#non mc

and whether they are blind to your feelings, consumed in their quest to reunite with mc, or simply incapable of truly seeing you, they’ll never choose you.

still, you remain, tethered to their side through every heartbreak.

but when you find out your cycle of reincarnation is finally ending, you keep it to yourself. is it selfish? perhaps. but your heart is weary, your love is stretched thin, and you know that if your devotion was never returned before, it never will be.

so when you finally slip away—cradled in their arms during a mission, surrendering your soul to the ocean at a seamoon ceremony, or resting among a field of datura flowers—they mourn you. of course they do. tears will fill their eyes as they whisper your name into the silence.

but some part of them knows you’ll come back.

you always do.

they’re certain you’ll return just as you always have, and that soon enough you’ll be smiling beside them again, teasing them like nothings changed.

you always return as yourself—changed in small ways, perhaps, but still marked by the beauty spot beneath your eye or the gentle brown of your gaze.

your face may shift with each timeline, but the faint scar along your arm from protecting him from wanderers or the wound over your heart always remains.

it’s all a quiet testament of your love.

so when the next cycle comes, and they cannot find you in a scattered crowd of villagers, when they don’t sense your presence in a university hallway, when they wait for you to find them in a game of hide and seek on a playground—the one right next to your father’s house—or amongst the last remaining lemurians who reside in verona, they begin to question it.

they start to wonder.

where were you? what’s taking you so long to come back to them?

where is the one who knows them best? the girl who shares every memory, who understands their purpose, who feels their pain more deeply than anyone else?

simply put—

where are you?

but the truth is painfully simple.

you are not here.

not anymore.

your soul is finally at peace, and alongside it, your love.

or maybe, somewhere in the world, you still exist.

maybe you grew up wrapped in the warmth of a loving family. maybe you still remember the warnings of hunters past and steer clear of those forbidden no hunt zones.

maybe you attend college, or perhaps you open a flower shop in a city where no one knows your name.

maybe every night you dream of a life you have never lived, with a man whose face you have never seen.

maybe you are sitting right beside them, by the sea or on a park bench, laughing at a joke you just told, while he absentmindedly takes your hand in his.

and maybe when you wake with tears drying on your cheeks, you’re confused, unable to understand what it all means.

but dreams fade the longer you remain awake, and slowly, you return to your life.

you feed your cat. you take out the trash. you spend a tuesday afternoon tackling a week's worth of laundry.

you live through mundane, ordinary moments.

you meet up with old colleagues for brunch, talking to your mother on the phone while waiting for the next train. you reply to the messages of a man you matched with online and let him take you out for a drink or two, thanking him at the end of the night for the fun you had.

the next day, you pass by a mural painted by a well-known artist from whitesand bay, leaving you so awestruck that you take a quick snapshot to post on your moments page before continuing on your way.

you arrive at akso hospital, stepping into the lobby to find the rest of your family sitting anxiously for news of your niece’s birth. you sit beside them, praying for the time to pass more quickly, absentmindedly reading the framed research credits of a 28-year-old cardiac surgeon hanging on the wall nearby.

and when you return home that night, head stuck in the clouds, swiping at the hundreds of photos you took of your sister's baby girl, someone stops you in the street.

their eyes—sky blue, violet-gold, or cotton-candy—search your face with overwhelming relief, haunted by a grief that feels centuries old.

“i’m so glad i found you again,” they’ll whisper as their arms wrap around you, the embrace tight enough to keep you from pulling away so easily, but gentle enough not to steal your breath.

“i missed you so much. where have you been?”

you freeze, fear rooting you into place as a voice inside urges you to fight, to punch, to kick, to scream—anything to break free from the arms of someone you don’t know.

you tense, and they feel it immediately. they notice your stillness, your lack of recognition, and finally, they let you go, albeit slowly.

their hands settle gently against your shoulders, smiling with a softness you have never seen directed to you, and they ask again:

“where have you been?”

you force yourself backward, taking three deliberate steps to create space between you, your left hand already searching your purse for anything to defend yourself with.

and with quiet uncertainty, you ask:

XAVIER (word count : 346)

Today is not off to a good start.

You failed to wake up to your alarm, which meant getting ready was a frantic rush.

With no time to make breakfast, you stop by a bakery on your way to work. There’s no way you can survive on an empty stomach, especially without your usual cup of coffee.

After placing your order, you wait near the pickup counter.

“One cheese-and-ham sandwich and an Americano,” the server calls, setting the items down. “That’ll be €6.50.”

You fumble to retrieve your purse, but the zipper on your bag refuses to budge.

Tugging at it, you mutter a curse under your breath.

You don’t have time for this. You’re already running late.

“I’ve got it.”

A hand reaches past you and places a €10 bill on the counter.

You look up to see your neighbor, Charlie, smiling warmly.

“Charlie?!” you say, startled. “Thanks so much. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“No need,” he says with an easy smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m really late for work.”

“I can give you a ride,” Charlie offers politely.

“That won’t be necessary.”

The familiar voice comes from behind you.

You turn just as Xavier steps forward, stopping quietly at your side. His expression is calm, though there’s a faint hint of irritation in his eyes.

“Xavier?” you blink in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

When you left earlier, he had still been fast asleep in bed.

“Xavier, good to see you,” Charlie says with a friendly smile.

“Please send me your account details. I’ll transfer the money back to you.”

“You’re in a hurry, right?” he says, turning his attention back to you. “Let’s get you to work first.”

Before you can react, he gently takes your hand and leads you out of the bakery.

As you walk down the street, Xavier speaks again, his voice quiet.

“Next time, wake me up. I can make you breakfast… or bring it to your workplace.”

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ZAYNE (word count : 423)

Zayne and you aren’t really the type to dine at upscale restaurants.

Not because you can’t afford them, but because you both prefer smaller places - the kind that feel cozy, quiet, and warm, as if the meal had been prepared by a home cook.

Lately, though, people have been raving about a newly opened restaurant, and eventually curiosity gets the better of you.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waiter asks.

“No, thank you,” you reply. “I’m so full I couldn’t eat another bite.”

“The food was excellent,” Zayne adds. “Please give my compliments to the chef.”

“Of course, sir,” the waiter says with a polite nod.

“And the bill, please.”

“Certainly. I’ll be right back.”

As the waiter walks away, Zayne glances at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“For someone who said the food looked too pretty to eat, you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.”

Before you can defend yourself, a voice interrupts you.

“Good evening. I’m sorry to bother you.”

A man who looks vaguely familiar approaches your table.

He turns to you. “Do you remember me? You saved me from a Wanderer attack a few days ago.”

“Ah, yes. I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” you say with a small smile.

“Your partner is very brave,” the man says, glancing toward Zayne. “I’d like to pay for your meal as a token of my appreciation.”

Zayne stills, his gaze following the man’s hand as he places a credit card on the table.

Without a word, Zayne reaches into his wallet and takes out his own card. He hands it to the waiter.

Then he slides the stranger’s card back toward him.

“Your gratitude is appreciated,” Zayne says evenly, “but that won’t be necessary.”

“Her time - and her bill - are already accounted for tonight.”

His tone is polite, yet cool enough to leave little room for argument.

The man flushes slightly, retrieves his card, and quickly mutters an apology and another thank-you before excusing himself.

Once you’re back in the car, Zayne loosens his tie with a single practiced tug as he starts the engine.

After a moment, he speaks.

“Do you usually let strangers take care of you?”

Before you can answer, he reaches over and takes your hand.

“Let me take care of these things,” he says, eyes still on the road. “Always.”

You can’t help the small smile that appears on your face.

Zayne’s jealousy is rare, but you can always tell when it surfaces.

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RAFAYEL (word count : 456)

You and Rafayel are attending a high-end charity art auction.

It was originally Thomas’s idea - a way for Rafayel to maintain his public image - but Rafayel immediately rejected the suggestion.

Naturally, Thomas turned to you for help.

You explained that you had never been to an art auction before and were curious about the experience. Besides, since it was a charity event, Rafayel would be contributing to a good cause and going together would undoubtedly make the evening more enjoyable.

Eventually, Rafayel agreed.

Of course, as a famous artist, it didn’t take long for the event organizers to pull him away, eager to introduce him to other guests and collectors.

