Rysu

♡ live wire - by far their favorite name to use for you - you're their live wire, after all. volt always uses it as a greeting or whenever he needs to get your attention (god forbid he just use your name). eddie, most often, will just call you by your name or just look into your eyes when addressing you. That doesn't stop the occasional live wire that comes out of his mouth, and when he realizes that you enjoy it, Eddie tends to use it a bit more often.

"Live wire! You look absolutely enchanting tonight. Will you do me the honor of being your first dance?"

"Thanks for the help, live wire. Can I get you a drink, or have you had enough of me for the night?"

Lord help you if they figure out that you love it when they call you our live wire. Volt’s especially unbearable about it.

"Isn't our live wire quite the show-stopper?"

"Yeah, there is no one quite like our live wire. That's for sure."

"You're our live wire, and you'll always have a table here for you."

Occasionally, Volt will call you little wire to taunt or tempt you. It usually ends up working.

"I'd like to see you try, little wire."

♡ spark - volt uses this as a teasing nickname for you, and he enjoys dressing it with his own flourishes. "my dear spark", "my sweet, little spark", "my darling spark" - you name it, he's probably said it. eddie doesn't pick it up until later in your relationship, and again it's used teasingly, but with a much sweeter edge to it than volt's.

"Come now, my sweet spark, there's no need to be embarrassed!"

"Are you paying attention, spark? ...It sure doesn't seem like it."

"My darling spark, don't mind Eddie. He's in one of his moods again."

"One of my 'moods'? Don't listen to him, spark, he's trying to get on my nerves."

"Is it working?"

"...Yes."

♡ my light - pretty much exclusively used by volt for more tender and romantic moments. If he's trying to be serious with you, or offer you some sort of romantic confession, this is what he'll call you.

"Don't you understand the effect you have on us, my light?"

"My light, I adore you."

Once, before you fell asleep in bed, Eddie curled up to you and whisper, "Good night, my light. Love you."

You decided against mentioning this to him, partially because your face burns up every time you think about it, and partially because Volt will never let either of you live it down. Best to let that sit as a sweet memory in the back of your mind.

♡ darling / sweetheart - to eddie and volt's credit, they did try nicknames that were more conventional in the world of humans. babe/baby didn't feel right when they could just call you live wire, and most other nicknames didn't seem to fit the dynamic you had.

well, except for two of them.

Darling naturally rolls off of Volt's lips - it's nothing more than an extension of the names he already calls you. You are his darling live wire, the one who helped save him, Eddie, and the Breaker Box. Why wouldn't he refer to you as such?

"How are you feeling, darling? May I offer you some company for the night?"

You don't know how Eddie even thinks to call you sweetheart. It happens one night when you're both in a playful, bantering mood where you try to push each other's buttons. You're purposefully ignoring him, no matter what he calls you, until he says with a bit of annoyance:

"Come on, sweetheart, grab the tools and go. We've got shit to do."

You pause as your face burns at the nickname.

"...What did you just call me?"

If only a few months ago, someone told you that you’d be sitting on the kitchen island of briar u’s infamous hockey house. You would’ve spat in their face and thrown out witch allegations. But, as it so happens, you were currently proving yourself wrong since you were in fact sat at said kitchen island, at 2 in the morning.

What was especially life altering was the fact that the hockey house at two in the morning felt fundamentally different from the version people saw during the day.

Quieter, obviously.

There was still the low hum of the refrigerator somewhere behind you, the occasional groan of pipes in the walls, distant traffic bleeding through the kitchen windows in soft waves. Someone upstairs snored loud enough that it periodically rattled the ceiling and every so often the house settled with little creaks that sounded almost human in the dark.

You had been staring at the same paragraph for twenty-three minutes, and you’re pretty sure the windows loading screen was implanted into your brain in that time.

From the outside, you still looked productive enough. Your notes were spread methodically across the kitchen island in organised little piles, colour coded tabs sticking from textbooks, highlighters lined neatly beside your laptop alongside enough empty coffee cups to medically concern most people. Your laptop screen glowed brightly against the otherwise dim kitchen, lecture slides open beside three different quizlets and a half-finished practice paper that had slowly become your mortal enemy sometime around midnight.

Your knee bounced aggressively beneath the stool.

One of your hoodie sleeves had been pulled over your hand completely, the cuff half-chewed from absentminded stress while your other hand tapped your pencil rhythmically against the counter.

Tap tap tap.

Pause.

Tap tap tap.

You reread the sentence again, hoping the information would magically inject itself into your brain. Still nothing.

Your eyes skimmed over the words, recognising them individually but refusing to process them collectively, which somehow felt even more insulting considering this was material you’d already revised twice.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, pressing your temples in an attempt to settle the dull ache behind your eyes.

Fine. Whatever. Maybe your brain just needed a second.

You sat up straighter on the stool and reached for your coffee, immediately grimacing when the cold bitter liquid hit your tongue. It truly was a miracle what a red bull and coffee could produce if brewed together. Thankfully, nobody would know of your creation since you cleaned up the evidence and were currently drinking through the undeniable urge to gag it all out.

Your planner sat open beside you, pages covered in your handwriting so intensely neat it bordered on threatening. Every hour of the week had been scheduled down to frightening precision - lectures, revision blocks, assignment deadlines, office hours, reading lists.

And still somehow, the tasks outweighed the hours- the day you made the schedule was the day you cursed those who didn’t warn you that at Briar, everyone here had already been the smartest person in the room somewhere else.

You had spent most of your life being good at things naturally enough that effort felt almost embarrassing to admit to. High school had been manageable. Predictable.

Briar was different, at Briar, everyone was either born with the syllabus out of the womb or could somehow use textbook pages to roll and smoke a joint- still managing to come out with a 4.0 GPA. Which just meant every mistake, no matter how tiny, felt absurdly catastrophic.

You clicked your pen repeatedly while rereading the practice question in front of you.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Your eye twitched.

“Okay,” you muttered quietly to yourself, dragging a hand down your face. “No, because actually what the fuck is oxidative phosphorylation.”

The kitchen answered you unhelpfully with silence, bar the occasional drip of the sink- which didn’t help since it added another item to you todo list, “tell Logan to fix the kitchen sink”. You prayed your brain would remember it for longer than 20 seconds, but given that it could barely splutter together the material you swore was genetically implanted into your DNA , you didn’t have much hope.

Alright, new strategy- you turned your focus to your laptop. You’d make this test your bitch, one way or another. 

The diagram on your laptop stared back at you smugly. 

Or not. You glared at the behemoth of a biological diagram, weird, blob-like shapes were sprayed across the screen with equally sharp, taunting labels and colours that honestly, should never be used in association with the human body.

Your phone buzzed from somewhere across the large island, most likely beneath a pile of flashcards- you barely broke eye contact with your goliath. It was probably Allie. Or Hannah. Or someone in your intro to human biology class freaking out about the test. 

The notification popped up in the corner of your screen, it was both of them. Teaming up to tell you to go to sleep before your body gave out and somebody had to physically remove you from campus again.

You swiped it away dismissively. Not happening.

You still had two chapters left to revise, one practice paper unfinished and exactly nine hours before the test. Which in theory, sounded manageable. In practice however, you would willingly let Dean teach you about anal sex and somehow understand it better than the words in front of you. Your brain was buffering dramatically against your task list. 

