle that leaves you having to tense up your stomach to keep yourself rigid and unmoving so as to not fall back into the sink still damp from your previous washing of your hands.

“Jing Yuan,” You say again, this time a lot more composed than before as your hands grab into the material of his shirt to pull yourself up towards him just a bit more and he grins at you.

“I love the way you say my name, dear.” He sighs almost dreamily, as if he’s lost in a haze that is the glittery sparkles of unspoken adoration in your eyes, clouded with love and affection all for him to bask in. His hands find their place on your waist, squeezing softly at the flesh through your shirt. His eyes flick down to your hand again like he had earlier and his grin turns into a smug smirk. What was he up to now? “Does your hand feel.. lighter than usual, dove?”

Your brows raise, giddy expression falling into a slightly confused one as you examine his eyes for any hint or sign of his words being a mere ploy. You hum in a questioning tone, shrugging your shoulders up and down before visually tracing the lines etched into the fabric of his shirt. You liked seeing him with his typical armor on, but seeing him like this, in much more casual clothing just felt so domestic in a way.

“No? I don’t think so…” You question even yourself, before narrowing your eyes at him. Perhaps he was playing a mind game with you like he tried to do from time to time. “Why? Is something wrong with my hand?”

“No, however the lack of a particular ring adorning your finger certainly is.” He says it teasingly but the moment the words leave his mouth your heart is dropping and your head is turning to look down at your hand where there is in fact a lack of the special item. Your blood runs cold and your lips seem to lighten as if you’ve paled at the mere idea of losing such a valuable and precious thing.

“Oh Aeons!” You shriek, pushing him back and sending him stumbling with a shocked expression at your sudden show of strength before you’re jumping down to the ground and searching every surface for the small metal object. You become more and more anxious the longer you go without it now that you were made aware of the fact you were missing it to begin with.

“I hadn’t meant to cause an early life crisis over it.” He amuses, leaning an arm on the counter as he watches you hurry around the space only to remain empty handed in the end and with an almost sorrowful look on your face. He frowns, clicking his tongue at your expression with a small shake of his head. “That wont do. Come here, little one.”

“Jing Yuan, I need to find it first—” “And I will help you in finding it, but humor me for right now, will you?” He smiles, those bright golden hues of his swallowing you up in a warm feeling that relaxes you and relieves your worries and so with some reluctance, you nod subtly and move towards him after he makes a motion for you to come closer.

He meets you halfway, smirking down at you past his dark lashes and it’s hard to tell what’s going through his head when he lowers himself until he is on one knee before you. He grabs your hand and brings it towards his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles and making your chest tighten at the small action before something cold meets your ring finger and your breath catches in your throat.

He pulls his head back, fluffy hair framing his face as he gives your hand an endearing look and when your gaze follows his own, you see the sight of your ring you’d just been looking for. You blink a few times and gasp. “Did you take it off me?!” You question in a quiet voice.

He chuckles at how you immediately jumped to that conclusion. “How could you think so little of me?” He tilts his head much like a curious puppy would with a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he looks up at your pouting face. “I saw it on the counter and snatched it up before you could see. It was entertaining to watch you search so desperately for it however.” That little— You had a feeling he had something to do with you losing it to begin with.

You tug your hand from his gentle yet firm hold and huff out an annoyed breath as you cross your arms over your chest momentarily and stare down at him. “You had me panicking, don’t act so smug.” You turn and make a beeline for the open doorway to the large garden and he seems to deflate a little as you step closer to the opening.

“Where are you going? Don’t tell me that I’ve run you off now?” Once again, teasing as always. You look over your shoulder at his charming face and you fight the urge to run into his arms and be swooned by his compliments, half lidded lovesick eyes and strong arms almost seemingly outstretched just the slightest for you if you were to turn and run back to him like you usually would.

“I am going to feed and tend to the finches like I had originally planned.” You see the way he frowns at that almost like a child being told they couldn’t have something from a candy shop.

“May I accompany you then?” Aeon, he seemed so touch starved, so starved of your presence as if he wasn’t around you nearly all the time and everyday.

“If you behave.” You huff, fuax annoyance in your expression and tone before you’re hurrying off outside before he can make any more funny comments or cheesy compliments.

He laughs to himself as he stands to his feet, staring out at your figure surrounded by a beautiful scenery. He looks down at his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a shiny earring. A gift he’d given you when you’d gotten together many years ago. “I wonder if she’ll notice I snuck this off her.” He grins to himself, stuffing the delicate item into his pocket and heading outside to join you.

It’s a lucky charm is what he’ll claim it to be when you notice the lack of a faint jingle when you move your head before doing an inspection on him and then finding it hidden away in his pocket. But for now, he’d enjoy the peacefulness of watching you tend to the finches he adored so much, but not nearly as much as he truly adored you.

He’d go as far as to say that you are his lucky charm— his most precious and cherished possession. No ring could ever be more valuable than you. Ah, but you’d tease him for his cheesy choice of words if he were to ever say it to your face, wouldn’t you?

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was nothing.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open, calm despite the pounding in his heart. He was never one to dream, and more of the kind who never woke up fully rested. Yet, they were always similar in nature when he did, phantom pains ghosting over his chest in their wake. There was no point in trying to get back to bed now — his body had already had its fill, it seemed.

He heads to the kitchen, suddenly parched.

Clattering noise resounds from his destination, and he tenses, the residual fight or flight instincts kicking in immediately. Who could possibly…?

It was only you.

You were new. He didn’t know much about you, actually. The day before was your first day as a passenger of the Astral Express, and he had watched from the shadows as you flit about, chattering and bubbling and sunny. He left for the archives before March dragged him out and introduced him to you.

You were… baking, humming a cheerful little tune as you did.

“What are you doing?” he asks anyway.

You startle, neck snapping around to see him. Batter spills from the whisk in your hand and onto the ground. Your eyes widen at the sight of him, looking him up and down, but he supposes he must seem a mess, having crawled out of bed post-nightmare.

“Oh,” you say finally, “I’m making cookies.”

“... At this hour?”

You snort, using the whisk to gesture between him and you. “Pot, kettle. What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I wanted water,” he replies. “That’s nothing like baking.”

Shrugging, you turn back to the counter. It’s a right mess, with crockery and ingredients scattered and strewn across. Still, you move with practised ease. You must do this a lot, he notes. His observations are confirmed when you speak again. “I like baking when I can’t sleep. You?”

“I work.”

You chuckle, and it’s a warm thing. “To each their own, I guess. Anyway, you getting that water or what?”

Ah. Right. He moves from the doorway and toward the tap when you whirl around, eyes alight. He doesn’t have the time to be startled before your hands are firm against his shoulder, guiding him toward the seat at the aisle.