Leaving you alone.

You stand in front of a sculpture when a bidder approaches.

“You have a good eye,” he says. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” you reply politely.

“You have good taste,” he continues, gesturing toward the sculpture.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you admit with a sheepish smile. “I’m not exactly an art connoisseur.”

“But I can appreciate its beauty.”

“If you were a sculpture, you’d certainly be worthy of praise and admiration.”

You let out an awkward laugh at the compliment.

It’s clear that this person is flirting with you.

A voice carries through the room, interrupting the conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The auction is about to commence.”

The bidder gives you a small nod before walking away, and you release a quiet sigh of relief.

You weave your way through the rows of seats until you reach Rafayel. Taking the seat beside him, he offers you a smile and hands you a bidding paddle with the same number as his.

The first item up for auction is the very sculpture you were admiring moments ago.

The bidder from earlier raises his paddle.

“Fifty thousand euros.”

Murmurs and gasps spread through the room as people notice he has bid five times the starting price.

“Please put it under Miss Number 17.”

Number 17?

That’s your number.

Stunned, you look across the room and meet his gaze.

Then you turn back to Rafayel.

His expression is a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“Rafayel, this isn’t what you think…” you begin quickly.

Rafayel narrows his eyes.

“I leave your side for five minutes,” he says dramatically, “and instead of admiring the art, you’re out here collecting admirers?”

He pouts, clearly offended.

Before you can respond, Rafayel raises his paddle with exaggerated confidence.

“Fifty thousand?” he scoffs. “Pluuheese. Put her down for triple the price.”

Your eyes widen, and you completely forget how to speak.

Rafayel simply leans back, giving the bidder a smug, challenging look.

The room falls silent.

“Going once. Going twice. Sold to Mr. Rafayel.”

The clerk’s gavel strikes the podium.

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SYLUS (word count : 397)

When Sylus invited you to join him at a casino, you were surprised.

Although you had always been curious about such places and had more than once thought about visiting one with your friends someday, your moral compass had always stopped you.

You were firmly against gambling, knowing how easily it can ruin lives.

Sylus explained he was only there to meet with a few business associates.

He made it clear that you were free to decline if the environment made you uncomfortable. However, if you decided to join him, you didn’t have to participate in any of the games. You could simply stay by his side, or use his card if curiosity got the better of you.

Upon arrival, Sylus was escorted to an exclusive private lounge, leaving you alone for the time being.

You wandered through the casino, observing the elegant tables and the players focused on their games. The more you look, the more you realize you don't even know how to play any of the games even if you wanted to participate.

Eventually, you stopped beside a roulette table, standing close enough to watch but far enough away that no one would mistake your curiosity for interest in joining.

Little did you know, you had already drawn the attention of a wealthy, arrogant high-roller.

While Sylus remained occupied with his business associates, the man casually placed a single €10,000 chip onto the betting square closest to you.

He smirks as he says, “Next round is on me, sweetheart.”

Before you could even process what is happening, a leather-gloved hand settles around your waist, pulling you flush against a broad chest.

Sylus towers behind you, his dangerous, crimson gaze locking onto the high-roller.

He doesn’t look angry.

He looks amused - in the most terrifying way possible.

With a lazy flick of his finger, Sylus sends the stranger’s expensive chip right off the table. It rolls across the casino floor like a cheap piece of plastic.

“You’re throwing pocket change at what belongs to me?” Sylus says, his voice deep. “Pitiful.”

The man’s cheek flushes - either from anger, embarrassment, or both, you can’t tell.

“She doesn’t play for pennies,” he adds.

“If you want to gamble your life away so badly, you can bet against me instead.”

The challenge in his voice is unmistakable.

The high-roller mutters something under his breath before storming off

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CALEB (word count : 392)

Caleb is the type of person who spoils you relentlessly and pampers you without hesitation.

At first, it made you feel uncomfortable and uneasy. You weren’t used to being treated this way, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone to think you were taking advantage of him.

Over time, however, you slowly grew accustomed to it, realizing that this was simply Caleb’s way of showing you how much he loves and cares about you.

After complimenting one of your friend’s dresses, you ask where she bought it.

She tells you the name of a trendy boutique, and the moment you mention it to Caleb, he immediately insists that the two of you go together.

After spending a considerable amount of time browsing through countless options and trying on outfit after outfit in the fitting rooms, you are finally ready to check out.

Caleb places the clothes you have chosen on the counter before suddenly remembering one more thing he wants to pick up.

He dashes off.

The sales assistant begins scanning your items one by one, folding each piece and placing them neatly into shopping bags.

Then, out of nowhere, a flashy man in an expensive tailored suit approaches the counter.

You notice that he has been glancing your way throughout your shopping trip.

Before you can react, he places a sleek platinum card on the counter.

With a charming smile, he turns toward you.

“Put it all on mine. Beautiful clothes deserve to be worn by a beautiful woman.”

Before the sales assistant can even reach for the card, it suddenly becomes impossible to move.

The card remains pinned firmly against the marble counter, held in place by an invisible force.

Caleb’s Evol.

Caleb steps forward, his entire posture shifting into the disciplined stance of a soldier. His broad shoulders completely block you from the stranger.

He places a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. The pressure of his grip - amplified just slightly by his gravity Evol - enough to make the man’s posture buckle under the sudden weight.

“Look, buddy,” Caleb says, his voice taking on the same commanding tone he uses when addressing the fleet.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re going to pick up your card, take three steps back, and walk away.”

His gaze sharpens.

“I’m only going to ask nicely once.”

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VALKO (word count : 440)

You have been snowed under with work for the past few weeks, and as a result, you’ve completely neglected yourself.

Your hair is a mess of split ends, and your fringe has grown so long you can barely see through it. And don’t even get started on your nails - broken, chipped, and covered in nail polish that is barely hanging on.

When you call your usual salon, they tell you that your stylist is on a two-week vacation and no one else is available to take you.

You try a few other salons, only to be met with the same problem: either their stylists are fully booked, or they can’t offer an appointment that fits your schedule.

Fortunately, you have an amazing boyfriend.

“I called your workplace to let them know you’re taking tomorrow off. Non-negotiable,” Valko tells you the moment you get home.

“I’ve booked you in for a hair appointment, a manicure, and a pedicure,” he adds.

“At least, I think that’s what those services are called.”

“I’ll drive you there tomorrow and pick you up when you’re done. Just call me.”

You immediately reward him with kisses all over his face, scratching affectionately behind his wolf ears.

The salon Valko takes you to the next day looks like the kind of place celebrities and the wives of wealthy businessmen frequent.

Several hours later - a much longer stretch of pampering than you have ever spent in a salon before - you finally emerge feeling presentable again.

The staff who took care of you were wonderful: friendly, attentive, and highly professional.

You make a mental note to leave a five-star review and a generous tip as you head toward the checkout counter.

No doubt this place is expensive, and the services you had done would probably cost an entire month’s salary, but Valko had assured you that he would cover everything.

Suddenly, a wealthy, slick businessman steps up to the counter beside you, drops a high-tier membership card, and flashes you a smarmy grin.

“Put the lady's bill on my VIP tab. A gorgeous face like yours shouldn't have to worry about the price of upkeep.”

Just then, a towering 6'2" muscular frame steps into the man’s personal space.

A low, rumbling growl vibrates from his chest, raising the hairs on the back of everyone's neck.

Valko’s stance is one of danger and predatory stillness.

His golden eyes flare with an intense, territorial heat.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Upkeep? Her scent is already marked on my ledger. “I don’t let anyone else pay for the woman I intend to take care of for the rest of my life.”

Tag list : @cordidy @thehyperfixationgirly @pjselee

The guns came without warning. Luke and Kieran held two barrels pointed two loaded pistols towards you. Cold metal, colder eyes. They followed his orders and unloaded their weapons, the bullets tore through you. Through flesh, through bone, through the heart that had loved him so completely

Sylus, your husband. Sylus, the love of your life. He'd ordered your death like you were nothing. Like your years together meant nothing. The pain was excruciating, but worse was watching him walk away with MC. His hand on her back, protective, tender, the way he used to touch you as your blood pooled beneath you and your vision blurred.