You rubbed hard at your eyes before leaning back over your notes again, trying desperately to force yourself into focus.

“Just lock the fuck in.” You whispered to yourself, frustrated with the way your shoulders slumped tiredly and legs began to numb from where they were awkwardly folded beneath you.

Just focus.

Your pencil tapped faster, eyes burning as you forced them to read the same line four more times.

Nothing.

An annoyed groan left your lips, because you could feel yourself slipping. 

Feel your concentration dissolving around the edges while your body keeps trying to push forward anyway. Your thoughts felt sluggish and overcrowded at the same time, every tiny unfinished task pressing against the inside of your skull until even breathing felt vaguely unproductive.

And still, you scolded your weary body and brain- convincing them to just keep going. One more hour. One more minute.

Because the alternative was stopping, and you wouldn’t dare consider it. Stopping meant acknowledging that maybe you physically couldn’t keep up with the pace you’d set for yourself- and the mere hypothetical made something uncomfortable curl in your chest.

You reached for another flashcard.

Read half of it and… forgot what it said immediately. 

A near hysterical laugh escaped you before you could stop it, fingers curling around the innocent card-stock. You wacked yourself with the flimsy thing before pausing with it pressed against your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut for a second longer than you deemed necessary.

You were fine, it's just a little stress. Everyone at Briar was stressed, and you refused to be the coward who was complaining about a little sleep deprivation and one difficult exam. 

Your eyes opened again and landed on the digital clock glowing faintly on the microwave, the numbers slightly blurry. 

2:07 AM.

You stared at it for a moment.

Then immediately looked back down at your notes like refusing to acknowledge the time would somehow stop it existing.

Tap tap ta-

The pencil snapped clean in half, one side stayed clasped in your hand whilst the other rolled uselessly away from you. At least something was escaping this revision nightmare. You froze, staring longingly at the traitorous piece of wood, scoffing in a kind of exhausted disbelief normally reserved for personal betrayals.

Then you laughed again, burying your face in your hands. 

Dangerously close to tears.

The kitchen light had been on long enough that Logan eventually noticed it in his sleep, not at first, just distantly, somewhere beneath the heavy haze of exhaustion and late-night dreams, his brain registered the thin strip of warm light cutting underneath his bedroom door which made him subconsciously shuffle around the bed, eyebrows furrowing when he sensed a change in the environment around him.

Because you were supposed to be upstairs.

More specifically, you were supposed to be asleep beside him.

Logan woke slowly, one arm stretching instinctively across the mattress before meeting cold sheets instead of your body. For a second he just blinked at the ceiling, disoriented in that miserable way people were at two in the morning, before finally pushing himself upright with a tired groan.

He sat up, swaying tiredly as his eyes adjusted to the rude awakening, his room was dark besides the faint orange glow of campus lights bleeding through the blinds and your side of the bed was empty.

Not recently empty either, the sheets had settled and emanated a chill that suggested you’d been gone for a few hours.

Logan scrubbed a hand down his face and began to search for something to cover up with. He already knew where you’d be.

The same place you always ended up when your brain refused to let you rest.

He shoved himself out of bed and reached blindly for the pair of grey sweatpants abandoned somewhere near the desk chair, dragging them on low over his hips before stumbling toward the door. His Briar hockey team hoodie hung half-off the back of the chair and he tugged it over his head without much thought, still too sleepy to care that it was inside out.

The stairs creaked under his weight, making him grimace and shift his feet experimentally- trying to make his way down quietly without disrupting the hushed atmosphere. The house was dead, Tucker wasn’t flopping around the couch yelling at a video game, Dean wasn’t raiding the protein powder cupboard, Garrett's old classic rock wasn’t blaring out of the speaker. It was just silent. 

Then you came into view, and it was like seeing a zombie in a graveyard. Logan stilled in his tracks.

It was exactly as he’d pictured you, hunched over the kitchen island, hair fluttering out the braid you’d messily done, probably when you first fled from the bedroom- your legs were pretzeled beneath you as you stared at your laptop, frozen in time with notes covering every inch of the island around you.

The stool you sat on vibrated from the force of your knee bouncing, even the empty coffee cups and highlighters jolted considerably; from what Logan could make out, almost seven different tabs were open across your screen, the garish light illuminated your face as you glanced up a few times, your hoodie sleeve covering half your hand while you aggressively annotated something in the margins of your textbook with enough force to threaten the integrity of the page itself.

He carefully treaded towards you, close enough to make out the look on your face. Sheer exhaustion plagued your features, not the normal version either, you didn’t have a lick of sleepiness on your face, it was probably wrung out from how wound tight you were. This kind of exhaustion settled beneath your skin and turned every small inconvenience into a potential psychological breakdown

Logan paused briefly for a second, just watching you. His chest tightened a little, because this had been your life for the past week. Barely eating unless necessary, sleep was just a polite grievance that you gave into once in a while when you weren’t studying into the night until your eyes were glassy. And somehow, you still thought people would believe you when you insisted that you were fine.

You muttered something under your breath at your laptop before aggressively clicking your pen- the sound was sharp enough to bring Logan back into the scene that laid out before him. 

Click.Click.Click.

“Baby?” He came up behind you, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and pressing his hand against your back. You startled so hard that the pen slipped from your fingers.

Logan immediately felt a little bad when you spun toward him with wide eyes, before you expression settled into something defensive. 

“I’m studying.”

Logan’s brows lifted as he unscrewed the bottle slowly,

“Yeah,” he said slowly, voice still rough with sleep, “I gathered that.”

You huffed quietly and looked back down at your notes, this close up, he could see how much worse you looked. There were faint shadows beneath your eyes, and you posture had curled inward, hostile in that specific way when you were overwhelmed but trying to hide it

“When did you come down here?”

“Like…” You squinted at the microwave clock, “Midnight?”

Logan blinked.

“Baby, it’s two in the morning.”

“I know what time it is.”

The sharpness in your voice surprised the both of you, mainly you, since you recoiled back and tightened your face apologetically. 

“I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay.”

Logan cut you off gently before you could spiral into apologising. He shifted closer, resting one hand against the counter beside your thigh while looking over the mess of notes in front of you.

Biochemistry.

Jesus Christ.

“You should come to bed.”

“No.”

You didn’t even look up from the equations scribbled onto the paper in front of you, dismissing the idea entirely, like the suggestion itself stressed you out. 

You rubbed hard at your eyes before looking back down at your laptop screen.

“I still have so much left.”

Logan studied you quietly for a second. Normally, he would’ve pushed harder. Normally, he’d already be halfway through physically carrying you upstairs while you complained dramatically over his shoulder.

But this version of you would’ve gouged his eye out without thinking if he dared something like that. This version of you was overstimulated, overworked and balancing precariously on a thread built by your psyche. 

So instead, Logan just moved beside you, dragging a stool closer so he could slide in and rest a hand on your thigh absentmindedly, leaning lightly into your shoulder. 

You exhaled shakily through your nose, when he ghosted his nose against your cheek, nuzzled delicately.

“What are you working on?” he asked softly, tilting his head to squint his eyes at the paper that twitched under your fingers.