“No,” you seem to decide, “I’ll make us both hot chocolate.”

Amusement bubbles in his gut. You were endearing, in a way. He can’t seem to get angry at the flour stains on his sleeve, too. You work fast, and in no time there’s a steaming mug of goodness being offered to him. It’s warm, he thinks, but your expectant eyes might be warmer.

Your head jerks toward the cup, so he drinks. It’s good. Better than good, actually. He can feel the heat seep down his throat and through his chest, pooling near his naval. When was the last time he had a drink this comforting?

“Good, isn’t it?” you ask, taking the seat across him. You sigh contentedly as you sip on your own mug, drink cradled in your hands. “My best friend used to make it for me.”

Then you slap a hand over your mouth, eyes comically wide. He frowns faintly, curious and wary. “I still don’t know your name! And you don’t know mine either! Damn, you must think I’m weird.”

Compared to March, or even Stelle, he feels you’re pretty tame. He doesn’t say that, though. “My name is Dan Heng. I am the guard of the Astral Express and its archiver.”

You introduce yourself in turn, grinning sheepishly. “So you’re the one I hadn’t met.”

He nods slowly. “I suppose I am.”

You stand then, stretching as you do. Your mug clinks as you set it down in the sink. “I’ll finish my baking now. You can leave your mug there after you’re done. I’ll clean up.”

Glancing down, he realises his hot chocolate has long gone. He stands too.

(That morning, he rises to a box of fresh cookies by his door. Chocolate chips. He decides those are his favourite sort now.)

—

The first time he officially meets you is two days later. Somehow, your schedules hadn’t aligned until March was physically pounding on his door.

“DAN HENG!” March shrieks, excitement coating her tone. “Muffins! Come on! Have some with us — they’re great!”

“I’m coming,” he assures her, “Would it kill you to relax?”

She blows him a raspberry, grabbing his wrist and making a break for the parlour carriage. And these muffins really do smell great, it’s buttery scent wafting through the express even from where they are. He has a sneaking suspicion on the identity of their maker.

The first thing he sees stepping inside the parlour is Stelle unceremoniously stuffing her face. “Wha’?” she asks, mouth filled to the brim. “‘ey’re very goo’.”

A laugh draws his attention from Stelle to you. A bashful smile sits on your face, whilst you hold out a tray of blueberry muffins. “I’m glad you like them, but don’t eat too fast — what if you choke?”

Stelle waves your concern away and your gaze finds him, your smile widening. You’re wearing an apron with the words Kiss the Cook printed on, hair tied in a messy bun. Honestly, it’s adorable.

“You want one?” you ask, holding the tray out to him.

March bounds forward before he can reply, swinging an arm around his shoulders with a force that makes him stumble forward. “This is Dan Heng!” she chirps. “He looks mean but he’s really not. He’s all sweet and mushy inside, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I’m literally right beside you.”

You snort, and he takes a muffin from your tray, thanking you softly. Grinning, you look him up and down like you did that night, eyes are tinged with amusement. “Bet you fight well too.”

March nods eagerly. “One of the best I’ve ever seen! It’s like — Hiya! Kapow! And everyone’s down.”

“Huh. What I’d give to fight like that,” you muse, more to yourself.

“Nah. You keep making these and we’ll keep you here for life,” Stelle pipes up, having inhaled the last of the muffins.

Laughing brightly, the three of you begin chattering away, drifting to the other side of the parlour. He takes a seat near the window and a bite of your muffin. Damn, it’s like biting into a piece of heaven. He can’t tell if he wants to devour everything you have or squirrel it away to treasure it later.

Himeko sits on the seat beside him, eyeing the muffin in his hand and following his gaze towards the three of them. “Y/N really has a knack for baking, hm?”

You do, he agrees. You must practise a lot. Admiring the curve of your lips as you smile, the glittering warmth in your eyes, he wonders where you are headed. Most passengers don’t stay long, excluding the Nameless. He’ll miss you, he thinks.

“Y/N’ll be joining the crew,” Himeko says, as if reading his mind. “It was time someone who follows the path of Abundance joined our ranks, anyway.”

You’ve been hopping from world to world, different IPC ships and had been just about everywhere, helping people affected by the Fragmentum, before Himeko approached you on Herta’s Space Station, she explains. You had never accepted money, only food and shelter and enough to get by before you’d move on.

How noble.

“That’s a lot of work,” he comments. If that was how it was then it’s no wonder you’re so warm. You carried that air of self-assurdness that most healers had, something he hadn’t quite placed before.

Himeko nods, smiling faintly. “Y/N is a good person. I think we’ll help them as much as they’ll help us.”

He didn’t quite understand what she meant by that last statement, but she didn’t elaborate, and he never asked. Instead, he directs his gaze out the window and at the winking stars. He wonders how many were worlds you’ve helped before.

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was silence.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open, his chest raw like the moment he first received the wound. The same dream twice in a week? He sits up, breath escaping in shallow puffs. Standing, he’s out the door before he even realises it, body moving on its own accord.

Water would be good, he decides. Maybe you’d be there too, call it a hunch or call it hope.

He was right. There you were, puttering about the kitchen under the lamp’s golden glow, a soft tune dancing under your breath. Resting a shoulder against the doorframe, he can’t quite decide what to say.

What a coincidence was too snarky, yet what are you making was too blunt. He couldn’t just walk in without saying a word either, that was too rude. Perhaps he should simply return to his room.

“I’m starting to think neither of us sleep.”

Your voice startles him out of his thoughts, and he finds you leaning against the counter, smiling at him with soft amusement. Unwittingly, he begins to smile too. Just the slightest.

“No, I guess not,” he agrees.

“Rough night?” you ask, turning to reach for two mugs. “I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, mostly out of courtesy. Just the thought of the warm drink reveals a slight craving for it. “Nightmares,” he finds himself admitting, something in the atmosphere drawing the confession that much easier. “No, memories, to be precise.”

“Ah, I get it,” you murmur, and he feels like you really do.

He seats himself in the same seat he did three nights prior, and you do as well. The mug of hot chocolate you offer him is accepted gratefully. They might become his favourite drink yet. You have a knack for making them feel like drinking warm hugs.

“I’m making cupcakes tonight,” you explain, noticing the way he glances at the batter on the counter. “Red velvet, one of my favourites.”

He nods in assent, and the both of you settle into comfortable silence. You’ve relaxed into your seat, he observes, resting your head against a hand as the other taps on your mug rhythmically, the porcelain clinking as you do. He maps out the lines of your face whilst you map out each constellation outside, gazing into the eternal night.

“Do you believe in fate?” you ask suddenly, in the moments just before his mug goes cold. He had finished the drink ages ago, he realises. He frowns faintly then, bewildered at the change in the conversation’s direction.