He didn't look back. Not once. You died alone on the ground, discarded, while they disappeared into their new life together. They drove off to live your happily ever after as you were buried in an unmarked grave.

But death wasn't the end. It was a beginning.

You rose from your tattered corpse, no longer bound by flesh. Every drop of love you had poured into him crystallized into something bitter, colder, deadlier.

You would have your revenge.

The world felt bitter, darker, colder, infinite. You could feel the threads connecting you to them, pulsing with possibility.

They thought walking away meant freedom? They thought your death meant peace? MC thought she could just spread her legs for another woman's husband and get away with it? Sylus thought he could lie and break your heart, mind, and soul without consequences?

How beautifully, tragically naive.

They wanted their happily ever after?

You would give them something far more memorable.

Even long after they themselves were dead and buried, they will always wonder…

"Was it really worth it?"

You found them at dawn.

In your bedroom. In your bed. The sheets you'd picked out, the mattress that still held the shape of your body, the room where he'd whispered promises into your hair on countless mornings. Now it reeked of her—her perfume, her sweat, the cloying sweetness of their satisfaction.

They were still tangled together, her head resting on his chest where yours used to lay, his arm draped possessively across her waist. His fingers traced lazy circles on her bare shoulder, the same absent-minded gesture he'd done to you. The morning light caught on his face, softening it, making him look peaceful and content.

Happy. You made him happy. But she made him happier.

Something inside you twisted violently.

They celebrated their love the same night they had you murdered!

The rage hit you like a roaring tsunami. But with the rage came a sense of awareness. The world around you differently now. You didn't just see it, but you could sense it. The door. The walls. The very air itself felt tangible and responsive, like it was waiting for you to reach out grab it.

You raised your hand. It looked translucent in the dim light. But when you focused, when you poured all that fury into your hand, it became solid. Real!

You had to test it. You slammed it against the bedroom door.

BANG!

The sound was a thunderclap that shattered the morning stillness. The door shuddered in its frame, rattling on its hinges. The impact reverberated through your spectral form. you could feel it, the shock of solid wood against your fist, the satisfaction of making the physical world acknowledge your existence after you were forcefully departed from it.

Sylus jolted upright like, his hand raised ready to use his evol. Every muscle in his body went taut as predatory instincts snapping into place. MC gasped, clutching the sheet to her bare chest, her eyes wide and wild as they fixed on the door.

"What the hell!?" Sylus's voice was rough with sleep and adrenaline.

They stared at the door. Waiting and listening for the noise to happen again. You held perfectly still, drinking in their fear like it was fine wine.

No footsteps in the hallway. No voices. No creaking floorboards or rattling windows. Just that single, sound still echoing in their ears and in their bones.

"Did you hear that?" MC whispered, her voice trembling. Her fingers dug into his arm.

"I heard it." Sylus was already moving, throwing off the sheets, not bothering to put on any underwear. His expression was hard and calculating as he scanned the room. Looking for threats. For intruders. For something that made sense. He wouldn't find it.

He crossed to the door with predatory caution before he yanked the it open. The hallway stretched empty before him. Completely silent and undisturbed. Morning light filtered through the windows at the far end, painting everything in soft, innocent haze.

But the air was wrong. Like the atmosphere before a storm. He stepped into the hallway, his eyes sweeping left, then right. Nothing. No one.

You stood right beside him. Close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his pupils dilated as he searched for an enemy that wasn't there. He felt you. He didn't know it yet, but some primal part of him recognized the wrongness, the presence of something that shouldn't exist.

"Sylus?" MC called from the bed, her voice small and frightened.

"It's nothing," he said, but there was uncertainty in his voice now. The first crack in his armor.

You smiled, tasting their confusion, their fear, like honey on your tongue. The rage inside you purred with satisfaction. This power, this ability to reach across the veil and make them feel you. It was intoxicating.

You need more.

By midday, Sylus was gone.

A business meeting and security checks. Something about ensuring the perimeter was secure after the "incident." You'd watched him leave, watched him kiss MC at the door like a devoted lover, promising to return soon.

And now she was all alone.

MC moved through your kitchen with familiarity, like she'd done this a thousand times before. Because she undoubtedly has. She'd been here while you were still alive, cooking in your kitchen, using your things, playing house with your husband while you were out. The thought made your rage spike hot and vicious.

She'd pulled her hair into a messy bun, wearing one of Sylus's shirts like it was hers. The sleeves rolled up as she chopped vegetables on your cutting board with your knife. She was humming something soft and tuneless, completely at ease.

She'd convinced herself things were fine. The morning's disturbance was nothing.

She reached for the cabinet above the stove, where she had reorganized the spices from the far superior system you had in place, and pulled out paprika.

The rage built inside of you again. You focused until you could feel the kitchen around you, every surface, every object, all of it waiting for your touch. You stepped closer to her, wanting her feel you somehow.

MC paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board. She glanced toward the closed window, put down the knife and checked the thermostat. The AC was off and the rooms overall temperature dropped. She shrugged her shoulders and continued her cutting.

You focused again, using everything bit of energy you had on the cabinet beside her head.

BANG!

The cabinet door slammed open so hard it cracked against the adjacent wall. The sound was deafening in the quiet kitchen.

MC screamed. The knife clattered to the floor as she stumbled backward, her hip slamming into the counter. Her eyes were huge, fixed on the cabinet that now hung open, swaying slightly on its hinges.

"Hello?" Her voice cracked. "Sylus?"

Silence.

She was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

You watched her chest heave with panicked breaths, watched her eyes dart around the kitchen, searching for something, anything that made sense. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the counter, trying to steady herself.

"It's just—it's just old hinges," she whispered to herself, but her voice shook. "Just—just the house settling. It's fine. It's—"

You moved closer, letting the temperature drop further. Her breath misted in the air.

"It's fine," she repeated, but she was backing toward the door now, her movements jerky and frightened. "It's fine, it's fine, it's—"

She ran.

You stayed in the kitchen, surrounded by the scattered vegetables and the abandoned lunch, and smiled.

The fear was so much sweeter when they were alone.

MC didn’t come back into the kitchen.

She hovered in the doorway for a long moment, keys in hand, still pale, still shaken, before deciding she couldn’t stand to be alone in the house any longer. Takeout was easier than cooking anyway. Leaving was easier than sitting with the feeling that something was wrong and being unable to know why.

The door closed behind MC, leaving you alone.

Sylus came home an hour later.

He stepped through the door without hesitation, keys jingling softly as he set them in the dish by the entryway. In one hand, he carried a briefcase. In the other, a tall, curved vase filled with freshly cut red roses.

The scent followed him like a sickly sweet perfume as he placed it in the middle of the counter. Turning it slightly so the light can hit the petals just right. MC would spot them immediately when she came back.

When he was satisfied, he pulled out his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping into that soft, intimate tone he saved for her. “I just got back. Yeah, I got you something to help you feel better, you'll love it.”

You didn’t need to focus so hard this time. What you are and what you can do felt so natural at this point even though you were killed yesterday. You were fully embracing what you had become and how you felt. That acceptance, made you stronger than you've ever been.

You looked at the flowers. Simple red roses in full bloom, deep crimson, the petals lush and dewy. The basic uninspiring kind MC like. You ground your teeth remembering the bouquets Sylus got you. They were all different. A beautiful carefully crafted piece of botanical art that showed the unrelenting love Sylus had for you. It was a floral symphony of romance that you loved and appreciated every time.

These roses were a downgrade. You're doing Sylus a favor at this point.

Sylus calmly walked to the fridge, his phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek, using his now free hands to grab a glass of water for himself. But before his fingers could make contact with the fridge, the vase quickly glided across the smooth marble, tipping over the edge with no chance of saving it.

The crash was violent, the glass exploded across the tile floor, shards skittering in all directions as water spilled outward in a sudden flood. The roses petals tearing loose and scattering among the wreckage.

Sylus stood motionless, arm still extended, staring down at the destruction. The phone remained clutched in his hand, her voice faint and tiny as MC called his name again and again, asking if he was all right, asking what had happened. He didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the island, on the exact spot where the vase had stood moments before. Completely sturdy, leveled, and safe.

This had not been an accident. It was impossible.