“Oxidative phosphorylation.”

Logan stared at you.

“Gesundheit.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitched slightly.

“There are literally ATP synthase pathways in my nightmares now.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not. I wish it was”

Logan hummed sympathetically like he understood literally any of what you were saying. He didn’t, but he knew enough to know that when your voice sounded too tight, the content was hammering around in your brain with the elegance of a troll. 

You clicked your pen again.

And again.

And again.

Logan’s gaze drifted slowly across the kitchen, the empty coffee cups he had noticed before now seemed to be stained an odd ochre colour, definitely not coffee but he wouldn’t question what concussion you had brewed to stay awake. He stopped himself from scolding you about the untouched granola bar beside your laptop and instead focussed on the way your notes depicted the journey of your mental state unravelling, starting out neat and ending up in frantic scribbles.

He squeezed your thigh once, “You eat anything?”

A pause.

Your pencil stopped moving and you bit your lip as you thought. Not a good sign.

“Yeah.”

Logan waited for you to elaborate. 

“…today?”

You glared at him weakly.

“That feels judgemental.”

“It’s meant to feel concerning.”

“I had coffee.” You looked over to the sea of cups beyond your materials, blinking at the odd colour their insides seemed to have picked up. That’s not a good sign for your stomach, a problem for future you entirely, “...which I brewed with redbull”

“Baby.”

“I know.”

The words came out as an exhausted sigh.

Logan’s thumb rubbed slowly against your thigh.

“You can’t study properly if you’re running entirely on some demon-drink and the hatred of your TA.”

You let out a short laugh at that, then immediately regretted it when your head throbbed. Logan’s frown deepened when you pressed your fingers against your temple. 

Your breathing had changed slightly, thinner, more aware of the toll this was taking on your body. Every inhale was getting caught halfway down and each exhale came out shaky. 

He watched you stare at the same page for several long seconds without turning it, watched your eyes scan the same line repeatedly, your fingers tightening in your hair where they were buried- cradling your head.

Your knee bounced harder against the stool.

“Hey.”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead your jaw tightened. 

“Baby.”

This time you looked at him, and Logan felt his chest tighten at the shiny film over your eyes. As if you were teetering on the edge of crying, and the only thing blocking the dam was your insistence to continue studying.

You looked away almost immediately, shoulders pulling tighter.

“I’m fine,” you muttered quietly.

Logan, had stopped pretending to believe that about ten minutes ago.

He stayed beside you, one hand still resting lightly on your thigh, thumb moving in slow, grounding circles like he was trying to keep you anchored in the room. He didn’t speak much anymore. Just watched. Quietly observant in that way of his that always felt slightly unfair, like he could read the parts of you that you hadn’t even admitted existed yet.

You didn’t realise you leaned into him but your head had come to rest on his shoulder as you continued to highlight pages. But when you hit a certain word with the electric blue ink, you paused, re-read it and frowned.

“Wait,” you muttered under your breath, you immediately sat up straight and flipped the page back, then forward again, then back. 

Logan didn’t say anything, but his thumb had frozen against your leg, his eyes darting worryingly between how fast your fingers were flicking the pages and your face, that was starting to crumple with realisation.

You scanned the entire paragraph again. Then the page. The words weren’t changing, but they might as well have been. They blurred together at the edges, refusing to hold shape properly no matter how many times you forced your eyes over them.

Your stomach tightened.

“No,” you whispered quietly, more to yourself than anything else, your fingers flying to check the lecture slides, then your revision guide. A slow, sinking realisation started to form in your chest.

“No, no, no,” you said again, this time sharper, somehow sitting up straighter as if posture alone could fix the situation.

Logan’s voice came gently from beside you, but you could barely hear it. A rush of panic roared in your ears and it felt as though you were drowning and he was standing above you- trying to communicate through litres of pitch black water.

“What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer immediately.

Your eyes darted everywhere, from where you were flipping pages with increasing urgency, to scanning headings, rereading annotations you had definitely written yourself but suddenly didn’t recognise as useful.

This wasn’t the right topic.

You had spent hours on the wrong section.

Hours.

Your entire brain stalled for a second, like a car that had been slowly, painfully screeching up a hill- and at the last minute some unknown force engaged the hand brake and you were now rolling down at a speed you couldn’t stop even if you tried

Then, as if somehow slamming on the breaks would help, it tried to compensate by speeding up.

“That can’t be right,” you said quickly, breath thinning slightly. “I swear I already did this. I- I literally did this two days ago.”

Logan leaned forward slightly now, “Baby-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you cut in immediately, too fast again, the rubber was burning as the wheels grinded against asphalt. “It’s fine, I can fix it. I just need to- I just need to switch it and then I can catch up, I still have time I just-”

Your laptop trackpad clicked aggressively as you opened another document.

Logan watched as your hands shook violently with each click, your breathing shallowed and shoulder tightened even more than before- your knee was bouncing so fast that it felt like your entire leg was vibrating against his hand. It was like you were slowly collapsing into yourself, and all he could do was watch with a concerned expression on his face.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” you snapped automatically.

Your voice cracked at the end of your sentence and you froze- letting silence interrupt your world speeding to an untimely end. 

You swallowed, and then tried to laugh. Maybe if you could trick your body into thinking this was all just one big joke, it would stop trembling like you were in an active war zone. It didn’t come out right, more like a choked sob. 

“I’m just being stupid,” you muttered, turning back to the screen too quickly. “It’s fine. I can still revise it, I just lost time but I can make it up if I-”

Your eyes wouldn’t focus entirely, and when your cursor hovered in the wrong place guided by your fingers, that were quaking so uncontrollably, you ended up deleting the entire window. 

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

Then again, louder.

“Oh my god.”

Logan straightened slightly, his hand moving to hover over your forearm- but dropped it back to the familiar place on your leg, “Baby.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said immediately, too quickly again, voice shaking now whether you wanted it to or not. “I’m fine, I just messed up a bit, it’s not- it’s not a big deal I can fix it I just need to-”

You tried to re-open the tabs, but your laptop spluttered hopelessly, lagging out in front of you. Your breath caught when the entire screen went black and rebooted, the forced update screen blinked cruelly at you. And then you felt something in your chest whimper and crumple, like a house of cards met with the softest breeze. 

“No,” you said again, but this time it wasn’t frustration, it was fear that made your voice waver as your hands stilled over the keyboard

“I can’t- I can’t do this,” shaking your head you brought a hand over your mouth, almost disbelievingly, like you were hearing someone else say it.

Logan’s hand immediately left your thigh.

“Hey,” he said firmly now, moving closer. “Hey, look at me.”

You didn’t. Couldn’t. You were transfixed by the slow spinning pinwheel over and over and over- like it was hypnotizing you into staying upright in your seat. 

“I’m so behind,” you said quickly, words spilling out now that the dam had broken. “I’m actually so behind I don’t even understand how I’m supposed to catch up and I thought I was doing okay but I’m not and I just wasted so much time and I don’t- I don’t have time for this-”

Your voice broke properly at the end, and then the tears finally fell. You didn’t sob, just heaved heavy breaths that were interrupted by copious floods of salty liquid barrelling down your face. It wasn’t dramatic the way you fell apart, it was like throwing a pebble down a ravine, and waiting to hear the sharp sound of it dropping to the floor, you could only notice it if you listened very carefully.