You must sense his confusion, and you’re continuing, “You know, when everything in your life happens because it was meant to be, and all that.”

“I know what fate is,” he replies, “But… why?”

“Why not?” you answer, a playful smile on your lips. “Just… hell, even gods are real, but no one has an answer to it, fate, destiny, or free will?”

You seem to be serious despite your lighthearted tone, so he tries to give you a serious answer in turn.

“I don’t,” he says slowly. “Fate is… complicated. To believe your future is set in stone is foolish at best. What I do believe in is the existence of free will. Life is filled with countless possibilities. Everyone has a path to walk, but it is an individual that chooses their direction.”

“What do you believe in?” he ends off, looking at you piercingly. You’re sitting upright now, alert but pondering all the same.

You hum. “I think… some things really are meant to be, but in the end, it’s your own hands that forge your destiny, no? Fate, free will… whatever it is… It might simply be just what we make of it.”

“Yet if there is no right answer, why ask anyway?” he counters.

Your eyes sparkle, and at that moment, you just might have the universe in your eyes. “Maybe some questions are meant to be asked.”

“And some things aren’t meant to have an answer?”

“Exactly,” you say, with the vigour of a bursting sun. “Nothing matters. Everything matters. Maybe…”

You trail off, an embarrassed chuckle sounding in your throat. “Yea, I have no idea what I just said.”

He can’t quite stop the laugh that leaves his lips.

(Some time later, you stand, stretching as you do. “Damn, I might leave the baking for another day,” you say, voice thick on the cusp of a yawn. “All this philosophical stuff is making me sleepy. You should get some sleep too, I think both of us need it.”

When he returns to his room, something in him prompts him to heed your advice. He sleeps.)

—

Somehow, both of you had taken to ‘meeting’ in the kitchens during the twilight hours, once every few days. He’d wake up after a nightmare or when sleep simply eluded him, and found you with your sun-like eyes, the songs under your breath and the hot chocolates that felt so much like hugs. You’d speak about anything and everything under the stars, of questions with no answers and answers that meant everything and nothing. Then you’d part ways with his mind swirling and chest bursting, all traces of that phantom wound gone.

(There were days you weren’t there, of course, and he’d be faintly disappointed, but you did still need sleep.)

He’s computing data on Jarilo-VI when someone knocks on his door. It can’t be March, as she’d simply forgo all etiquette and barge in after the first knock. Stelle was out exploring the planet they were currently stationed at, and both Himeko and Mr. Yang were busy. That left… you.

“Come in,” he calls, hearing the door slide open and click shut.

You’ve been an official member of the Astral Express crew for a month now, and this was the first time you’ve specifically sought him out. You’re smiling slightly sheepishly, hand picking at your palm. “Are you busy? I can come back another time…”

He sets down the files, looking up from the monitor. “No, it’s fine. What do you need?”

“I wanted to learn more about Yaoshi,” you tell him, sidling up to his side.

“You can use this,” he says, tilting the screen to you and standing up. He can complete archiving later. The work never ended, in any case. “Search up whatever you need.”

“Thanks!”

He makes himself comfortable at the other corner of his room, picking up the half-finished book on his desk. Vaguely, he’s aware of his bed on the ground and the mess that is his half area of the room. He hopes you don’t think too much of it.

A while later, you stretch, letting out a sigh as your hands drop back to your sides. Your gaze darts around the room inquisitively. “So, this is the archives…” you murmur. Then your eyes meet his. “And your room?”

“I hadn’t planned on staying for long,” he says quickly, an odd need to explain rising. “Then, I suppose I got comfortable.”

You smile, a tad bit wry. “It’s definitely got charm — like that map!”

And you’re getting up, fixated on the large map on the wall. Your eyes are starry, mouth slightly parted as you study the endless abyss that is the observable universe. “That’s, wow, has the Express been to all of them?”

“Not even a fraction of it.” His reply is soft, much like the moment itself.

Your hand raises, reaching for the blank areas at the edges. “So I’m guessing these are the parts yet to be.”

“The universe is always expanding,” he says in lieu of an explanation. “And the Express will trailblaze along with it.”

“That sounds rather pointless, doesn’t it? Mapping out the infinity?” you muse. “Boarding a train whose line never ends? Or does that make it poetic?”

“I suppose it depends on how you look at it.”

You swivel around, eyes bright and blazing with delight, and he can’t quite place why his breath catches. “Maybe that’s just how the universe is meant to be. A line with no end. A atlas which always has two blank pages at the end.”

You seem to catch yourself then, gaze darting downward and a chuckle leaving your lips. “Sorry, I always get weird about these kinds of philosophical stuff.”

“It’s alright,” he assures you, it really is. Life would be that much duller if he had to do without these types of conversations with you. You meet his gaze then, almost bashful, and in that moment, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

Then you blink, clearing your throat, and the moment vanishes.

“Right. I’ve been here long enough, though, so I’ll just… go now,” you say awkwardly, sending him a dizzying smile before you’re bounding out the room.

—

Weirdly enough, despite everything he’s seen in this life and before, this was certainly one of the oddest situations he’s been in.

He’s in March’s room, a room bursting with colour and vividness, a stark contrast to his. You’re here too, along with Stelle and March herself. Positioned in the fluffy armchair in the corner, he’s got the best view of the entire place along with the door. Stelle’s made herself comfortable, spread eagled on the bed whilst March and you are seated beside her cross-legged.

He’s not too sure how it came to be so. The three of you turned out to be quite the trio, and he had been in his room as per usual when you three burst in, manhandling him into joining you. (With that grin and your hand on his wrist, he’s partly sure he’d follow you anywhere.)

“Wait, so your name isn’t Stelle because of the stellaron in you?” you ask, head tilted to the side.

Stelle shrugs. “It could be? I don’t remember much of anything before I woke up on the space station.”

“And March’s name is ‘cuz she was found on March 7th…” Then, you pout. “Now I want a cool made up name. Is Dan Heng a made up name?”

“All names are made up,” he tells you dryly.

March blows a raspberry at him. “Don’t be such a wet blanket —” Her eyes light up, and she visibly straightens. “I know! I know! Stelle also means star, I think? We can be the sun, moon and stars! Uhm, I’ll be Solar and you’ll be Luna.”

“That’s kinda dumb,” Stelle adds in, throwing a plush toy in March’s face.

It was kind of dumb. You were definitely more sun than you were moon. He didn’t quite know how he knew. It just was.

March splutters, hurling the plush dog back with vigour. Stelle returns it, hitting you instead, to which you gasp in mock offence to and somehow the three of you end up flinging pillows and plushies at each other. You laugh, bright and delighted, and he’s drawn to the curve of your neck as you throw your head back, the glitter in your half-closed eyes, and the carelessly toothy grin on your face.