The house felt completely different now. His pulse quickened, the uneasiness crawling up his spine. He told himself there had to be an explanation—water on the counter, a tremor, something, anything! But none of it was there. He remembered setting the vase down. Remembered making sure it was stable. Remembered thinking how it looked right there.

You were close enough to him now to feel the heat of his body, close enough to sense the growing break in his composure. So close he could see his own breath despite the warm temperature in the house.

Eventually, he would clean the mess. He would sweep up the glass, throw away the ruined flowers, order another bouquet and tell himself it meant nothing. Even if he couldn't bring himself to mean it. Something fundamental had shifted. The house no longer felt like his domain like it always had. The space no longer felt empty.

He was not alone.

The next four days that followed the vase incident were tense. Sylus and MC went through those days in a routine haze. Wake up, go to work, come home, go to bed.

Sylus ordered another bouquet by nightfall. He placed the new flowers in a heavier vase, tucked into the corner of the kitchen, as if reducing the exposure would prevent another act of supernatural sabotage. MC noticed his mood shift, of course. She watched him watch the house. His eyes lingering longer on shadowed corners, his movements a lot more careful, checking locks and thermostats with subtle paranoia. But she said nothing. They were both too proud, too rational, too eager to believe in safe explanations.

You watched them still. Being able to latch onto one of them no matter where they went.  The life and times of Sylus were nothing new to you. You knew everything about him. But you discovered so much more about MC.

Within those four days you saw the dedicated colonel, the flamboyant artist, the caring doctor, and the attentive co-worker.

All unbelievably handsome, talented, rich, and loyal. The way they looked at MC was the way Sylus looked at you. They knew that MC was taken, but not by who, and it was obvious that if given the chance they would take it. They would sweep her off her feet and never let her go again.

MC had choices. Yet she still chose wrong!

But the four full days passed without incident. You didn’t rattle a single cupboard or drop the temperature once. You gave them peace. You gave them space. You let them believe, if only for a moment, that maybe it was over. That the worst had passed.

It made what came next all the more exquisite.

MC wore black satin and red lipstick. Sylus, the dark shirt you bought for his birthday, the one he always claimed brought him luck. You watched them leave together, laughing, fingers laced, tension slipping from their shoulders as they went to have their romantic evening.

They went to a restaurant with candles on the tables and wine in their glasses, a place where everyone knew your name, but couldn't say anything now. They returned late, tipsy and giddy, lips already smeared with lipstick, eyes heavy with desire and drink. They touched each other without shame as they slipped through the front door, their laughter bouncing off the walls like they owned the night.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Instead, they left a trail of clothing from the hallway to the bathroom, giggling and clumsy and unbearably content. You heard the shower start and their voices echo through the fogged glass. The bathroom light flowed through the open door casting soft shadows into the hallway. They were in there together, tangled in steam, their bodies close, their breath rising like incense into the air you’d once called your own.

That was when you moved.

One moment, the bathroom door stood wide open; the next, it slammed shut with a force that shook the hinges.

Inside, the water kept running but their moans stopped instantly.

Then the lights went out dipping the room in total darkness.

They fumbled in the dark. Their bodies awkward and dripping, the earlier ease gone, the intimacy evaporated, replaced by slow but panicked movements and shallow breaths. Sylus found the wall at last and navigated to the light switch. When Sylus managed to restore the lights, the bathroom felt stripped of warmth and intimacy.

They moved out of the around in silence after that, grabbing towels, avoiding each other’s eyes. Moving quickly like strangers who were caught being somewhere forbidden.

MC turned toward the mirror, towel wrapped tight around her chest. Her skin still glistened with water, the droplets sliding down her neck and collarbone, but her hands moved on auto pilot. She reached for the hand towel by the sink and wiped a broad stroke across the glass so she can see herself.

The steam parted and revealed a reflection that did not belong to her. You stared through the mirror as though it were nothing more than a window, your expression completely unreadable. Your eyes were fixed directly on hers, like a statue fixed in place.

“Oh my god!” MC recoiled as if something struck her.

Sylus spun toward her instantly, his towel slung low on his hips. “What? What happened?”

She couldn't answer. Her gaze still locked on the mirror, eyes wide and fixed in place. You never broke your eye contact. You didn't even blink, scared of missing a single second of this moment. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Only a shuddering breath as she struggled to even breath properly. MC then her hand lifted to point at you.

Sylus followed her finger just in time to see you calmly walk out of frame.

Not a mirage, or a hallucination, or a vague shadow. The last time he had seen you alive, you were crumpling beneath gunfire. Now, you were walking away from him like nothing was wrong.

“She was there,” her voice small, wrecked with fear. “You saw her. Tell me you saw her!”

A long pause stretched between them.

Then Sylus nodded, just once. "Yes…I saw her."

MC exhaled shakily, stepping back from the sink with uncertain footing, one hand reaching blindly for Sylus as though the contact alone could keep her from collapsing. She gripped his forearm, fingers digging into damp skin, using him like a crutch for reality. He didn’t move. He stood there, his body rigid and cold as marble.

The damage had been done.

You had touched things. Moved things. Appeared in front of them.

Sylus's mind was churning through a thousand calculations, none of them adding up to anything useful. This wasn’t a threat he could neutralize. This wasn’t a security breach or a mistake to be covered up. This wasn’t a woman he could have killed and forgotten.

You had been buried, yes.

But he had buried a body, not the part that mattered.

They were foolish enough to think the house was the problem. That you were bound to the place you once called home.

The decision for them leave the place they tried to erase you from was quick and frantic.

“I’m not staying another second,” MC kept repeating, her fingers slipping as she pulled on pants still damp from the shower. “I don’t care where we go, I just need to get out of here!”

“I know.” His voice was tight. He barely looked at her as he yanked open drawers, pulling out his phone and wallet with shaking hands. “Grab your things. Just the essentials.”

She did. No luggage, no toiletries, just the what they thought mattered: phones, car keys, wallets. It was a full on escape. One that you knew was a pointless endeavor.

The hotel they found was sterile and over-lit, the kind of luxury that tried too hard to mimic warmth. The concierge gave her best customer service smile and a swipe of the credit card machine, saying nothing about the disheveled pair with wet hair and wild eyes. The elevator ride was silent. In the suite, MC finally exhaled in one long breath before collapsing onto the bed.

“We should be safe here,” she said quietly, almost trying to convince herself. “It’s new. It’s clean. She can’t be everywhere.”

Sylus sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the floor for a long time. "We'll find a new home. A completely new life and a fresh start."

After hours of reassuring words and comforting kisses, MC finally calmed down enough to fall asleep soon after.

But Sylus couldn't. He lay beside her for over an hour, eyes wide open. When her soft breathing evened out and the tension in her limbs dissolved, he carefully pulled the sheet away and stood. He didn’t bother trying to look presentable. Just his jacket, his keys, his phone. He scribbled a quick note and left it on the nightstand: Going for a drive. Couldn’t sleep.

The road was mostly empty, long stretches of asphalt with only the company of streetlights. Sylus kept both hands on the wheel, his shoulders as his eyes fixed straight ahead. The talk radio was low enough that he couldn’t make out the words, only the sound of the voice filling the silence. He hadn’t realized how hard he was gripping the steering wheel until his fingers began to ache.

He spoke without thinking, the words slipping out as if saying them out loud might make them true. “It’s not her,” he said quietly. “It’s stress. A little guilt. Just stress. A lot of stress. Nothing else.” He swallowed, his throat dry. “She’s gone. She’s gone. I made sure—”

"SYLUS!"

You voice sounded like a bomb detonating beside his ear. It was right there, it was loud and furious and undeniably close.

“FUCK!”

His hands jerked on the wheel. The car swerved hard, crossing the lane before he could correct it. His foot slammed down, missing the brake, and the tires screamed as the headlights veered off the road. The car hit the telephone pole head-on. The impact jerked his body forward, then back. The seatbelt biting into his chest and shoulder as the airbags deployed and knocked the air out of his lungs. Metal crumpled. Glass shattered. Then the car stopped completely.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence and the ticking of the engine.

Sylus sagged against the steering wheel his chest burning as he struggled to draw in air that wouldn’t come fast enough. His hands trembled uncontrollably. Something warm ran from his nose, dripping onto his shirt. He blinked hard, trying to focus, the edges of his vision swimming.