You blinked hard immediately.

Once.

Twice.

Angrily.

As if that would fix it.

“No,” you said again, wiping at your face quickly with the back of your sleeve. “No, no, I’m fine, I’m literally fine I just- this is stupid I shouldn’t be crying I just need to fix it-”

You went to reach for your textbook and pen, you’d do it the old fashioned way then. 

Logan stopped you immediately, both hands wrapped around yours, gentle but firm. He pulled the pen and textbook out of your grip, dropping them somewhere on the table.

The thud echoed too loudly in the quiet kitchen.

You froze, staring at him like he had just pulled the plug of your life support. Your breathing became uneven now, chest tightening in a way that made speaking harder. 

“I need that,” you said, voice small but urgent. “Logan, I need that.”

“No,” he said softly.

You face crumpled in exhausted confusion, finally spilling over the edges of your carefully curated container of anger and frustration. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you whispered, voice breaking again. “I don’t have time to fall apart right now.”

Logan’s expression shifted, something within him went still as he rubbed your knuckles, 

“Baby,” he said quietly, and there was something different in his tone now. Less concern about the work. More about you. “You’re not falling apart.”

You let out a broken laugh and gestured to the minefield of study materials in front of you.

“Yeah,” you said shakily, wiping your face again. “Yeah, I am.”

Logan waited for you to continue, as if he didn’t see any evidence for your argument. The silence wrapped around you, compelling you to speak- your voice softer, smaller than before, 

“I can’t mess this up.”

Logan barely hesitated, he reached up and cupped your face gently, forcing your attention away from the table and onto him.

Your hands were still trembling slightly where they hovered near your lap. Logan’s palms were on your cheeks, steady and warm, keeping you anchored in place like he was afraid that if he let go you would dissolve back into the kitchen air.

And you just stared at him, not really able to focus on his eyes properly, like your brain hadn’t fully caught up to the fact that the panic had nowhere left to go.

Logan’s thumbs moved lightly under your eyes, brushing away the last of the tears before they could fully settle.

“Hey,” he said again, quieter now. “You’re okay.”

You nodded immediately, a sharp pang in your chest hit you like a ton of bricks, you felt guilty for taking up precious revision time- and for the fact that Logan had dragged himself out of bed because of you. 

“I’m fine,” you whispered, but it came out thinner than you meant it to. “I just- I just messed it up.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, just looked at you, how your eyes kept flicking from him to the notes and back to him. Like you were gauging how long you’d be away from them. He couldn’t wrap his head around how you could be sitting in front of him and still think this was about the notes on the table.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” you said suddenly.

Your gaze stayed fixed on the kitchen island, as if the mess of colour-coded organisation and half-finished revision sheets could still be fixed if you just looked at them long enough.

“No,” you corrected quickly, shaking your head slightly. “No, I am doing this, I just- I just need to focus I just lost time and I can’t afford to lose time right now because if I lose time I fall behind and if I fall behind I-”

Your voice cracked halfway through, your eyes widened and you blinked hard, already angry at yourself.

Logan’s hand didn’t falter, instead they rubbed soothingly along your cheekbones,

“Baby,” he said gently.

But you weren’t listening anymore, the words spilling out now that your restraint had snapped, “I’m not supposed to be like this,” you said, voice breaking around the edges. “I’m not supposed to be the person who can’t handle it. I can handle it, I always handle it, I just need to fix it I just need to-”

Suddenly the tears were back, springing up to your lash line and bubbling down your face, you blinked immediately, wiping at your face like it was instinct rather than thought.

“No,” you whispered again, frustrated now. “No, stop, I can’t do this right now-”

Logan pulled you forward, a gentle tug on both your shoulders- you stumbled off the stool, kicking it back slightly until your forehead dropped against his chest, like your body finally gave up pretending it could hold itself upright alone.

Your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, tight at first, as though you were trying to hold yourself together through him- because you weren’t looking at the screen anymore, meaning there was nothing left to organise the chaos with.

“I’m sorry,” you said immediately, voice muffled against him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just being stupid I don’t know why I’m crying I just need to fix it I just-”

“Hey.”

Logan’s voice cut through gently but firmly.

“Hey. Stop.”

Your breath stuttered, and Logan thought that maybe he finally managed to get you to pause. You tried again anyway,

“I just messed up a whole section and I don’t have time and I thought I was doing okay but I’m not and I’m- I’m behind and I can’t be behind, I can’t-”

Your voice blubbered completely on the last word, you pressed your face harder into his chest like that would erase your stumble. Logan’s armed tightened around you, a slow exhale contracting his chest in relief, that he finally managed to create a boundary between you and everything else. 

You tucked your face into his neck and loosely wrapped your arms around him, you wished you could hold him just as tight- but your limbs were exhausted. “You’re not behind,” he murmured into your ear. You let out a shaky laugh that turned halfway into a sob, Logan somehow held you harder against him. 

“Yes I am.”

“No,” he repeated, firmer this time. “You’re overwhelmed.”

You stilled for half a second, torn by the accuracy of what he said- you couldn’t fully tell if a weight had been removed for your chest or if it had been pierced by his words. Either way, your breathing hitched again. 

“I can’t be overwhelmed,” you said quietly, like it was an unspoken rule you were breaking. “There’s too much to do.”

Logan lowered his head slightly, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

“You’re allowed to be overwhelmed,” he mumbled into your skin. 

You wished he hadn’t said that, because it had been the right thing. Or wrong thing. To make your shoulders shake once. And the minute the first racking sob emerged from your throat, you were crying properly the next. Deep, exhausted crying that you had clearly been holding back for far too long, you clutched his hoodie tighter, fingers curling like you were afraid of falling if you let go.

“I don’t know how to stop,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to stop doing this.”

Logan hummed, slowly dragging his hand up and down your back, rubbing soothing warmth through your clothes and against your spine.

“You don’t have to stop,” he said softly. “You just have to breathe for a second.”

You shook your head pitifully against him.

“I can’t waste time.”

That made him pause, then pull back, just enough so he could tilt your face up to meet his eyes. 

“Look at me,” he said gently.

You were stubborn to hold onto the one piece of dignity you had left, but the way the words were said so firmly in the space between you two, you couldn’t stop yourself from following his gentle command. 

Eyes still wet and red, your expression crumpled in a way that you would normally never let anyone see. Nevermind watch so up-close, letting them look at you the way he was, like you weren’t something to fix, or scold into productivity, just you. 

Like a prized possession that had started collecting dust on the same old shelf, and someone had picked you up and dusted you off- Logan studied you like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to love you.

“I do not care about your GPA right now,” he said quietly.

A laugh slipped out of you again, broken at the edges, “That’s easy for you to say.”

“No,” he said immediately. “It’s not.” His hands pressed into your face more firmly, as if he could permeate his intentions deeply into your pores. 

You blinked at him, owlish and tired- vision jumping with each uneven breath.

Logan wiped under your eye with his thumb again, slower this time, like he wasn’t in a rush to move past any of it, “You don’t have to earn being okay,” he said.