He doesn’t notice March staring at him thoughtfully, cogs whirring in her head.

“You like Y/N.”

It’s a week after the pillow fight the three of you had, and it’s one of the times everyone’s gathered in the parlour, with the extra bonus of your delicious baking. Cookies, this time, buttery and vanilla and sweet.

The statement startles him from his thoughts, and he turns to see March in the seat beside him, so close their shoulders brushed. There’s steely determination in her gaze, and a triumphant little smile on her face.

“... What?”

“You like Y/N,” she repeats, and his eyes dart to where you were, conversing with Himeko and Welt a few tables down.

He didn’t quite understand what March was hinting at. Of course he liked you. Everyone liked you. He tells March as such. "Do you not like Y/N…?"

She facepalms, groaning softly.

"No! Of course I do! But you have a crush on Y/N," she explains, gesturing wildly with her hands. She beams excitedly, bouncing in her seat. "Like, you know, you wanna date and stuff. It's so cute!"

"I…" he blinks, utterly puzzled, mouth slightly parted. "No…? I don't."

The sound of your laughter draws his attention away from her for the briefest second. Snorting, March slugs his shoulder, rolling her eyes as she does. "Funny. It's so obvious! You're literally giving Y/N heart eyes right now. Even Stelle noticed."

He huffs, fixing her with a glare. "I do not have a crush on Y/N."

March sighs, a knowing smile on her face. Standing, she tousles his hair as she says, "Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night!"

She flounces away, leaving him there to scowl and fix his hair. Still, he can't help but feel as if he's missing something important, like a book without its title, or the sun without its moon.

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was warmth.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open, a hand instinctively rising to his chest. This was getting ridiculously repetitive, to be haunted by the same memory for nights on end. Still… Something felt off about it, as if there were pieces of the puzzle that had yet to make the scene. He doesn’t realise when he got to the kitchen, but he does, and the sight of you chases the worries out of his mind for now.

“Do we ever sleep?” he asks rhetorically, taking his usual seat at the aisle.

You grin, setting down two mugs in front of him. “S’pose not. I’m gonna have to take a really long nap soon, though.”

Your nails clink against the porcelain, a habit of yours he’s gotten used to, but what’s curious is the way sparks are emitting from your fingertips. He frowns, concerned, but you don’t seem to notice — or mind.

“Your hands…”

Looking down, you let out a soft ‘oh’, and wiggle them. “Eh,” you say nonchalantly, rubbing your thumb and index finger together. “Part of the package deal with my powers. They’ll go away soon.”

“It doesn’t hurt?” he questions, just to make sure.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ ever so slightly. “But the insomnia’s a bitch.”

You’re rolling a ball of… fire(?) in your palms now, eyes golden with the reflection of it. His confusion grows by the second. Glancing up, you notice it, and you smile a little wistfully.

“When I started following the Abundance, I gained some sort of fire powers?. But there’s always a catch, isn’t there? The energy kind of accumulates inside of me until I use it. When I don’t use it, this happens —” you hold up your hand to show him, summoning a wisp of a flame before snatching your palm back “— along with the insomnia. But after draining the energy, I get really sleepy and black out for a few days. It depends on how much I drain, of course.”

“And your energy hasn’t been drained since…”

“Since I joined the Express,” you finish for him. “No one’s needed healing since then, anyway. Which is a good thing.”

“Nothing in the data bank stored any information on this type of power,” he says, mostly to himself. He’d do another search later. There had to be something. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Yep! Our next station is Penacony, isn’t it? I can stop by the hospitals there or something.”

“Alright,” he replies, albeit rather dubiously.

Then your eyes gleam wickedly, and you rub your palms together in imitation of some storybook villain. “Wanna see something cool?”

And as you showcase your talent in manipulating fire, he can’t help but admire you. The minute he thought he knew all there was to know about you, you had gone and revealed something entirely fantastical about yourself.

Literal healing abilities that stemmed from pyrokineses. That explained quite a lot, actually. Sunny eyes, sunny smile, sunny demeanor. You were practically the embodiment of the sun, and this simply perfected it even further. Warm inside and out. He brings the cup of hot chocolate to his lips, taking a small sip. You could even create warmth too.

Your smile is wide and expectant as you present to him a fiery image of the Express, which morphs into Pom-Pom, then Stelle, Mr. Welt, Himeko and finally March.

Intrusively, his mind conjures up the image of March’s excited, knowing announcement. You like Y/N.

Preposterous. He didn't like you in that way. You were a good friend, and he was merely close to you. Sure, you were sweet, baked really well, funny, a great conversationalist, bubbly yet not overbearing like March herself and utterly sunny and— Oh.

Oh.

He liked you.

—

Nothing changed. Much. Realising he had a little more than platonic feelings toward you only seemed to heighten his awareness of you. Your laugh. Your eyes. Your warmth. You, in general.

Except March seemed to know too, if her shit-eating grin and horrendously concealed inneudos were any indication. You should ask them on a date, she had squealed once.

He couldn’t just ask you out. How would he even go about doing that? Any train of thought in that direction just left him feeling incredibly awkward. Being your friend was enough, he decided. Your night-time meetings. Your hot chocolate. It was more than enough.

“He almost kissed me,” Stelle wails dramatically, shaking your shoulders. “You know how shocked I was? I woke up to a random dude in my face! Never let him do CPR ever again.”

March nods along solemnly. “You can do all the first aid, right Y/N? That man doesn’t know any to save his life.”

“As if you know any more than I do,” he snipes back, faintly horrified they were telling all of this to you. He remembers that day. March and Stelle were definitely overselling it. “And it wasn’t that bad.”

“Of course not,” Stelle says dubiously, shooting him a dirty look.

You’re cackling, wiping tears out of your eyes. “No way. None of you know first aid? I can teach y’all some.”

March squeals, clapping her hands. “YES! Let’s do CPR. I volunteer Dan Heng as tribute.”

“I don’t want CPR on me again.” Stelle nods in a ‘fine by me’ gesture, humming as she does. “Dan Heng, you do it.”

“Majority wins,” you sing, grinning, and shrug at him as his gaze meets yours rather helplessly. “Get on the ground, on your back.”

March does it for him, practically shoving him on the ground. He glowers at her, to which she deftly ignores. Stelle’s only snickering from the bed. You settle down near his side, and all he can see is your back and hair as you turn to speak with the other two.

“Right, so first, you make sure there’s nothing dangerous around you, the casualty and anyone else. Then, you check whether they’re responsive or not, and for major wounds and whatnot. Call for help if you can.”

You shift him flat on his back, and kneel with one knee near his shoulder and the other at his waist. You lift up your palms and show everyone how you put one above the other, interlocking them, positioning them. He can’t quite stop the small hitch in his breath when you lean over him, hands hovering just above his chest.