The hazard lights clicked on automatically, their steady blinking reflected against the dark road ahead, casting red light across the interior of the car in slow and rhythmic pulses.

He didn’t move. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. You were seated directly behind him. He locked eyes with you through the rearview mirror.

Your body wasn't a ghostly apparition. It was solid and bloody, looking the way you did that night after you were brutally gunned down, lit intermittently by the flashing of the hazard lights. You were not slumped or disorientating from the crash. You were not weak or fighting for your life from your bullet wounds. You sat upright and composed, your face calm and your eyes fixed on him.

Sylus’s hands slipped from the steering wheel as his body recoiled, and he twisted in his seat just enough to confirm what he was seeing. You didn't vanish. You didn't shift or blur or fade. You remained exactly where you were, occupying the back seat as naturally as you once had on long drives together.

A painful sound slipped through his lips as he shoved the door open and stumbled out onto the road. His legs nearly gave out beneath him, forcing him to brace himself against the broken frame of the car as the cold night air hit his hot and sweaty skin. He turned back slowly, dread pooling heavy in his gut.

You were still there, your gaze never leaving him. You didn't try to move, you just simply watched as he staggered away from the car, every step uneven, his shoulders hunched as if making himself smaller to escape your stare.

He didn’t look back again after that. He walked along the edge of the road before managing to teleport away towards the hotel, far from the life he had tried to escape into. While you remained seated in the back of the wrecked car, watching him leave you behind again.

MC slept deeply in the hotel bed, a soft smile on her face as she dreamt.

In the dream, the world was brighter, softer, and warmer. Her home filled with love and comfort instead of dread. She was curled against Sylus on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders as the television played in the background. The light in the room was low and golden, the kind that belonged only to a dream like this. His presence felt grounding and reassuring, his thumb absentmindedly brushing along her arm as though nothing had ever gone wrong.

For a while, she simply rested there, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing, letting herself become at the ease of it.

Then the baby cried.

MC stiffened, lifting her head from Sylus’s chest. He didn’t move. Didn’t react at all. The crying came again, a lot more urgent that made her chest tighten from her motherly instincts.

The hallway stretched longer than it should have as she walked toward the nursery, the walls dim and quiet, the television noise fading behind her. The crying continued, guiding her forward step by step, her pace quickening as worry settled in her gut. Halfway down the hall though, the sound faltered. By the time she reached the nursery door, it had stopped entirely.

She hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.

The nursery curtains were drawn shut, but was lit by a single lamp. Everything was exactly as it should have been, but something was very, very wrong. The rocking chair sitting in the corner, moving slowly back and forth.

You were sitting in it, holding MC's baby securely in your arms, cradling her tiny body against your chest as though you had done it a thousand times before. Your movements were slow and calm, the rocking gentle and steady. The baby was quiet now, her face relaxed, her tiny hand curled into the fabric of your shirt as she slept.

MC couldn’t breathe.

You lifted your gaze and looked at her tenderly, your eyes lowered briefly to the child in your arms before returning to MC’s face. There was no hostility in your posture, no aggression in the way you held the baby, no rage radiating off of you in subtle ways.

“She's cute,” you whispered. "My baby would have looked cuter though."

MC’s breath hitched. She stood frozen in the doorway, every instinct screaming at her to move, to do something, but her body refused to obey. “Put her down,” she said, the words barely holding together. “Now. Please.”

You smiled, but it was anything kind. “Don’t make that face, MC,” you murmured. “She’s fine.”

The baby vanished in a puff of gray smoke that dissipated almost as instantly as it appeared, leaving your arms empty as if they had never held anything at all. The rocking chair continued to move for a moment longer before slowing to a stop.

“Because she isn’t real,” you said calmly. You leaned back slightly in the chair, eyes never leaving her face. “This is a dream. Your dream of a life that you truly don't deserve. My husband and a baby together? Give me a fucking break. Slimy little homewrecker…"

You rose from the rocking chair slowly, the wood giving a soft creak beneath your weight. The door slamming shut behind her as you stood.

MC reacted on fear and instinct. Spinning on her heel, she lunged for the doorway, fingers closing around the handle as she yanked hard, openly panicking. The door didn’t budge. She tried again, putting her weight into it this time, her shoulder slamming against the wood as she struggled to pull it, push it open. But it wasn't budging.

Behind her, your footsteps were unhurried. There was no rush in you, no need to close the distance quickly. You knew she had nowhere to go. The door remained firmly shut, the walls unmoving, the nursery sealed as though it had always been meant to hold only the two of you.

“No. No, no,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she fumbled with the handle again. “Please open—”

MC turned slowly, her back pressed to the door, chest rising and falling too fast as she watched you approach. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for escape, for an interruption, for anything that might wake her from the dream she now understood she couldn’t control.

You stopped a few steps away from her, close enough now that she could see every detail of your face. “Are you enjoying yourself, MC?” you asked quietly.

MC swallowed hard, her back pressed flat against the door, nowhere left to retreat.

“Living my life,” you said. “Wearing my things. Sleeping beside my husband in my bed. Playing house with the future I was supposed to have.” Your eyes never leaving her face, committing every ounce of her fear into your memory. “The life of a good and honest woman you were more than happy to have erased.”

MC stuttered. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” you interrupted, your voice calm but unyielding. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” You took another step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to keep you in view. “Don’t insult me by pretending you felt remorse when you were scratching your nails down my husband's back, the same night my body was being buried in an unmarked grave in the middle of a dead field.”

Her composure shattered. “Please,” she sobbed, words tumbling over each other. “Please I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I know that now. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” you said simply. “You shouldn’t have. You could've had anyone you wanted. You’re beautiful. Intelligent. Successful. People trust you without even realizing why.”

Your eyes narrowed as you glared at her. “I trusted you. I let myself believe you weren’t a threat. That we could have been friends.”

MC slid down the door until her knees nearly gave out entirely, tears streaking her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re only sorry because I’m here,” you said. “Because I can follow you anywhere and you can’t escape. You’re sorry because I’m forcing you to face the consequences of your deplorable actions.”

“I’ll leave him,” she said desperately. “I’ll move away! Back to Linkon, anywhere! I won’t see Sylus again! I swear!”

“And will that magically bring me back to life?”

MC said nothing. She couldn’t. The answer was already there.

“Exactly,” you said.

You squatted down to her level, slowly bringing your hands up and cradling her face in your hands. MC shrank back instinctively, her back and shoulders digging into the door, unable to catch her breath as you touched her. Her eyes flicked wildly across your face, searching for mercy or any kind of emotion she could recognize and reason with. She found none of it.

“You don’t get a clean ending,” you continued. “You don’t get absolution. You don’t get to run somewhere far away and pretend I just some crazy chapter of your life.” Your gaze hardened, in a way that made her stomach drop. “I’m going to live with you and that parasite growing in your belly."

She didn’t react right away, as if she’d misheard. “What?”

"Yeah, your pregnant. A few weeks along, but it's there."

MC shook her head in denial, weak and desperate. “No…no, that’s not—please—”

“You’ll feel it soon,” you went on, as if explaining something mundane. “And every time you look at that child, you'll think about how your selfishness ruined it's life before it even began.”

Her breath hitched, panic finally cresting into something close to hysteria. “Please,” she whispered. “Please—”

“I’ll be there in your dreams and when you wake up,” you said. “In the quiet moments, when you think you’re safe. In mirrors, when you’re not expecting it. In the corner of your eye, when your guard is down. Every time you start to believe you’ve moved on, I’ll remind you of who you stepped over to get here.”

Tears streamed down her face unchecked now. Her body trembled, exhausted, defeated. “I can’t live like that,” she whispered.

You frowned, repulsed by her words. “I didn’t get to live at all.”

You straightened slowly, taking a single step back, already fading away.

“One day,” you said softly, “you’ll stop asking for forgiveness and start begging for silence and peace.

You met her eyes one last time.

“And I won’t give you either.”

You reached for the switch of the lamp and turned it off, ending the dream in darkness.

MC woke with a sharp gasp, her body jerking upright in the hotel bed, heart pounding hard enough to make her chest ache. The sheets were twisted around her legs, damp with sweat, her hair stuck to the back of her neck. For a moment, she lay there disoriented, breath uneven, the room unfamiliar in the dark. She could still feel you there, touching her, breathing the same air as her.