You leaned back into him without thinking, forehead pressing into his shoulder as your breathing slowly started to even out in small, uneven waves. He held you there, one hand stroking your hair, the other spread across your back- keeping you close so you could safely fall apart. 

You didn’t realise when the crying faded into soft hiccups and ebbed into soft breathes but the feeling didn’t resolve itself into manageable, malleable calm. Instead it changed shape, less sharp around the edges but stretched thin all over your body, planting its roots into your chest.

You had moved to the kitchen floor at some point, your head resting on Logan's shoulder as he stroked your hair. The kitchen was finally quiet, peacefully coexisting in the nightly hush with the rest of the house.

The microwave blinked at you. “3:30 AM”

For some godforsaken reason, your body decided to remember everything you were holding back, bottling up, choosing to bring it back all at once. 

Your breath catches in your throat, high enough to make you stutter while your eyes begin to flutter with unshed tears. Logan froze with his hand buried in your hair, pulling away to analyse your face when he felt your fingers tighten in the fabric of his sweater. His hand shifts at your back, not rushing you, just adjusting like he’s already bracing for whatever direction this takes.

“Hey,” he calls softly.

You open your mouth, but it was as if you had inhaled a whole packet of tear stained tissues- your answer doesn’t come out cleanly, instead it's broken, cracked around the edges instead. 

“I thought I was done,” you whisper.

The tears come again, but differently this time. Less explosive. More like something that had been waiting politely in the background and finally got permission to exist again. You press your forehead back into him automatically, like your body already knows where to go when it stops trusting your head.

“I hate this,” you say, quieter now, words muffled against his chest. “I hate that I can’t just… be normal about it. I hate that I turn everything into this thing I can’t control.”

He doesn’t interrupt, instead he tightens his arms around you, tucking you further into the grooves of his body. You try to match the way his chest rises and falls, your breathing coming out shaky, broken.

“I was doing so well,” you add, like that matters, like it somehow redeems the fact that you aren’t now, “I don’t want to be like this,” you admit, the words spilling faster now that they’ve finally been let out. “I don’t want to be someone who breaks down over a test question or loses control over nothing and makes it everyone’s problem I just- I just want to be okay without it being this complicated thing I have to manage all the time.”

You press your lips together, a sinking feeling filling your stomach- you begin to pull away, accepting the fact that you shared too much, felt too much, hurt too much, for him to still willingly sit with you on the kitchen floor. 

But Logan doesn’t falter, his arm stopping you from going too far. He brings one hand up to the side of your face again, gently guiding you back to him before you can disappear into yourself.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly.

Your eyes are wet again.

“I’m embarrassed,” you whisper.

“No,” his voice is hushed but the word shoots out harshly. Like he couldn’t believe that you were still worried about how strong you forced yourself to be. 

“Yes I am.”

“You’re overwhelmed,” he corrects again, softer this time, but firm in the way that he refuses to let you rewrite it into something cruel.

Your jaw tightens, because you know he's right and you can’t argue with it. If you couldn’t rebuild your shattered armour, you’d wipe it clean- and salvage what was left by wiping your tears away harshly with the back of your sweater.  Logan catches your wrist gently before you can.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Stop trying to erase it.”

His eyes dart between yours, watching how you slumped in paralyzing relief. Relief that you didn’t need to think about the armour, that you didn’t need to present yourself as infallible.  

“I don’t know how to not be this,” you admit quietly.

Logan’s eyes steel protectively, “You don’t have to know that,” he says.

You shake your head slightly, still crying, still trying to steady yourself like it’s something you can logic your way out of, “I do,” you insist. “I do because I can’t keep- I can’t keep doing this where I fall apart and everyone has to-”

Your voice breaks again which prompts him to pull you in, firm arms bracketing around your body, a hand sliding into your hair with the other pressing steadily into your back, holding you in place while you shake.

He kisses your hair, “You’re not doing anything wrong,” 

“I don’t feel like I’m okay,” you whisper.

“That’s fine,” he replies immediately. “You don’t have to feel okay to be okay.”

You let out a small, broken sob against him like your system is finally losing the argument it’s been having with itself all night. Logan shifts slightly, guiding your head up to look at you properly, your face is flushed, messy, completely uncontrollable in a way that terrified you. His thumb comes up to brush away the fresh tears.

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly.

Your body eventually begins to loosen, your breath reaching a slower equilibrium- hiccuping in between but your shoulders begin to drop and your fingers let his sweater out of their death grip.

“I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Logan closes his eyes briefly like he’s trying not to react too strongly to that sentence, then he opens them again and shakes his head down at you, “You didn’t ruin anything,” he says.

You give him a look, a look that says, “Sure buddy, and those aren’t crater sized bags beneath your eyes”. Logan leans forward and presses his forehead gently to yours, “No more fixing yourself tonight,” he says quietly. “Okay?”

The air hangs heavy around you as you hesitate, pressing your lips together until you nod, slowly, hesitantly. And ever since this had started, your breathing finally didn’t feel like a chore to push out of your lungs, instead it flowed gently from your mouth in placid waves. 

Logan stays with you like that for a long time, intertwining your fingers together and cradling you against his chest, running his knuckles along your cheekbone until your eyes flutter shut. 

It had taken time. He had resisted it at first, stiff in every movement, careful even in private. But little by little, he had opened. And when it was just us, he was far greedier than I had expected. Less careful. Less afraid. Even the weight of his curse seemed to loosen its grip on him.

A quiet breath left me as the last of sleep slipped away. My eyes opened, blurred at the edges, and I rolled my head just enough to ease the stiffness in my neck, careful not to disturb him. His grip did not change.

I carefully pushed myself up onto one elbow and looked toward the tall windows. Thick veils covered them, dulling the morning light into a pale wash that spilt across the room. Dust moved through it in slow, drifting lines.

My gaze shifted to the nightstand. The clock read past seven. Beside it sat the calendar William never used, pristine, untouched except for the time I turned a page for him.

I looked at it without thinking, then paused.

The number sat too large, too clear. Over it, the month was marked in small, neat lettering.

I leaned closer. Read it again.

My mind caught up all at once.

“Oh no…” The words slipped out under my breath.

The last day.

I moved before I could think, ready to throw the deep red duvet aside and rush back to my room that had become more my study than anything else - but I did not get far.

The arm draped over my abdomen tightened.

In the same breath, it locked.

His grip pulled me back, firm and unyielding, pressing my spine flush against his chest. The warmth of him closed in around me. I stilled, caught off guard, and in that moment he shifted again. His other arm slid beneath me, trapping me fully, both arms wrapped tight, unbreakable.

William?

I turned my head as much as I could, trying to see him. “Will? Are you-”

His voice brushed against my ear before I could finish. Soft. Low.

“Stay.”

The word settled into me at once.

Everything in me stilled. A familiar feeling of smooth and weightless cloth had been laid over my body, holding me in place without pressure, without strain, and yet leaving no room to move. I could still breathe. Still speak. But my limbs refused to listen to me.

Behind me, he exhaled, content, and pressed closer. His nose nudged against my ear, his cheek settling against the top of my head as if he just didn't use his cursed power on me.

Oh, no.

“Will,” I called, keeping my voice low, controlled. I could not turn to face him, could not pull away. “Will!”

Nothing.

I tried again, sharper this time. “William!"