“Make sure your knees are positioned like this, and your elbows are locked. The heel of your palm should be right in the middle and your middle finger should align with the nipple.”

March and Stelle both giggle at your last statement, and he wills himself not to react. He can feel you roll your eyes at them. You lean away from him then, and there's a small pang of disappointment which he wholly ignores.

You continue to explain how to count each set, and how to time them, and rattle off some songs they could follow the beat to.

He's hit with a strong, strong sense of admiration for you. He hasn't seen you out on field yet, but with the way you teach and demonstrate everything with practised ease makes him that much surer of your capabilities.

Then you turn back to him, a sheepish look on your face. “Okay, time for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”

Oh.

"No! Not actually!" you practically screech, with the way March and Stelle start howling and the widening of his eyes. "I'm just going to explain how it works — Stelle, shut ."

"Fine, fine," the girl in question says, voice thick with amusement.

"After you're done with the first set of CPR but the casualty still isn't breathing, you'd want to do something called a head-tilt chin-lift."

You place two fingers under his chin, literally tilting his head upward. He sincerely hopes you can't feel how shallow his breaths are.

"Then you're gonna have to pinch the casualty's nose, and well, breathe into their mouth. If their chest rises on the first breath, yay, you’re done! If not, you breathe into their mouth again, and..."

You carry on with the impromptu lesson, walking everyone through a few different scenarios. He'd be committing everything to memory if only his mind would stop flashing back to how your hands were so close—

Soon enough, the conversation changes its course, and everyone moves on except for March, whose grin is ever wider and the sparkles in her eyes like fireworks.

'Stop it,' he mouths at her.

She sticks her tongue out at him.

("Hey, we're good, right?" you ask him the next day, a faint furrow between your brows. "The CPR thing yesterday, you just seemed a little uncomfortable."

"It's alright," he says, because it really was. "It was fine."

"Okay then.")

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there was a gentle voice, hushed and comforting.

“You’re gonna be fine. This is no place to die.”

Dan Heng’s eyes flicker open. That dream… how odd. That was certainly something different. He raises a hand to his chest, feeling at the scar through his clothes. There was no sting, no burning sensation. It didn’t hurt, not one bit.

He stands easily, to the kitchens, by now a well rehearsed habit.

You were there, as always, somehow as it should. It brings him comfort all the same.

“Rough night?”

“Memories, is all.”

“Ah…”

Setting down a mug in front of him, you turn back to your baking, an odd deviation in routine. Sparks dance down your hands and fingers from time to time. “No hot chocolate for me today — I want to finish these cookies. Any requests?”

“Chocolate chips?” he suggests softly. “I like them.”

You chuckle. “Sure.”

He watches as you putter about the kitchen, waltzing to the rhythm in your soul. Humming again, bright and airy, that same old tune He never did get the name of that song, did he?

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask suddenly. “About the memories? Talking with someone usually helps.”

“They’re not very happy stories,” he tells you in lieu. Would you want to hear about how he almost died? How that memory plagued his sleep? His past was a miserable, miserable tale.

“They never are, are they?” is your reply.

He chuckles humorlessly, watching the bubbly foam in his cup swirl and swirl and swirl itself into a vortex. “When I first — long before the Express, I was on an IPC ship affected by the Fragmentum, helping to clear it out. I was too inexperienced, and got myself outnumbered. I should’ve died then, but I didn’t.”

Letting out a soft, frustrated exhale, he takes a swig off his drink. “That’s where the memory ends — where I wake up. I never got to see… When I woke up, the doctors told me the person who helped me had already left.”

“What a shame,” you comment. “But c’est la vie, I guess.”

“What does that mean?” he asks curiously. He never knew you spoke another language.

“It’s a saying I got from one of the worlds I visited! It means ‘that’s life’, I think,” you say brightly.

“You know the worst thing?” he asks, and after your prompting, continues, “The only thing I have left from that day is a scar.”

You’re molding the cookie dough into shape now, its scent wafting through the air delectably. Sighing, you turn back to look at him with a small, sad smile. “Some say scars are the tapestries left on your skin from the victories you win. That kinda applies there, right?”

“Technically it was a loss…”

“Well, you survived against all odds. That seems like a win enough.”

The fervour in your voice is… surprising. He’d never know you’d defend his honor this passionately, even if it was to himself.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess it does.”

The both of you fall into an easy sort of silence for the rest of the night. It was, admittedly, another thing he loved about you — how simple it was to talk to you, yet at the same time to be silent with you. Spending time with you was something he loved, point blank.

—

His new form was… jarring, to say the least. Or was it his old form? There had barely been anything to process anything when—

"Dan Heng," you breath out, hushed and hasty, eyes sweeping over his body. You're bloody and bruised, he notes, breathing hard through your nose. A gash on your cheek that's half healed, and the odd angle your wrist is in.

Your first fight, he realises. The way you held your own is no mere feat, but you weren't a fighter, you shouldn't have had to. And against people that could've killed you a thousand times over? All because of him, and his past.

Yet you're only staggering up to him, concerned etched into your every feature. He meets you there partway, resisting the urge to bring his hand to your cheek.

"Are you hurt?" you ask, a hand reaching for his chest.

Your touch is warm, familiar. It sends sparks flying down his spine and heat up his cheeks, but he wills it away. He murmurs, "I should be asking you that."

"I'll heal," you tell him nonchalantly, batting the concern away. Your other hand wipes the blood off your cheeks, revealing smooth skin where the boy had once cut. "See? Now, what about you? That guy really did a number on you…"

Your gaze stray to where his heart should be. Not even his clothes are torn.

"The last time you got stabbed, you —"

"Nearly died," he finishes. "Don't worry about me. I… The Vidyadhara are hard to kill."

You snort, smirking slightly. You glance at his horns, gaze trailing down. It felt… different from how you did earlier. "You never told me you had an even prettier form."

He feels his entire brain short-circuit right then and there.

"I… you — what?"

You laugh, teasing and delighted. He scowls, to cover his fluster, reluctantly pushing you away. "March is corrupting you."

Shrugging, you turn to Jing Yuan, who he had forgotten was there. His… old friend. At least, his past incarnation's friend. The man leads the both of you to a starskiff. It was high time you reunited with the rest, anyway.

You nudge him with your elbow. "You're keeping it, right?"

He huffs.

"That's not a no!"

"Am I dying?" Stelle rasps, staring at her blood-stained hand. She's audibly wheezing, breath shaky as she stumbles to the ground.

You're there in an instant, shooing March away, however much the girl wanted to help. Even her shields hadn't been enough for Phantylia, and one of her attacks had struck Stelle in the ribs.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Stelle clutch your hand. "I'm too young to die!"