She pressed her palm against her stomach. There was nothing to feel, nothing to confirm what she’d heard, but she felt nauseous anyway. Tears came down like rain during a storm. She tried to keep it silent at first, but she couldn't hold back anymore, her shoulders curling inward as she folded over herself. Bringing her knees to her chest and holding them close.

Thirteen years later, MC’s life had settled into something that passed for peace.

Her marriage with Caleb was full of joy and love that she didn’t think she could feel again. The house she shared with him sat on a calm street lined with trees that bloomed every spring without fail. Where the neighbors knew each other and helped each other.

Afternoon light spilled across the living room floor as their baby boy wobbled between them, his small arms outstretched, determination etched into his tiny face. MC hovered close behind him, ready to catch him, while Caleb crouched a few steps away, hands open and ready to embrace him.  Their six year old daughter concentrated on her coloring book nearby, looking up every now and then to encourage her brother.

“That’s it,” Caleb encouraged, smiling. “You’re doing great. Come on.”

The boy took two more steps before collapsing into MC’s arms, squealing with delight. She lifted him, pressing her face into his hair, breathing him in.

For moments like this, the past stayed quiet. For moments like this, she almost believed she had outrun it. Outrun you.

You still appeared sometimes.

In reflections in the mirror and windows. In dreams that left MC waking with her mind and body numb. The sudden drops in temperature or the unmistakable sense of being watched when she was alone. When certain things moved on their own with no one near them. But never long enough to destroy what she’d built. Never enough to keep her from moving forward.

Caleb knew nothing about Sylus. Nothing about the twins MC gave birth to and put up for adoption moments after they were born. Nothing about the woman who had promised never to leave. MC had learned that survival sometimes depended on silence. If she wanted to live her life with Caleb and their kids, she needed to swallow her past and keep it down.

It was mid-afternoon when the doorbell rang.

MC answered it with her son balanced on her hip, expecting a neighbor or a delivery. Instead, she found herself staring at a girl  who looked no older than thirteen, standing rigid on the porch, thin and pale, white hair pulled back too tightly in a ponytail, red eyes filled with something volatile and barely contained.

“Are you MC?” the girl asked with no hesitation or uncertainty.

“Yes,” MC said slowly. “Can I help you?”

The girl’s expression changed instantly right before she lunged. The girls hands grabbing at MC’s hair right at the root, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood as she tried to pull her forward to the ground. MC cried out in pain, twisting away and shielding her son instinctively as Caleb rushed forward, pulling the girl off her.

“Hey!”

Caleb used his evol to create some distance between MC and the girl. The girl fought against the gravity holding her back her face twisted with unfiltered rage.

“Let me go!” she screamed. “Let me go! She has to pay for what she did! This is your fault! You ruined everything!”

MC retreated several steps, heart racing, her son pressed tightly to her chest as he cried from the sudden violent altercation, as her daughter ran to her room. MC murmured to him softly, though her body was shaking. Caleb didn’t look back. His entire focus was on the girl thrashing against his evol.

“Explain yourself.” Caleb demanded.

The fight drained out of the girl all at once. Her shoulders sagged, she fought to even out her breath. “My name is Rin,” she said hoarsely. “I’m thirteen. And she ruined my life. Because of her I've been haunted my entire life!”

"I don't know you," MC insisted.

Rin let out a humorous laugh. “You don’t remember me because you didn’t keep me.”

Caleb stiffened. “What does that mean?”

Rin's gaze didn't leave MC. “She comes to me at night, in my dreams, ever since I was five. The Bride in Red. That’s what I named her when I was little. I didn’t know who she was then. Just that she was always crying, always angry, her white wedding dress covered in blood. Always out to get me!”

MC couldn’t breathe.

“I only found out recently,” Rin continued, her voice trembling now. “She showed me. The night she died. The warehouse. The guns. You and my dad walking away.” Her eyes burned into MC’s. “She made me relive it. Over and over and over again!”

Caleb’s looked at MC in shock. “MC,” he said quietly, “what is she talking about?”

“That’s not possible,” MC whispered, though even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

“Your perfect little wife gave birth to twin girls,” she said angrily. “She didn’t even bother giving us names, she just gave us away like we didn’t matter. We were adopted by different families. I didn’t even know I had a sister until last year when I went looking for MC.”

MC couldn’t speak. She gripped her son hard enough to try and use his presence to calm herself down without hurting him. Her mouth opened, then closed again, her past had found her and was pressing against her from all sides.

“She told me everything,” Rin said. “The Bride in Red told me who you were. Who my birth father is. Who she was. And why she’ll never stop.”

MC’s knees buckled from underneath her. Caleb rushed to catch her and hold her steady, letting Rin hit the ground as his evol released her.

“She isn’t just haunting you and Sylus,” Rin's furious gaze held strong as tears of frustration ran down her face. “She’s tied to your bloodline. To anyone who is born into this family because of what you did.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She told me she doesn't care. That she'll haunt our bloodline until the end of time! That her mission ends when our bloodline does.”

Caleb's body went rigid. His eyes drifted toward the hallway towards his daughter's bedroom. Last night came back to him in vivid detail, their daughter waking up crying, clinging to him, whispering about a woman standing in her room.

“She was wearing a red and white dress,” she’d said. "She didn't have a face daddy! She was really scary!"

At the time, he’d told himself it was just a nightmare.

Now, he looked back at Rin. “My daughter’s five,” he said quietly. “She had her first nightmare last night. About a woman in a red and white dress with no face”

Rin’s breath caught. “That’s how it starts. And it wasn't a nightmare. She was there. In the room. The longer she's around the more her face appears. Your son will have the same experience when he's older."

Caleb’s teeth clenched. “Then this isn’t just about the past,” he said. “It’s about our children.”

He turned to MC. “You need to tell me everything. Now.”

MC could only cry as her world fell apart again. Caleb's look of shock and betrayal. Her daughter hiding in fear. Her son whimpering against her chest. And her first daughter Rin, a young girl haunted by MC's past mistakes, knowing she will not be the only one.

You had kept your promise.

Not to forgive, or forget, but to endure.

Twenty-five years passed, and Sylus never became whole again.

Time moved forward around him the way it did for everyone else, indifferent and relentless, but something in him remained fixed in the moment everything was lost. He aged. His hair thinned, aging lines carved themselves into his face, not from laughter but from the constant, unrelieved weight of remembering. People who met him later in life described him as distant, irritable, hollow in a way.

MC had left long ago. He came back to the hotel that night after his car accident and found her gone. She didn't even come back to their home to get her items, she just left and never came back. That loss had been bad at first, but it wasn’t what broke him. It was what followed.

You still never left.

He missed MC. But he missed you so much more.

He missed the woman who had loved him without any terms and conditions. The wife who had believed in him and supported him. The wife who built a future filled with life and love. The future he had taken and crushed so thoroughly that even death hadn’t been enough to erase it. Regret settled into him so deeply it became part of his DNA. He apologized aloud sometimes with tears in the eyes and his voice rough, knowing there was no one to hear him but you.

“I know,” he would whisper. “I know I ruined it. I ruined everything."

He tried everything people suggested. Therapy. Religion. Acts of charity meant to balance invisible scales. He dug you from your unmarked grave and built you a beautiful mausoleum, always keeping it clean and stocked with your favorite flowers. Kneeling at your casket begging for your mercy and forgiveness.

He spoke your name like a confession, like a plea, like a prayer. He meant every apology. Every ounce of remorse was real.

He knew you watched him. He could feel your gaze when his back was turned. He would feel your cold spots and lingered there in your presence, then feel it get warm as you drifted away. Sometimes he would hear your footsteps, or see you move something in the house.

But it was his dreams that you really dominated.

When you appeared, it was not as you were when you died, but as you had been before everything soured. You sat beside him on the couch, fingers laced through his hair. The teasing touches when you passed by him and giggling when he tried to return the favor. The excited look on your face when you cooked something new for him. You laughed in those dreams. You smiled in those dreams. You kissed him in those dreams. Sometimes you spoke his name the way you used to, with pure adoration.

