#multiversal elements

Sunday stood in the observation car, golden halo aglow, wings behind his ears fluttering slightly—not from wind, but from unease.

You entered like you always did: with a grin that was a little too wide and a presence that screamed both “I am unstoppable” and “Please stop me before I destroy something.”

“You’re early,” Sunday said softly, eyes tracking you like a sun reluctant to set. “Time seems to... distort around you.”

“Time, dreams, the concept of cause and effect—it’s all a bit loose lately,” you replied, collapsing onto the nearby velvet lounge like you owned gravity itself. “Welt said I’m not allowed to touch the hyperdrive anymore. Something about ‘fracturing the dimension in three directions at once.’” You paused, squinting at your hand. “Which I might have done. But the pigeon started it.”

Sunday smiled, but it was thin, hesitant. “And yet, somehow, you’re still breathing. Still laughing. After everything...”

You met his gaze—no teasing, no chaos in your eyes now. Just knowing. “You’re not the only one who’s been nearly torn apart.”

He flinched. “What happened to you—”

“It was bad,” you said, voice low. “An alternate timeline. Someone I trusted... lost control. I would’ve been gone, if not for someone fixing the timeline. Merging it back. A second chance.”

He turned to you. The Answerer in him wept. The Interrogator screamed. “And you don’t hate them?”

You walked slowly toward him. “I forgave. Not because it didn’t hurt—but because healing means more than revenge. And because someone like you—someone who still dreams of peace, even through pain—still exists.”

He stepped closer. “Even if I remind you of what almost broke you?”

“You don’t. You remind me I can survive it. That I can be more than just the one who got hurt.”

The stars flickered, dimmed, then bloomed brighter than ever.

Sunday kissed you, halo flickering erratically as your chaos brushed against his order—and didn’t destroy it.

It harmonized.

Dan Heng was used to danger. He was not, however, used to you.

You, with your impossible strength and your even more impossible refusal to take anything seriously. You who’d made a pact with literal seven demons of hell. You who wore the Ring of Light to keep the universe from unraveling whenever you decided to throw a tantrum. You, who’d been in enough life-threatening situations to count on your fingers and toes—and still came back cracking jokes about afterlife vending machines.

And yet, Dan Heng couldn’t stop watching you.

“You shouldn’t have gone off alone,” he said coolly, folding his arms as you returned from Penacony’s lower city, bloodied but grinning.

“I was fine.”

“You were nearly erased from existence last week.”

“And got better, thanks,” you said, hopping up to sit on his desk. “What’s got you so grumpy? I didn’t fracture space this time.”

His jaw tensed. “You’re reckless.”

“You’re cute when you worry.”

“That’s not—” he stopped. The words jammed in his throat. He looked away. “...You matter.”

The silence was heavy.

You slid off the desk, softer now. “Dan Heng.”

He didn’t face you. “You’re powerful. Beyond reason. But power doesn’t make you untouchable.”

You moved to his side, fingers brushing his arm. “I’ve been strangled, hunted through voids, nearly consumed by my own magic—and yeah, someone in another timeline lost it and hurt me. But I survived. Every time.”

He turned. Slowly. “Why keep doing this?”

You smiled. “Because you’re the one person who looks at me like I’m more than a walking catastrophe.”

His breath caught.

You whispered, “And because you keep me grounded. You’re my tether, Dan Heng. You remind me I’m still human.”

His hands, for once, trembled as he took yours. “Then stay. Just—stay close.”

You did. And for once, Dan Heng felt like maybe he could stop running.

“You cheated.”

“I won,” you corrected, tossing a pair of impossibly rare cards onto the table. “It’s not my fault the house isn’t built for transdimensional energy freaks with too many pacts.”

Aventurine blinked once behind his glasses, smile twitching with incredulity. “You really did just collapse probability again, didn’t you?”

“Guilty.”

The roulette wheel behind him sputtered. A neon light fizzled. A reality anchor cracked like glass.

Aventurine sipped his drink without blinking. “I’ve conned planet-killers, lied to a galactic tribunal, and escaped slavery with a card trick, but you... you’re terrifying.”

You leaned on the edge of the table, eyes glowing faintly from the Ring of Light’s hum. “Flattery’ll get you everywhere, Kakavasha.”

That name—his real name—hit harder than expected.

He sat forward, lacing his fingers together. “You shouldn’t know that.”

“I know a lot of things. Like how you always hide your left hand during bets. Like how you flinch when someone touches your neck. Like how you joke about luck, but never let anything fall out of your control.”

The tension in his smile grew tighter. “I see. So I’m your next... project?”

You stepped into his space, hand on his cheek. “No. You’re my favorite gamble.”

His breath caught.

“I know what it means to survive because you're the only one left. To wear a mask so heavy it shapes your bones.” Your smile softened. “I don’t want to fix you, Aventurine. I want to bet on you.”

He chuckled, low and real this time. “That’s the worst decision anyone’s ever made.”

“And the best one I’ve ever committed to.”

He leaned in close. “Then let’s raise the stakes.”

Your kiss was heat, risk, surrender—and for once, he didn’t hide his left hand.