"You're going to be fine, you hear me?" you tell her, yet he detects undertones of worry in your voice. "This is no place to die."

That statement. It sounded so… familiar.

He takes his chance in the lull during battle to glance to the sidelines. Stelle's flat on the ground, blood pooling near her waist and your knees. Hands above the gaping wound, red-hot energy spreads from your palms to her skin. That must feel warm, he finds himself thinking inadvertently.

"That tickles," she complains, evidently much better.

"At least you're not— not dead," you retort dryly, punctuated by a yawn.

"Hey, you good?”

"Just peachy."

You help her up, and Stelle takes her place beside him, already raring for another go. His gaze finds you with concern, only to receive a soft yet determined smile in reply.

"Let's finish this."

(Later, you're all on a starskiff headed toward respite.

Immediately, you slump yourself against him, dropping your head on his shoulder. You're warm, and he can feel the way your chest rises and falls with each breath. The way his heart flutters is utterly juvenile, but it does all the same.

However… the battle was over, yet your words couldn't seem to leave his mind. This is no place to die. Somehow, he knew that statement. But where was it from?

He's definitely never heard it from you. He'd know if it were, he could probably recite most conversations he's had with you by heart. And still…

He turns to you, only to find you already lightly dozing. He can't find the heart in him to wake you.)

—

Screeching metal, the glint of a blade, a sickening stab and a pierce through his heart. Panic stricken, he whirled around, barely able to retaliate before he was pulled down under.

Then, there were warm hands, soft eyes.

“This is no place to die.”

Dan Heng’s eyes flutter open. That dream again…

But how could it be? You? Had you been the one to save him? Or was he just projecting his crush on you into the memory? You would have told him if you had met him all that time ago, wouldn’t you have? He had even told you about it some nights ago…

Swiftly, he stands, resolve firm. He heads to your room, a feeling in his gut that told him that was exactly where you’d be. Honestly, if you were in the kitchens tonight, he’d drag you back to bed himself.

A faint ‘come in’ responds to his knock on your door, and he steps in carefully. Your eyes are half-mast, hair mussed from sleep, and he vaguely wonders if he should’ve saved it for the morning. Yet, the sight you make is just incredibly endearing and he can’t bring himself to regret much.

“Come sit.” You pat the spot on your bed next to you, beckoning him over. He moves almost on his body’s own accord, settling by you so naturally as if it had always meant to be.

“You know, they say ‘character is fate’,” you tell him, interrupting whatever he had been about to say. “Because even from infinite paths to choose from, your character makes it so that you wouldn’t have chosen any other way, in every lifetime and the next.”

“Does that make the two of us fated?” you continue softly, playing with the strands of his now long hair. “If I hadn’t chose to become a healer, if you hadn’t been on that ship…”

“The whole time, why didn’t you tell me that — that it was you?” he asks, gaze meeting yours searchingly.

“That day I saw you on the Express, I thought that it must’ve been fate, y’know?” you explain, smiling wistfully. “You didn’t remember me then, and I didn’t want to bring up the past since you’ve always seemed so uncomfortable about it. I told myself that it would be up to fate if you remembered or not, hah.”

Your reasoning was entirely, perfectly logical, and yet fantastical all the same. You were always one to believe in fate. Still… “I just… it had been you all along.”

You, with the hot chocolates and the sunny-like demeanor and the midnight talks. You, who traversed the universe helping others selflessly, who during your first battle were only concerned with him and his health. You, who he had so irrevocably fallen in love with.

Shit, he didn’t just like you. He loved you. Or at least, he was on the very cusp of it, at the moment just before a star was born, ready to fall, ready to let go.

“I think it’s fate,” you announce seriously. “I mean, I made chocolate chip cookies the day we met and they’re actually your favourite.”

“I only decided they were my favourite after tasting yours,’ he retorts without thinking, still faintly stunned by the revelation.

You laugh, sharp and amused and delighted. “That good?”

“The best.”

“Can I see it?” you ask suddenly, turning to him in a way your shoulders lean against his.

He swallows, instantly understanding to what you were alluding to. Hesitantly, he nods, pulling up his shirt to reveal the spot where there should’ve been a scar. Your hand grazes along his skin, and he’s sure you can feel the way he shudders.

“This form doesn’t scar,” he murmurs lowly, almost apologetic. That scar had meant many things. His weakness, his survival. His past, his future.

You hum under your breath, and the way the faint starlight reflects off of your eyes should be considered ethereal. “Well, I guess it’s good you don’t. With the amount of fights you and Stelle get into…”

Glancing up at him, you meet his eyes, and you smile shyly, like the sun peeking through the clouds. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Suddenly parched, his tongue darts across his lips. Was it just him or had you always been this close? Something delicate was in the air, as if the simplest move would break it, and he couldn’t quite make a sound despite the hammering in his heart. The hand you have on his chest hasn’t moved, warm, but trembling ever so slightly. He —

“If you don’t say something I think I’m gonna kiss you,” you whisper, almost out of breath, and your eyes oh so wanting.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. He dips his head, a hand snaking around your waist as finally, your lips meet. Your hands find its way in his hair, and you’re sighing into the kiss, the smile evident on your face. He feels himself do the same.

It’s no more of a kiss than a simple brush of lips, but it’s sweet and shy and promised so much more that he feels warmth unfurl in every fibre of him. You relax against him, nuzzling your face into his neck, and he can’t help but place a kiss atop your head.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” you confess, muffled into his body.

“Surely not as long as I have…”

You laugh. “March is going to take one look at us tomorrow and scream ‘I told you so’. She’s been saying you liked me back since forever.”

Despite March’s annoying meddling, he feels a tad grateful toward her. Without her intervention, he probably would’ve taken much longer to realise his feelings toward you.

“You asked me once if I believed in fate, and I told you I didn’t. I still don’t,” he says, musing, rambling, barely putting two words before the other before he’s speaking. “But you do. So if it’s any worth, you’re my fate. Infinite paths to choose from and I’d always pick this one, if it gets me to you.”

You still, and for a moment, he thinks he’s messed up, that whatever he had said earlier was too rushed. Then, you’re hugging him, squeezing him so tightly his ribs might cave in. The smile on your face is radiant, your eyes dazzlingly bright.

“That means you’re stuck with me, y’know,” you say loftily, “Possibly forever.”