And every time, without fail, he woke up without you. Staring at the ceiling as he had to once again face reality.

There would be no forgiveness. No release. No moment where the weight lifted and the past softened.

When the knock on his door came, he assumed it was a mistake. No one ever came to him. Luke and Kieran only came when called.

He opened the door to find a woman standing on the threshold, eerily calm and visibly tired in a way that immediately unsettled him. She was young, mid-twenties at most, short white haired with vibrant red eyes.

“Are you Sylus? And did you have an intimate relationship with a woman named MC” she asked.

He nodded slowly. “Yes, and yes.”

“My name is Mara,” she said. “You’re my father.”

The words struck him all at once, but he didn't react right away.

MC had never returned. She had changed all of her contact info and left Linkon. He had been left with absence and guilt, nothing more. He stepped aside, letting Mara into the house, and they sat across from one another at the small kitchen table.

"MC didn't tell me she was pregnant," Sylus said.

"She had twins," Mara elaborated. "Her name is Rin, we were adopted by different families as babies. I know where she is, I just haven't spoken to her yet."

"Did you ever find MC?"

"Yes. Though when I tried to speak to her she turned me away. Apparently Rin found her when she was only thirteen. MC and her new husband's marriage was never the same after that. Caleb, her husband, said it was a 'stay together for the kids' arrangement…Did you want her contact information?"

"No," Sylus said immediately. "It's best if she stays away from me."

Mara spoke after a moment of awkward silence. “I didn’t come for reconciliation, or money, or explanations about your life. I came because of her.”

Sylus looked at her. "About MC?"

“No,” Mara corrected. “The Bride in Red. That’s what I called her when I was a child. She first appeared when I was five. A woman with a featureless face, wearing a wedding dress covered in blood. Standing in my doorway, or sitting at the end of my bed. Watching me.” Her voice remained steady, but there was a slight strain in it now. “She never hurt me. She just stayed. And when I got older, I saw her face, and she showed me things. A warehouse. Guns. A woman bleeding on the floor. You walking away, with my mom, the other woman.”

Sylus closed his eyes, the familiar ache in his heart blooming into something ugly.

“I know who she is now,” Mara said quietly. “I know who you are, and what you and my mother did to her.” She met his gaze again, unwavering. “I’m not here to punish you. She’s already done that.”

Sylus swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. He stared at her for a long moment before speaking, his voice rough and stripped of pretense. “So why are you here?”

“I have a son. My husband and I adopted him when he was two.” Mara went on. “He’s five years old now. Last month, he told me there was a woman in his room. The Bride in Red.”

Sylus’s hands began to shake uncontrollably.

“And I’m pregnant now,” Mara said. “Another boy she will undoubtably haunt as well.” She rested a hand over her stomach, protective and afraid. “I need to know how to make her stop. I need to know how to keep my children safe.”

Sylus stared down at the table, at the grain of the wood, at anything but her face. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than breath.

“There isn’t a way.”

Mara went still. "What?"

“I’ve spent twenty-five years trying,” he said, the words breaking free at last. “Apologies. Confessions. Regret. I begged and cried and pleaded. I built her a mausoleum and see here every morning at sunrise. I punished myself in every way I knew how. None of it mattered.” He looked up at his daughter, at the life he had never known and the future already tainted by his choices.

“I killed her,” Sylus said, the truth as devastating as it had ever been. “I didn't leave and give her a chance to be happy. To start over and live. I lied, and cheated, and I thought that killing her would be the end of it.” His voice broke completely. “I didn’t just destroy her life. I destroyed mine. And now—” He gestured helplessly. “Now it’s yours. And your children’s.”

“So there’s nothing I can do,” she muttered. She used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears.

Sylus shook his head slowly. “There’s nothing anyone can do. I'm so sorry.”

Some sins did not end with the sinner. Because some ghosts did not want justice or mercy or closure. They wanted remembrance. They wanted acknowledgment that what was taken had mattered.

Sylus would live out the rest of his days knowing with perfect clarity, that he had been loved fully once, and that it was you he had condemned to die, but you had sentenced him to remember.

His family had not been cursed. It had been claimed.

You had promised to stay. And you always kept your promises.

YAY! First Love and Deepspace story. I was hesitant to write for the game because I was having a hard time coming up anything good. But the moment I saw that post with that picture this idea just came to me! Hopefully y'all liked it and support me in the future.

So maybe he spoils MC once in a while, or all the time. But, if anyone knew their past, the horrors she was unknowingly subjected to, they'd agree she deserves it. Even if she doesn't remember it- the cycle of death and rebirth having been both cruel and kind in the way it lets her live without the pain and suffering haunting her nightmares- he remembers.

He remembers Those pained cries, those hollow reassurances followed by the inevitable outcome again, and again and again and again.

No, if anyone deserves to feel happy, to live freely and without a care in the world, it was her. it was always MC, and from the moment they escaped, he knew he must be that person for her.

From saving every penny off odd jobs and chores to get her treats and toys as children, to learning how to cook, knit, do her hair, makeup, to picking up part time jobs so she never has to worry about money and then ensuring its the last thing on her mind when she finally pursues her dream of becoming a hunter, he would do it all. He would be her dependable rock. Her safe place. And when he saw her, he was so unbelievably proud of her- a strong, fearless hunter who stood against all danger, who vowed to make sure the suffering she witnessed during that catastrophe years ago wouldn't touch anyone ever again, he was prouder than he could ever possibly express.

But what now?

She insisted she would always need him, but he knew that meant something different now. He was proud to be sure, seeing her become independent; but now, even though he knew he would continue to worry and fret and dote on her, a different weight took on his shoulders. One constantly put off, finally taking its rightful place as the thing to haunt him.

Is this what empty nest syndrome feels like? Or maybe…this is an inevitability he was avoiding, busying himself with building a life that wasn't his; now that it had taken its own roots, he felt listless. A child lost once more among debris and blood that stained his hands forever. MC understood him best, knowing her, she would do whatever she could to return the favor of the life he had sacrificed for her if she knew, and he could never have that.

He chose this role in her life. The idea of letting her do anything in turn was absolutely unacceptable. No, these were his weights and his alone to bear.

She deserves to live this life without the darkness of a past long gone, to have the strength to face the monsters of the future that loomed over her, ones he would inevitably help her beat as well.

this is his burden.

..Ouch. A whirlwind to be sure, your first meeting had been crashing into the colonel at a coffee shop, spilling a piping hot takeaway cup across his pristine uniform. He still remembers the anxiety in your face as clear as day, the way it turned quickly into fear as you registered the man standing in front of you, not knowing his status, but there's no way that outfit was of someone to be reckoned with!

He knew he should have gone back home and changed into civilian clothing first, but the weight of a long day of work demanded a caffeine hit immediately or he'd risk passing out on the wheel. Though now its at the expense, he wore a scowl on his face that clearly did not help your view of him.

You apologized, profusely, like a waterfall that refused to stop from your mouth even after his tired reassurances that its fine. Eventually he had to resort to cupping a hand over your mouth to make you quiet. Now that he thinks back to it, that stunned, slightly flustered look of yours with the stain of collateral damage hot chocolate on your cheek was one he wishes so dearly to see again.

When you insisted to at least pay for his drink he meant to refuse, he really did, but seeing your eagerness made him realize its either this, or letting a poor civilian live in the agony of eternal embarrassment, the kind that haunts you when youre idle, makes you punch your pillow at night, or smack your own cheek in the middle of the street to the awkward stares of passerbys, so he obliges.

He would know of those reactions to embarrassing memories thanks to you, of course.

The second time you bumped at the same shop (thankfully with no drink this time, and him in civillian clothing) you talked.

You asked questions about him, his work, where hes from, and he answered them all with polite but reserved responses. Caleb didn't earn the title of heartthrob for nothing. He knew how to smile friendly and warm, to ask the questions he knew people like to answer about themselves, to listen to the responses and joke where appropriate, follow up where available- or well, thats what he would usually do.

What he didn't expect was the fucking battlefield that was talking to you. Every time he tried, you would turn the conversation back to him, asking about his life, hobbies, what he enjoys about them, asking detailed questions that left he himself stumped for answers. How often was he truly speechless? He tried over and over, but you seemed far more interested in what he has to say.

