#angsting

But to her chagrin, Lucian seemed to thrive.

He got annoyed for being fragile and out of shape, so he started to go on runs before work and swimming after. He took courses in urban sketching to improve and carried a blank notebook everywhere, only to turn the sketches into watercolor wonders at home.

She went to the course with him to see how he would fare. The teacher claimed Lucian was a natural-born prodigy with an incredible eye for perspective and proportions. That he could imagine buildings and people from impossible angles, bird perspective...as if he floated above them.

Of course he floated above them. In his non-corporeal demon form, that was all he did for the past years of his endless existence.

Not like Adalyn could reveal that detail to take away from Lucian's pride.

And proud he was. As if the new skills and interests fattened him up more than the food. There was something so...brave and carefree about his attitude to things. He wasn't concerned with what he should have had done or known - he just did what he wanted.

He made her watch TikTok videos so they could cook together, except she didn't have his patience for measuring and details. He dragged her to swim and walk by the river, as if she wasn't the one who loved water the most. She spent years being fascinated by the river cutting through the city with all her arms like a sparkling ribbon, attracting spirits and demons everywhere.

That's how she knew all the little water fairies, the spirits of ways, the shy ones hiding in the trees looking like doves, or the playful ones under the recreational motorboats playing in the waves.

That's how she met him.

Adalyn saved him. She gave him his name. It wasn't fair for Lucian to be happier than her.

Even at work. Lucian was just an assistant to her research, yet somehow he befriended everyone in their office. Brought people coffee, made stupid conversation, smiled, and flirted as if he knew how. But always polite and gentle and smooth, as if he had done it for years and not learned to talk three months ago.

On some level she knew she should consider this a success. Maybe Lucian was even happier without his memories. He didn't have her awareness and concerns and overthinking everything. He just watched and experienced.

The emptiness turned to hunger in his eyes. To curiosity. When they came home from work, she wanted to lie down with her texts, go over the papers and make notes. He wanted to get back out there. To the river, the museums, even the coffee shops. Just so he could watch and sketch people, observe and observe.

As if he had not had enough opportunities to do so in his past life. It was ridiculous. True knowledge lay in the books written by exceptional minds, connected to what they interviewed and observed, not in the experience of the mundane and boring.

She was so annoyed she refused to go with him that day. He was actively protesting her. Didn't mind going alone. Didn't want to follow her around like a duckling anymore.

And Adalyn was left with her thoughts, the memory of her mother at the coffee shop she glimpsed at lunch, telling her friend with a huge smile that Adalyn moving out was the best thing that could have happened to her.

...

Adalyn stared at the same sentence for the fourth time.

The development of identity under conditions of uncertainty—

She had no idea what came after that.

The words blurred together on the screen. Her temples pulsed in time with the ticking clock on the wall, a dull, nauseating ache spreading behind her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms against them.

It had started during lunch. Too much heat, perhaps. Not enough water. Too little sleep.

Or maybe just another side effect of existing.

Lucian had been gone for almost two hours now. The sketchbook he'd become inseparable from was missing from the kitchen counter, along with his headphones and favorite charcoal pencils. Somewhere by the river, no doubt, happily immortalizing old men feeding pigeons or children throwing pebbles into the water.

The thought irritated her disproportionately.

She checked her kitchen drawer. No aspirin. Second drawer. No brufen, paracetamol, nothing.

Bathroom cabinet. Bandages, disinfectant, vitamins, enough stomach medicine to survive a minor apocalypse. But no painkillers. Wonderful. She should have packed more from her mother's house. It was expensive, and she had hesitated at buying it at the pharmacy, although she was stacking up everything she could think of for the new place.

Adalyn leaned against the sink and closed her eyes.

Her first instinct was immediate and humiliating.

Call Mom.

She could already imagine it.

"You have headaches because you sit behind your laptop all day. When was the last time you took a walk? Do you go to sleep before midnight? When was the last time you were exposed to the sun?"

Practical. Solvable. Familiar.

Adalyn set her phone back down. She felt like she spent her studying years fighting her mother. She was the gravity force dragging her towards the world and 'real life' as she called it.

"Spirit hunters need real professions and interests, or they will be consumed by the invisible world," her mother always said. That's why Arthur was a lawyer and Amelia a psychologist. That's why Adalyn had studied and thankfully found something she liked almost just as much as the spirit world.

She was twenty-seven years old. A researcher. Independent. Perfectly capable of surviving a headache without involving her mother.

The realization did not make her feel any less miserable.

Her gaze drifted to Lucian's contact.

She hesitated.

He was busy.

He would have to stop whatever he was doing, find a pharmacy, come all the way back—

Her head throbbed. Her thumb pressed call before she could think better of it.

He answered on the second ring. "Adalyn." His voice carried wind and distant traffic.