“Shhh.”

The sound was quiet, almost lazy, but it slid through me the same way. My mouth closed on its own.

Damn it.

I stayed still, counting the seconds by the rhythm of his breathing until it evened out again. Only then did I let out a slow breath through my nose. If I pushed too far, if I forced him awake the wrong way, he could command me to be quiet without meaning to. The thought settled cold in my chest.

When did he even start sleep talking anyway...

I lay there, staring at nothing, and tried to think.

He rarely slept this deeply, showing just how much he neglected his sleep. The weight of it was clear in how undisturbed he held me, how easily he sank back into his sleep.

I will scold him later. Right now-

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t risk raising my voice. No one from the cleaning staff would come in unless William was gone, and he wasn’t.

Every path led back to the same wall.

I pressed my teeth into my lower lip and held there, steadying myself. Think. Think.

Nothing came. The room stayed the same. The clock ticked. My breath slowed and went nowhere.

I shut my eyes.

William’s curse… of all of them, his was the wickiest.

At least it isn’t as intrusive as-

I opened my eyes.

Wait.

The thought settled into place, sharp and clear. My focus snapped toward it.

There was a way.

I drew in a slow breath, wet my lips, and kept my voice low. “Roger… if you can hear me, come to William’s bedroom. I need your help. It’s urgent.”

The words slipped out and thinned into silence.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them again. My gaze returned to the calendar, to the number that would not change, to the clock beside it as the seconds kept moving.

Please be here.

Behind me, William shifted. His pale hair brushed against mine, catching lightly as he exhaled, quiet and content.

I glanced back as far as I could. Irritation tightened in my face. Good for you.

The feeling drained just as quickly, leaving a dull weight behind. I shut my eyes again, held prisoner in my own body that would not answer me.

Please… Roger. Anyone.

.

.

.

8:35.

One... Two... Three...

I had my gaze fixed on the clock and counted each second in time with the sweep hand. It kept my mind from slipping, kept me from thinking about the rest of my body, heavy and unresponsive, while only my face still obeyed.

Nine minutes since I called Roger. Five since I tried again.

I was close to risking it, ready to shout the moment I heard someone pass the door, curse be damned-

The minute hand moved again.

8:36.

The door opened with care.

My heart jumped. My eyes snapped toward the sound, but my body stayed still. The motion stopped short against the bookshelf at the edge of my view.

I couldn’t see who it was.

But I had only called one person.

Hope pushed the words out before I could hold them back. “Roger… thank you for coming. I’m so, so sorry for bothering you.”

Footsteps approached, soft and measured.

Then a voice answered, light and cool.

“Nhaaa~ Not the egoistic hunter. Looks like someone else found the little robin trapped.”

Harry.

Relief flooded through me. If I could move, I would have smiled. “Harry!” I whispered, the name slipping out quick and bright.

Roger had to send him!

A few more steps, then he leaned into view. Light chestnut hair, eyes sharp with a hint of mischief as they moved over me, then past me to William, still holding me in his sleep.

“Mornin’, Robin.”

He straightened, then crouched in front of me. His head tilted, smile pulling wider.

“Got yourself captured by the monarch now, did ya?” He rested his elbow on his knee, cheek against his fist, studying us. “What’d you need that old man for? Thought he’d come pick you up and steal you from the queen?”

I blinked.

I hadn’t thought that far.

My lips parted, then stopped. I closed my eyes for a brief second, then looked back at him.

“I don’t know, alright? Anything would help,” I said, keeping my voice low.

He hummed, clearly entertained.

I exhaled through my nose. Prick.

Harry stretched his arms forward, still crouched, then folded them over his knees and rested his chin there. His gaze stayed on me, light and curious.

“Alright. Say I do that. What then?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Even if I get you out, you’re stuck,” he said. “Either you wait the curse out, or you wake him up and get him to tell you to do whatever.”

I shut my eyes as I exhaled. Behind me, William shifted again, pressing closer, as if he could hear us plotting how to get me away from him.

Any other time, I would have cooed over it. Might have even leaned into it.

Not now.

My eyes opened. I held Harry’s gaze.

“Alright,” I said.

The words settled before I finished them.

“Wake him up.”

Harry blinked at me, mint eyes widening.

A pause settled between us. I narrowed my eyes, already thinking he had drifted off and I would have to repeat myself.

His gaze sharpened instead, offense slipping in.

“And here I thought we were friends.”

He said it like I had broken something between us.

I stared at him, caught off guard. “What are you on about?” I whispered.

He huffed and looked away, lips set in a sulk. “Friends don’t want their friends dead, now do they?”

“Pardon?”

The word left me flat. I could only stare, trying to follow him and failing.

Any concern I had for him, however, dropped the moment I caught the edge of a smile at his mouth.

This sleazy, sly fox.

Understanding settled in. My eyes narrowed, ready to snap at him for picking at me now of all times-

He turned back before I could speak, the smile no longer hidden. He gestured lightly toward William, voice still low.

“You seem to forget what our resident ‘queen’ is like,” he said. “He’s particular about who gets to see him like this.”

His eyes held mine. Steady. Clear.

“And if he wakes up while I’m here,” he went on, “working under Jude will feel like a break compared to whatever he decides to do with me.”

I exhaled slowly. There was nothing to argue with. William let people act as they wished, but he never spared them the cost after.

I looked at Harry, expression flat. “So you’re not going to help me.”

He tilted his head, watching me, something unreadable in his face. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

Heat rose to my face before I could stop it. I shot him a look.

He grinned and lifted his hands in surrender, eyes closing for a brief second. “You do, though.”

When he opened them again, the teasing had softened. He rested his arms across his knees and looked past me.

I followed his gaze as far as I could.

William was still there, pressed close, holding me like I was something for him to treasure with care. His breathing stayed even, his grip stil firm.

“Both of you…” Harry murmured, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

Warmth slowly spread through me again, but this time I let it sit there for a moment before I pulled my focus back.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m his partner. Of course I do.”

Harry hummed, still crouched, his attention slipping inward.

I glanced at the clock. 8:55.

I pressed my teeth lightly into my lip, then looked back at him. “So?”

His eyes returned to mine at once. One brow lifted.

I let out a breath. “Are you going to help me or not?”

He watched me in silence before speaking.

“What do you want me to do, Robin?”

I opened my mouth to repeat myself, then stopped.

My gaze drifted past him as I thought it through. He wouldn’t wake William. That much was clear. And if I tried myself…

The answer came easily. Too easily.

My chest tightened.

What I wanted-

What I desired.

I looked back at him.

“Can you write the reports?” I said. “On all of you. From my notes.”

I kept my voice steady.

“They’re in my study- room. My room, on the table. Next to the typewriter.”

Harry smiled at my request, soft and easy. He rested his cheek against his fist again, elbow propped on his knee.

Hope rose in me as I watched him part his lips.

“Sure,” he said, quiet and light.

Then he added, “For a price.”

The hope went out just as fast.

I gave him a flat look, then shut my eyes with a slow breath. For a moment, I had forgotten who I was dealing with.

Selfish. Shameless. Villains.

“You sound like Jude,” I muttered.

“Don’t be silly. I have healthy hobbies,” Harry replied without pause.

A short breath left me, almost a laugh. Fair.