He’s sure the look on his face is absolutely lovesick. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he vows. “‘Til the end of the line, and not a second less.”

you were beyond worried

you took it upon yourself to take care of him and would constantly remind him to at least drink some water or take a short nap

even a 20 minute nap would be good, studies have shown

but luke was stubborn

there are some days that his clients were being too demanding that it can't just be helped. he would sit on his desk from morning until night without a care of anything else outside of his own little world

it's been a while since you two last hang out, you can't even watch movies or have a little cuddle session because of how busy he is

you're aware just how passionate he is with being a detective, as you were a witness to it; how he would always stay up all night working on analysis and collecting evidence, how a delightful blush would appear in his cheeks whenever he declared that he had solved a case

he's in love with his work

so you brush away the neglection that emerges in your heart

all of his tasks are going to be done before you know it, you convince yourself

he's Luke Pearce, after all

so you decided to give him space for now

Today is sunday.

If it had been any other sunday, you'd be humming with a hop in your step towards the kitchen to prepare for you and your boyfriend's weekly movie date night.

If it had been any other sunday, you'd be listing what groceries to buy or what food to cook so that you'll have an abundance of snacks while you two were binge-watching.

Unfortunately for you though, today isn't your typical sunday.

You scanned your eyes around your shared bedroom, the ginger-haired detective nowhere to be found. You're sure he's working himself to the boot inside his precious study room as he did the night before.

You ran your fingers through your hair as you get up from the soft mattress of the bed, groaning, "What time is it?"

You tilted your head to look up the wall clock.

9:00am

You sighed. This whole week Luke's nose was stuck solely on the documents and case files with different coded numbers and names you can't even recognize.

You told him time and time again that not getting enough rest is not healthy for both the body and the brain, but he just shrugged it off with a "Relax. I'll finish this in no time." with bags under his eyes no less.

His body has been running on instant ramen and black coffee throughout this entire ordeal, you even noticed how his eyes would droop every now and then. You can't comprehend how he can still manage to function in that state.

You were not having it. He barely even looked at you, and when he does, it's to tell you to not be so loud, that he needs everything to be quiet to concentrate.

You stomped out of the bedroom, ready to give him a piece of your mind.

As your hands clamped the doorknob of his study room, you were already preparing and practicing what to say in a way that won't give him further stress. You clicked the door open.

"Luke, that's enou-" you immediately stopped your ministrations when your eyes caught sight of the raven with his head plopped on his desk, arms dangling loosely.

Your eyes soften. Leaning down, you wiped off the stray bangs covering his face.

The soft glow of the morning sun emanating from the windows gave him an angelic glow, his plump lips parted slightly, taking in soft breaths. Exhaustion finally gave him in.

The idiot was sleeping soundly.

Good for him.

You give yourself more moments to admire his peaceful sleeping form, when your eyes travelled to the documents sprawled in a clatter on the desk.

Your head spun and your sight became hazy when you caught sight of no less than 10 documents labeled "unchecked."

There was a folder on the opposite side of the desk, you hurriedly grab the papers with the label "solved." there were more than 20 papers of this kind.

You shuffled the papers in your hands to count them and you felt sick.

No way. he took a whopping 50 new cases this week!? What on earth was he thinking!?

Your mind really went WTF LUKE!? as you bore holes of glares on his oh so sweet and innocent sleeping form.

You knew he was working on a lot of cases, yes. but you didn't know it was this much!

You scratched your head a little too harshly, feeling more stress dawn on you than on him.

This was too much, and he said he was going to finish this quote "in no time!" end quote.

You pressed buttons on your phone and dialed the number that you knew would be a big help right now.

"Kiki, can I come over?"

Amidst your desperation and utter determination to help Luke, you forgot to notify him where you were going.

8:00pm

Luke's eyes fluttered open, his mind still foggy from his longer-than-initially-planned sleep.

Twelve hours ago, he told himself he'd only sleep for 10 minutes. He didn't want to sleep in the first place though, it's just that his eyelids felt the heaviest they've been in ages.

The reason he wanted to sleep for only 10 minutes is to finish his tasks in time for your movie date.

What time is it... He groggily thought.

He was about to check the time when his gaze settled on the window, darkness enveloping the skies.

"Oh." He blinked.

His heart sank as the countless paperworks he's been doing finally weighted on him.

The movie date.

Grogginess from his slumber leaving his body entirely, he quickly made his way outside of his study room to look for you.

Where in the world is Y/N?

His shoulders slumped as he remembered your encounters with him this week.

"Maybe they're mad at me." He wondered out loud and frowned. He noticed. He hadn't missed it; how you would hang your head low whenever he told you that he was still busy, how you would have a dejected look on your face whenever he refuses to take a rest, how you would frown whenever he would glare at you unconsciously for breaking his concentration.

So he decided to do what every person would have done in this situation. He dialed your number.

Hope blooms in his chest when you answered.

"Hey," He started, "Where are you right now?It's getting late."

"I'm sorry Luke, i'm busy right now." You said in a tired voice, "I'll message you once I'm done."

"but," his eyes cast down, "it's sunday," he tried to fight back the negative thoughts in his head, "you're always free on sundays." his heart clenches.

It's true. The two of you promised that no matter how packed your schedule is, you should leave sunday night, 8pm, free of work. You even pinky swore!

He wanted to spend whatever was left with his time here on earth with you...

He can't blame you. It's his fault, anyway.

"Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you." he opted to say instead. You hung up.

Instead of investigating his remaining paperwork, he investigated what you're possibly doing right now.

10:00pm

"Are you sure you don't want to go home yet?" Artem inquired with concerned eyes.

"Yes, I still need to understand these codes." You scanned your eyes through the vast amount of combinations of numbers and letters, trying to decrypt them with the method that Artem taught you earlier.

"I'm really sorry for troubling you." You apologized for the nth time today.

You felt bad for bothering Artem and Kiki like this.

At first, it was just Kiki. You hoped she would help you find out how to crack codes using her connections, but even that didn't help.

You were about to give up when Kiki suddenly called Artem's number.

In any normal day, you would protest. However, Luke's sanity is on the line.

That's how the three of you ended up in a 24 hour cat cafe during the dark hours of the night, you've been working here since this morning.

"I don't know why you suddenly called without notice," he gently petted the cat beside him, "but it seemed to be important to you, so I don't mind helping." he flashed you a soft smile.

"Sir Artem's right," Kiki tilted her head to your direction, breaking her eyes from studying the codes, "We're only one call away!" she exclaimed, beaming at you.

"You two..." You feel like crying.

You were thankful to have friends like this. You never disclosed why you needed their help desperately, you never told them why this was so important, but they still took up your offer without hesitation nonetheless.

Easy maid of honor and best man choices right here.

You coughed, "Anyways, maybe we should take a 5 minute break first? I can buy us some more drinks." You were feeling generous, and you wanted to repay them for their gracious help, "It's on me." you winked at the two.

Kiki beamed, "I'm going with you!"

Artem shook his head, "Any flavor is fine. I'm going to watch over our table and belongings." He then typed stuff on the laptop you can't comprehend.

"Alright." You and Kiki went off to the counter, giggling to each other about the best-sellers in this cafe.