"Lucian," she sighed in relief.

"Yes, that is my name."

She paused in surprise. Did he just make a joke?

"...You usually only say my name when you're annoyed with me," he explained.

"I am not annoyed."

"Mm." She could hear the smile. "You missing me already?"

She huffed in annoyance. "Where are you?"

"You want to come join me?" He sounded hopeful. Almost excited.

"No,...I was just wondering if there is a pharmacy nearby."

Another long pause. She could practically hear him think.

"There is no convenient pharmacy on the Danube island. But there is one on the way home. What do you need?"

"I have a headache." She sounded whiny even to herself.

An amused huff. "That doesn't sound so dramatic."

"It is a very severe headache."

"Did you eat today?"

Adalyn scowled. "I am regretting this call already."

"So that's a no."

"I had coffee."

"Adalyn."

"Fine. A pastry."

"At what hour?"

She remained silent.

"Oh, this is grave."

"I hate you."

The headache throbbed harder. "Lucian."

"No, you don't." He sounded absurdly pleased about it.

Something in her voice must have changed, because his teasing disappeared immediately.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"Adalyn."

"I just..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I feel like crap."

Silence. Not awkward silence. Attentive silence. Waiting. She realized she never called him like this for help. It made something uncomfortable twist in her chest. Asking the demon for help. Asking her captive to save her. Pathetic.

"There isn't any aspirin at home," she said quietly, swallowing back her hurt pride. "Could you buy some?"

Another pause. Then, softly, "Of course." As if it was the easiest thing on Earth.

"You don't have to come back immediately," she added quickly. "I know you were out—"

"I'm already on my way."

"You don't need to—"

"I'm coming home."

The words landed strangely. Simple. Certain.

She looked down at the floor tiles. "...Okay."

"Anything else?"

"No." Just hurry up. She could feel tears at the back of her eyes. Maybe she also had PMS. That would explain it.

"Tea?" he suggested.

"I don't want tea, it's 35 degrees outside!"

"You always want black tea with milk when you're miserable. I will throw some ice cubes in it. Or buy you iced caramel latte, what about that?"

"I resent how much data you've collected on me."

"I know." She could hear the grin again. "Go lie down," he said. "I'll be there soon."

The call ended.

Adalyn remained standing in the kitchen for several seconds, staring at the dark screen.

Then she quietly made her way to the couch.

She must have drifted off, because the next thing she registered was cool fingers brushing her hair away from her forehead.

Her eyes opened.

Lucian was crouched beside the couch, silver-gray eyes studying her with unconcealed concern. A pharmacy bag sat on the coffee table. Beside it was a glass of water, Gatorade, protein milkshake with caramel flavor, chocolate pudding yogurt with 18 grams of protein, and—traitorously—a box of ice cream.

"You bought food." Way more than she had asked for. More than he should have known to bring. What boyfriend of hers ever brought her something she didn't specifically list in her demands?

"You become unbearable when you forget to eat." His brown hair had a honey shade to it under the light peeking from the window curtains.

"I am perfectly pleasant."

"You once cried because the grocery store was out of your favorite yogurt."

"I was under considerable stress."

"You told me your life had no meaning."

"It didn't have my favorite yogurt." She grabbed for the protein pudding he brought. It was the most chocolate thing she could eat while watching her calories.

She couldn't exactly admit to him she gained weight in the last 3 months since she had moved out. 10 kilograms. She wasn't sure if it was from stress or horrible diet without her mom watching her or just from sadness. It was just another proof of her failure to be an adult. To handle what everyone else handled and much sooner and better than her.

Lucian laughed softly. The sound made something in her chest loosen. Demons shouldn't have such melodic laughter.

He handed her the medicine and the glass of water.

She swallowed the tablets obediently. "Thank you," she muttered, looking away. He caught her unpolished and needy, failing at basic care for herself.

He blinked. Adalyn almost never thanked people. And she definitely never thanked him.

"You called me," he said eventually.

"Yes?" She gulped down the tablets and felt defensiveness returning.

"You could have called Edmond. Or your mother."

She looked away.

"Why me?"

Because Edmond would worry too much. Because her mother would ask questions she didn't want to answer. Because despite everything, despite her resentment and jealousy and confusion—she had wanted him.

Wanted him here. Wanted someone to come home.

"I don't know," she lied.

Lucian regarded her for a long moment.

Then, very gently, he sat down on the couch next to her. In a way, he shouldn't have asked why him. They were supposed to be dating. The more independent and comfortable he got though, the more it felt like they were just roommates who slept in the same bed.

Glorified roommates. Sounded better than captor and captive, but not by much.

"You can call me whenever you want, Adalyn." He said it with such severity as if it was a promise.

Adalyn stared. The panicked loneliness and shame eased, just slightly.