I groaned and looked back at him. “Fine. What do you want?”

His grin widened. The kind that never meant anything good.

.

.

.

“You can’t be serious.”

From where I lay, William still wrapped around me, his weight warm and steady, I watched Harry set up a bellows camera. He fixed it onto its stand and angled it toward the bed. Toward us.

I closed my eyes and groaned, heat rising to my face.

Still… a small part of me caught on to the thought of it. This moment captured and forever preserved sounded nice.

Harry, of course, had different reasons.

“Desperate times,” he said, distracted, adjusting the frame with care, “call for desperate measures.”

I opened one eye. “Remind me what this is for again?”

He flashed a quick smirk, then returned to the camera, checking it with quiet focus. “It’s hard to get anything on Will. I’d be a fool to miss this.”

I stared at him.

Right.

I let it go. No point arguing.

“Mhm…”

William stirred behind me, a low sound slipping from him as he pulled me closer. His arms shifted, settling under my chest, his face pressing into my neck.

I bit my lip.

The brush of his breath, the slow nudge of his nose, sent a faint shiver through me that I couldn’t hide.

If I didn’t have work-

I shut my eyes, groaning lowly through it as he held me tighter.

When I opened them again, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to steady myself.

Then I felt it.

A gaze.

I shifted my eyes as far as I could and caught Harry watching us, his mouth tilted, something between judgment and sourness.

Heat rushed to my face.

“What are you staring at?” I hissed under my breath. “Do you want the picture or not?”

He held the look for a second longer, then turned, stepping behind the camera.

“What a shameless woman…” he muttered, just loud enough.

My eyes narrowed further.

“Listen-”

The words died as I caught the flicker of his smile before he pulled the cloth over his head.

I stared straight at the lens, face warm, William still nestled against my neck.

I didn’t know how it looked from his side.

But it felt…

I pressed my teeth lightly into my bottom lip.

A flash cut through the room almost right after.

My heart jumped, eyes shutting tight for a moment before I forced them open again, vision slow to settle.

Harry was already stepping back, pulling the cloth away, satisfaction clear on his face.

I met his gaze with a glare the second I could focus.

He laughed, light and unbothered, lifting the camera with ease. “Alright, alright. Little Robin doesn’t want me in her nest anymore. I get it.”

He turned and headed for the door.

My chest tightened despite myself. I knew he would follow through, but still-

“Harry?” I called, quieter now.

He paused, hand on the handle.

Silence stretched, brief and thin.

He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression softer. “Lose the worried look. I’ll finish the reports and get them to Victor by evening.”

I held his gaze, then nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned away again. I caught the edge of a grin he no doubt tried hiding.

“Such a naive robin.”

Then he slipped out, closing the door behind him without a sound.

I let out a long breath and closed my eyes.

With that settled, the weight over my head eased. What was left didn’t seem so-

My eyes opened.

A slow curve pressed against my shoulder where William rested.

Oh no.

I couldn’t move, but I felt the change at once. My body went cold, my heart picking up, fast and uneven. I couldn’t tell if it was worry or anticipation that held stronger.

“W-Will, I- ah… mhm-”

My eyes shut tight as I tried to swallow the lewd sounds. His teeth grazed my neck, sharp enough to make me tense, not enough to break skin. His fingers slid into my hair, long and steady, guiding my head back.

His tongue followed, slow and hot. He hummed when I spoke his name. The scrape of his nails across my scalp sent a shiver through me that I couldn’t stop.

My eyes fluttered open, unfocused. I caught part of his profile as he leaned over me, that smile already there.

It took a moment for my thoughts to settle into place.

“How long?” I asked. There was no need to explain.

He didn’t answer right away. He leaned closer instead, eyes lowering as he traced the line of my jaw with his nose, then my cheek, then my ear. His teeth caught there, light, enough to pull a quiet sound from me.

I felt his smile against my skin before he spoke, his voice soft, smooth, no trace of sleep left in it.

“Long enough to know my lady doesn’t hesitate to call another man’s name while lying beside me.”

My breath caught.

His other hand found mine, still useless at my side. His nails traced along my palm, slow, deliberate, up to my fingertips before he closed his hand around mine and pressed it down above my head.

The hand in my hair shifted, guiding me lower, turning me until I lay beneath him. I could see him fully now, his figure leaning over mine, his gaze fixed.

His eyes held that same deep red, steady and intent, something unrestrained sitting just beneath it.

His grip on my hand tightened slightly.

“Will my robin allow me to be greedier than I already am?” he asked, each word drawn out, careful.

I knew he had heard everything. Knew he had pretended to sleep, choosing not to move and indulge instead of allowing me to move away.

Still-

I smiled.

My gaze met his, steady, open.

“When have you ever stopped me from taking what I wanted from you?” I said, just as quiet.

For a second, he stilled.

Then his expression shifted, something brighter breaking through. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating as if the answer alone had pleased him.

After that-

We didn’t leave the room again until dinner.

The lake outside Mondstadt had frozen over, clean and clear, the moonlight silvering its surface like a flawless mirror stretching endlessly beneath the stars. The air was sharp and crisp, each breath curling into fog before vanishing in the stillness. Yet even in the bitter cold, Kaeya's laugh rang out—smooth, rich, warm enough to thaw through layers of frost.

Lumine stood at the lake’s edge, her boots crunching uncertainly on the snow. One foot hovered over the glassy ice, hesitant, the other still rooted in safety. Her coat was too thin, her gloves barely warm, fingertips already stinging from the chill. This? This was absurd. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked, glancing warily at Kaeya.

He was already gliding across the lake like he belonged to it. His movements carved slow, elegant patterns, like calligraphy written in silver. Every step was confident, easy, and infuriatingly smug. That lazy, half-lidded grin was back—the one that spelled trouble before he even spoke.

“What’s life without a little risk?” he called, spinning once for show, his coat flaring dramatically. “I promise I’ll catch you. Or at the very least, I’ll look devastatingly charming as you fall.”

Lumine narrowed her eyes, cheeks pink—definitely from the cold, and absolutely not because of him. “You’re not even wearing skates.”

“Don’t need them.” He winked, casually waving a hand beneath his boots. The ice thickened under his feet, shimmered, steadied. “Cryo has its perks.”

He walked the frozen lake as if it were solid ground. His control was subtle but unmistakable—a magician’s sleight of foot. A cheater’s grace. Typical Kaeya. And still, somehow, her fingers reached for his. Just a little. Just enough.

He took her hand without hesitation. Warm leather against her skin, his grip strong and sure. She inhaled softly. He pulled.

“Trust me,” he murmured, voice low, breath close enough to ghost along her cheek. Too close. “I won’t let you fall.”

Her boots hit the ice and—immediately—slid. “Aah—!”

He caught her with practiced ease, arms looping around her waist. His body was a shield, his laughter a soft rumble against her spine.

“Easy, princess,” he teased, steadying her. “You’re doing better than I expected.”

“I nearly died,” she muttered with a breathless laugh, still gripping his coat for balance.

“Tragic,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. He leaned in. “But at least it would’ve been dramatic. A true Kaeya-style ending.”

She shoved his shoulder lightly, scowling. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said with a smirk, brushing a fleck of snow from her shoulder. “And usually by people far less adorable.”

