"I left the door open . . . just in case the season, or you, returned"
@deepspacexavier || August Poetry Prompts - Accepting!
Hyori goes quiet when he says it.
“I left the door open… just in case the season, or you, returned.”
He stands there in his Lightseeker uniform—white high collar pristine against his throat, black and gold accents catching the corridor’s glow. The armored gloves rest at his sides, composed, disciplined. Prefect of the Starhunters. Top of their class. Her rival.
And yet he looks at her like that. Like the door was never about wood and hinges.
“Astra Knyght Academy is going to start rumors if the Starhunters’ prefect keeps making statements like that,” she says lightly, folding her arms to keep from fidgeting. Retreating.
Rivalry is easier.
Rivalry is safe.
But her pulse doesn’t agree.
They’ve spent countless hours crossing blades in the training hall, circling each other with sharpened focus. She knows the precision of his footwork. The calm in his blue eyes before he strikes. The way he never goes all out against her—and how much that irritates her.
And yet here he is, speaking as if she were something seasonal. Something awaited. Her gaze drops, just briefly, to the tassel on his sword.
The star.
The one some girl gave him.
The one she has always believed belongs to someone else.
Her chest tightens before she can stop it—jealousy?
“You shouldn’t leave doors open for possibilities,” she says quietly. “Especially not when Wanderers are appearing more frequently. You’re supposed to be focused.”
It comes out harsher that she intends, it sounds like a reprimand. It isn’t.
She steps closer anyway, stopping just shy of the threshold. Close enough to see the faint shift in his expression when she invades his space. Close enough to feel the steady gravity of him.
“You talk about Uluru like it’s a promise,” she adds, softer now. “A planet without Wanderers. Without politics. Without a throne waiting for you.”
She tries to say it teasingly. But the word throne lingers. She believes he’ll be crowned one day. She believes she’ll stand at his side as his Grandis Knight. She believes he deserves the crown, even if he claims he doesn’t want it.
Her violet eyes lift to meet his.
“You don’t have to leave doors open for me,” she says, though her voice betrays something warmer. “If I decide to step through, I will.”
A beat passes.
“And if you’re waiting for someone,” she adds carefully, too carefully, “you shouldn’t.”
Not unless it’s her.
But she won’t say that aloud. Instead, she tilts her chin slightly, competitive spark returning to shield the vulnerability.
“But don’t think I’ll go easy on you in tomorrow’s duel just because you’re being poetic tonight, Xavier.”
The faintest smile touches her lips.
Rival.
Friend.
Something dangerously close to more.