10:10pm

"A cat cafe?" He mumbled once he finished tracking your gps.

What are they doing there? Worry stirs in his chest, I doubt it's about work.

He decided to call your number again.

Lump in his throat while the phone rings, his heart and mind not ready for what was about to come.

"Luke." The other line greeted.

His heart drops, eyes widening, as he stood abruptly to assure if he's hearing it correctly, "Artem?"

Did Artem Wing just picked up your phone?

From a cat cafe?

On a weekend?

As far as he's concerned, sunday is a free work day for the themis firm.

So why?

His hands trembled, uncaring of what Artem was blabbering about from the other line, dropping the phone with a thud on the ground. With furrowed brows and panicked movements, he frantically grabbed the motor keys from his pocket.

Faster than lightning, he makes his way to the cat cafe he never thought he would despise right now.

He was more logical than this. In fact, deep in his heart, he knows you won't even think of breaking his heart.

However, he's been ignoring you this past week, the devil's voice whispering in his head is making it worse, "You probably spent more time with Artem these past few days than with me."

He clenched his jaw as the lingering thought clouds his mind, do you not love me anymore?

10:10pm

"Y/N."

When you and Kiki came back, Artem was looking at you quite incredulously.

"You look pale, Artem. What's the matter?" You questioned as you analyzed his widened cerulean eyes, only then you noticed your phone on his hands.

"Luke called." He said slowly, "He abruptly hung up and I don't know why."

"What did you tell him?" You inquired as you reached out your hand to get your phone, then he placed it on your palm.

"I wanted to let him know where you are, and that he should pick you up." Artem sported a conflicted look in his eyes, "He sounded agitated when he spoke my name."

You sighed, already knowing what's on Luke's mind.

You'll explain to him later.

"Our order will arrive in 5 minutes," you sat back on the table," Kiki went to the restroom for a bit."

"We should call it a day." Artem replied, as he put the laptop back to his bag.

"Right," the three of you were tired, that much you can tell from your two companions' constant yawns and heavy eyelids.

You were feeling sleepy as well.

"Thank you again for today, Artem. I learned a lot, I definitely can take this from here." You beamed at him.

He flashed a small smile back, "Yes. I'm glad I can be of ser-" He was suddenly cut off by a voice you didn't expect.

"Y/N."

Your heart throbbed against your chest at your name rolling off his tongue with so much intensity.

You turned around, your eyes meeting his. From his voice, you expected him to be angry. You expected his eyebrows to be furrowed, for his noses to be flared.

Yet you see an emotion that broke you even more than his anger could.

Sadness.

"What's the meaning of this?" There was a tone in Luke's voice you've rarely heard before. The last one being was when he scolded you for joining NXX.

His eyes flickered between you and Artem, "Is this what I think it is?" He then fixed his eyes on you, voice broken.

"No! Luke-" you grabbed his hands as you spoke, "We're just busy with work."

He cast his eyes down, "Yeah, work," he chuckled dryly, "Artem isn't wearing a suit, there's only the two of you, you were even smiling at each other when I came here," he swallowed hard, then looked at his wristwatch, "it's already past 10pm, and most importantly," he tilted his head to look into your eyes, "It's sunday, Y/N. We cancel work plans during sundays."

You were taken aback not by his words, but by the unshed tears that was now threatening to spill down his cheeks.

He quickly blinked them away.

Your heart hurts, seeing him like this.

"Luke, I-"

"You can tell me you know," he sniffed, "If I'm lacking effort in our relationship." he looked away.

You were about to tell him that this was all a big misunderstanding but he kept on cutting you off, "I'm sorry for not giving you enough of my time. I'm sorry that I prioritized my work over you. I'm sorry."

Artem sat there with widened eyes.

"Luke, this is a misunderstanding-"

"What's going on?" Kiki suddenly emerges from the halls of the comfort room.

The three of you turned your heads to look at her confused state.

Just like the wind clearing up a fog, like water putting out a fire, his thoughts of you dating Artem now gone. Luke stood there, speechless.

You spoke up, "Luke, we need to talk."

10:30pm

The four of you apologized to the cafe owner after what had transpired, opting to take your ordered drinks home as you were in a rush to explain everything to Luke.

The two of you were silent on the way home, it's only when the two of you sat on the couch when you finally spoke, "I don't mind, you know." You gazed at his brown eyes, he turned to you.

"What?" His voice is still raspy, but not enough to worry you.

"I don't mind if you prioritize your work over me. You know what I do mind?" you sent him a stern look, "It's when you prioritize work over your health." you then pinched his cheeks to scold him.

"Ow." He rubbed his swollen cheeks, as your hands dropped to his torso, embracing him.

"I love you Luke, I'm not sure why you thought I was being unfaithful, but I'm telling you, I'm offended." You glared at him and he flushed red.

"For that... I'm really really really sorry. I caused a fuss back there. I made you and Artem look bad. It's a good thing there aren't any costumers in the cafe, because if there was I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for the rest of my life for humiliating you." He hugged you back, "I was just being irrational. Probably sleep deprived too," he chuckled, "Most of all, I was afraid I'd lose you."

"The reason why I was with them is because," you held him tighter, your body feeling his hardened muscles in his stomach and chest, "I wanted to learn about encoding and decoding the files that you were working on," you pecked his lips, "I wanted to ease your burdens a little." you kissed his lips again, a little longer than before.

Heat flooded his cheeks and he looked away, "You're an angel you know? I don't deserve you."

"You do. You're just stressed, and not yourself, that's all. I mean, all you ever ate was instant ramen, how could you think straight?" You scolded him again.

He chuckled, eyes shining with mischief, "Then, care to help me..." he placed his warm hands on your exposed thighs, "Relax?"

Excitement pools in your stomach as he pushed you down the couch, he immediately crawled on top of you, his arms resting on the side of your head. His body trapping you underneath.

You instinctively opened your legs for him.

He dipped down, "I missed you." He whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending tingles down to your spine, "And I want so badly to make it up to you..." He murmured, pressing soft kisses on your neck and jaw, before capturing your lips into his.

The feeling of his warm lips on yours was a feeling you've been waiting to savor for days now, you're definitely going to make the best of this make out session.

He had you starved.

You felt warmth and arousal all over as you tangled your fingers on his hair, his wet tongue began licking and nibbling your bottom lip, making you mewl, "luke.. nnhhn," and he took this opportunity to explore the inside of your mouth.

The kiss immediately turned heated as he began grinding on your crotch, your panting mouths and hot tongues mingling with each other.

You pulled away with a hazy look on your eyes, trying to catch your breath, "Tonight is supposed to be movie night, you know?" you teased.

He removed his shirt over his head, "Let's make our own movie, then."