He didn’t just lead her across the lake. He stole her away, one confident stride at a time. His right hand stayed securely clasped around hers; his left hovered just at the small of her back—present, but not pushing. Guiding. Guarding.

Her boots still slipped, but she didn’t fall. Not once. Kaeya always caught her before she lost her footing. Always smiling. Always watching. And slowly, very slowly, she began to move in time with him.

“See?” he said, that grin blooming again. “You’re not flailing anymore.”

She exhaled, half-laughing. “I’m surviving.”

“You’re dancing,” he said, eyes twinkling with a teasing warmth.

“It’s not dancing,” she replied, cheeks burning, but her grip never loosened from his hand.

“It is,” he said, spinning her gently in a wide circle. “Because it’s with me.”

Moonlight crowned his hair, caught on the fur lining of his coat. The stars seemed to shimmer around them, and for a moment—just a breath—they floated above the world.

“Tell me,” he asked softly, wind sighing over the lake, “do you always let suspiciously handsome men lure you into dangerous adventures?”

“Only the ones who smirk like they’ve got secrets,” she replied, a flicker of amusement curling at her lips.

“Then you do trust me that much, little traveler?” he asked, his voice dipping to something softer, more intimate—almost a dare.

Her breath faltered—not from fear, not from the cold, but from something else entirely. A tightness in her chest. A skip in her heartbeat. A warmth that had nothing to do with proximity.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

Kaeya’s smile deepened, slow and devastating. “Then let me show you what trust looks like.”

He let go.

Before she could panic, he was behind her—arms catching her from beneath, lifting her effortlessly. With a swirl of Cryo energy beneath his boots, the ice gleamed brighter, freezing in ribbons as he propelled them both forward. They sliced across the lake, faster than she thought possible. Her shriek turned into laughter as the world blurred past. Hair tangled in wind. Heart pounding. It was wild. It was exhilarating. It was free.

He set her down just as gently, their momentum ebbing to a slow drift. She staggered, breathless, flushed, alive.

“You’re absolutely insane,” she gasped.

“And yet,” he replied, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek with a reverent touch, “you keep holding on.”

She met his gaze, her chest rising and falling. Her thoughts scattered, but one truth rang clear: she did trust him. And maybe that was the real danger.

The trail back to Mondstadt was painted in long shadows and the soft hush of wind through pine needles. Twilight pressed a deep violet over the treetops, and the last rays of the sun set the sky ablaze with amber fire. But all Lumine could focus on was the way Kaeya stumbled just ahead of her, one uneven step after another—like he was trying to outrun something she couldn’t see. Something clawing at his heels. Guilt? Pain? A truth too heavy to bear?

At first, she thought he was playing it up—Kaeya and his flair for dramatics, always with a smirk and a wink, even when arrows sang past their ears or blades whistled by his throat. He was a performer, always in control of the stage, even when the backdrop was danger itself.

But then she saw it. Blood. A slow, glistening crimson drip trailing from beneath the edges of his coat, soaking into his waistband, dark as wine against the once-white linen. A wound he wasn’t limping from—he was dragging it behind him like a memory he didn’t want her to notice.

"Kaeya—" Her voice wavered, eyes wide and brows furrowed in alarm. Lumine’s expression was a mixture of disbelief and rising dread, her lips parted as if searching for words she hadn’t prepared to say aloud.

"I'm fine," he tossed over his shoulder. His voice, still velvet and honey, had thinned. Brittle. Like cracked glass trying to hold shape beneath the weight of silence.

Lumine quickened her pace, matching his steps. His smile twitched when he noticed, as if readying another quip. But she saw it: the sharp breath he couldn't quite hold back, the way his free hand trembled before clenching into a fist, the unnatural sag of his left shoulder.

"You've been stabbed," she said, voice flat, laced with lethal concern.

"And you've got excellent eyes. What a team we make," he replied, finally letting out a weak chuckle. His legs buckled. He caught himself on a tree—barely. "Alright, so maybe not fine. Maybe, what's the word... a bit perforated?"

"Stop talking." Lumine’s eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a tight line. Her expression was a storm barely held back—jaw clenched, lashes trembling, and breath coming too fast as frustration finally cracked through her usually calm veneer.

He blinked at the tone—her tone—because Lumine, bright-eyed and golden, didn’t snap. She lit rooms with her presence, warmed them with her voice like the promise of morning. But now she was glaring, jaw tight, and storm clouds brewed in her gaze.

“You always do this,” she hissed, sliding under his arm and forcing his weight onto her without hesitation. “You joke. You bleed. You pretend nothing's wrong until someone finds your corpse cooling in the grass. Is that your plan? To keep laughing until you die?"

Kaeya faltered—not from pain this time, but from her. From the anger in her voice. The worry. The care. He'd seen her furious in battle, her blade carving arcs of divine light—but this was different. This was personal. This was real.

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered, half-hearted.

Lumine dragged him to a patch of moss beneath a twisted tree. Her hands were already glowing, Anemo energy curling soft green tendrils around her fingers, tugging at cloth, pressing into skin. The scent of crushed pine needles clung to the air. Kaeya's breath came short and shaky, as if even the wind around them was holding its breath.

"Shut up," she whispered again, lower now, hands tearing open the front of his coat. Beneath was a gash—wicked and deep—angled across his ribs. Still bleeding, though slower now. He winced as her fingers brushed near it. She didn’t apologize. "You're not immortal, Kaeya."

He smiled faintly, but didn’t meet her eyes. "Wouldn’t that be something... might finally have time to read a book without being interrupted."

"Stop it." Lumine’s face fell, the fire in her eyes dimming into something raw. Her lips trembled slightly, brows drawn in a tight knot as she hovered over him, as if fighting the urge to cry or scream or both.

Her hands stilled, hovering above his skin. He felt her breath, warm across his chest. And for once, Kaeya saw no distance in her. No aloof shine of the Traveler always looking toward her next destination. She was here. With him. Staring at the wound like she could stitch it shut just by willing it.

He swallowed, throat dry. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m pissed,” she said, voice a low, vibrating thing. “Pissed that you think your life is disposable. That you think no one would care if you bled out in the dirt.”

He leaned his head back against the tree bark, sighing. "You shouldn't care this much about someone like me."

"Then stop making me," she snapped, before her voice cracked. "Stop making me care so much."

Kaeya looked at her—really looked—and for the first time, he let the smile die. Let the cleverness fade. His eye softened. Something haunted flickered there, like an old ghost crawling out from his ribcage. A memory long buried. A name never spoken aloud.

“…I don’t know how,” he admitted.

And there it was. Not a flirt. Not a deflection. Just truth—raw and bleeding, laid bare like the wound on his side.

Lumine’s breath hitched. She pressed her glowing palm to his injury, and this time the magic sank deeper—steady, purposeful. Her other hand curled lightly around his wrist, grounding him. Steadying both of them. Kaeya flinched, not from pain—but from the unfamiliarity of being held like he mattered.

“Then let me help you learn,” she murmured.

A wind stirred the trees. Distant birds quieted. Somewhere, a branch cracked under unseen weight. Kaeya closed his eye. And for the first time in a long, long while... he let someone.

Let her.

Let go.

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