Its not that he hadn't talked about himself with people and friends before, however theyre shallow, surface level conversations. MC had been subjected to more than a few of his in-depth geek out sessions about model airplanes, often ending with her playfully declaring him a nerd loser and plugging her ears.

He knew she didn't mean it, that she actually hung onto each word and tried her best to remember everything he said, but this was more than that, this was more than just being listened to and heard, it was pure, real interest. You were genuinely interested in what he had to say, it wasn't a polite response to a friendly stranger, it was an insistence to hear him keep talking, and if he weren't convinced of the genuinety now, he would be the next time you met, and even more so the one after that.

You would remember throwaway comments hed make and excitedly mention them when you met again (often at your own invitation) Clearly you both liked the coffee here so whats the harm youd insist.

You would follow up on the shallow little things hed mention about his life, yet if your eyes were to be believed, they were the most interesting things in the world. You even remembered the complicated codename of his favorite airplane model. Sort of. You stuttered through it the first time, but when you did, he swears, for a second he felt his heart squeeze in a way he can only describe as a natural response to seeing a puppy.

Why did you look so..squishable in that moment?!

It earnt the first, genuine laugh from him when you tried your best to recite the string of letters and numbers, and when he saw the awe in your eyes, your lips parting like you were seeing a rainbow, he couldn't stop the flush that travelled up his neck. He knew his laughter was contagious at times, but when you started giggling as well, it felt like his heart forgot how to function for a second.

He wanted- no, NEEDED to hear that sound again, dissect it, find the sugar and honey, the sunlight and lychees that were in there, mixed with the hot chocolate on your lips. They must be there, hes positive, stirred into your being, coating your vocal cords and the insides of your lungs. How else, he asserts, could that sound be so sweet?

It was the beginning of a friendship. At first, at least. Life after joining the fleet had not been kind to Caleb's personal relationships. Other than MC and Gideon, nobody he was close to knew his true role as the colonel, and he intended to keep it that way. the role had changed him, birthed ugliness from survival (or was it there the whole time?) had distanced him from everyone he called his comrades. For the longest time, MC was enough to fill that void, but slowly, he found himself realizing just what he had been missing out on.

You remembered things. You, the klutz as you sometimes were, forgetful as you could be, remembered things about him to an extent that stunned him, over and over. At the arcade, you would take him to play the games he used to play with MC in their childhood. At the coffee shop, you would have his order ready before he'd even get off work, waiting in a steaming cup in that corner booth with a seat saved for him.

Hes had people notice when hes weak before. MC could read the exhaustion in his eyes when the weight of the world got a little too much, and he appreciated her efforts to extend help. But you wouldnt even bother asking. Constantly. There would be an extra energy bar in his pocket out of nowhere, youd be more silent sitting together in the way that let him unwind. And one time, boldly, youd made him go to a massage spa with you, claiming you wanted to check it out anyway.

You always came packaged with that bright smile, those eyes that seemed like they regarded him as the most fascinating person on the planet, and that sweetness that could rival any confection his doctor childhood friend could concoct.

The biggest adjustment for him was having you pay for things. As far as he knew, you were earning about the average of any middle class worker in Skyhaven, so even more of a reason he should pay. That hefty colonel's salary isn't going anywhere after all. Still, at first he let you get a coffee or two, for the sake of your pride; but somehow every time you went out for anything, the bill would be taken care of if he so much as blinked.

At the arcade when he went to recharge their game card at the counter, the cashier told him that it was already at its max top up. His eyebrows raised in confusion and surprise, wallet in hand hovering midair, but when hed turn to glance at you it clicked. He saw you covering your giggling mouth and refusing to meet his gaze, showing faux surprise at the topped up card. He saw that glimmer of mischief in your eyes when he protested, the reassurances that its fine, that you invited him after all, all with a seeming sense of triumph at having sidestepped him once more.

He wanted to pinch your cheeks, stretch them out like the mochi you two had earlier, til you felt the print of his fingertips last on your skin. He wanted to bite and gnaw your arm like a rib. He wanted to- Ugh!

But then your gaze softened, in a way that saw through the way he was, the duty he demanded of himself, and you told him that this was something you believe he deserved, once in a while, a treat, a reminder that he's cared for. Money had nothing to do with it.

It terrified him

To Caleb, reliable, dependable Caleb, what does an arcade card, a coffee, a lunch, a dinner, a bracelet, an ear, a voice, a seat, a smile..what does it mean?

what does you bringing an extra umbrella to a park walk when the forecast says rain (the two of you walked with four umbrellas that day) mean?

What does you happening to know Gideon, a friend of a friend, and gently reintroducing him into his life mean?

Encouraging him to talk about his hobbies, helping him catch up to parts of his interests that he let go of long ago, asking to understand his music taste, his favorite food, not just what he liked, but why he liked it, the stories behind the little things in his life that he had deemed were no longer significant, no longer parts of him anymore, not a part of the colonel who demanded discipline nor Caleb with survival on his mind..

Bringing them to the spotlight, gently coaxing and demanding an identity of him as him. As just Caleb.

what did it all mean?

He couldn't handle it. It felt like he was being bared. Why should he receive this kind of treatment? Every time you do these things, he feels a weight on his chest, a disbalance, like the mere existence of you in his life was against the laws of nature.

He wanted to do something for you in turn, wanted to make you smile in that way that made his chest clench and his brain melt, but you were too good, you left little opportunities. Or maybe he was losing his edge, because that's the only way he can explain the inexplicable, unacceptable desire to melt into your offerings, to..accept them, like his entire being doesnt protest at the thought that all this is because he is Caleb.

One day, he finally mentioned it.

You were sitting together at a lunch- his uncommon initiation. His expression had been grim the entire time, weighed by thoughts of doubt, of hesitation. and if you noticed, you didn't say anything- another stab to his conscious- the room you were making for him to speak. You always left room for him to speak, like his words deserved their own seat at the table- at any table. So he asked you, unloaded on you all the questions on his mind, all the mysteries that plagued him, all circling back to you, and unknowingly, laced it all with the unworthiness he felt marrow deep, practically begging for an answer that could put his mind at rest.

But you. Oh, sweet, beautiful you. You just laughed, a sound he had come to associate with the warmth of tea and the comfort of understanding, now leaving him confused and pleading for something unknown. You explained it like it was the most simple thing in the world, and to you it truly was.

You knew what he did for MC, off the stories he told, the tidbits of conversations she could hear in their phone calls (god you paid attention to those too, didn't you?), and she saw the warmth of someone who would offer his everything, over and over, for someone he cared for, with no desire for anything in return.

It was..inspiring. So why not try and be that person too?

Of course you would think like that! Its in line with everything hes learnt about you over the past few months! But thats not the question! Why him? Theres no need for it to be for him! You barely knew each other a few months ago, he was a mistake encounter. So…why do you look so confused? Hey, why do you suddenly look like you understand something he doesn't? and why are you giggling again? what is WITH that adorable sound? You haven't even eaten anything sweet yet! But you, cruel you, dont even give him a chance to collect his thoughts, to catch his heart, because youre already responding:

You like him, and he deserves it. So why wouldn't you?

He has to take a moment to soak your words in, and then something broke in him- or rather fixed. His heart left his body- or did it reconnect? Ah forget it.

He cant tell anymore. He doesn't want to. Whats the point of metaphors? whats the point of equating this -equating you- to a phenomena in life, trying to explain you with more and more extravagant, but ultimately pre-existing analogies, when this, when you were unto yourself, something entirely unique? Something so..you?

So, he just laughed, a defeated laugh, because thats the only way he can explain it, and unlike most defeats, this one tasted so sweet on his tongue.

When your face warms and your eyes glint, and your voice squeaks with giggles in mock protest as he reaches across the table and pinches your cheek, all he can think is he would quite like to see that expression on your face, hear that sound, more and more, every day. If that meant letting you take care of him, if it meant pretending this feeling of belonging, of worth and value that you stamped on him was deserved, then maybe he can acknowledge that.

What in the sweet hell did you just go through? For context, you woke up with a sudden pushing pain in you stomach, which ended with you laying an egg in the bathtub.

You breath heavily as you stare at the egg in horror. 'Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck!' Repeating in your mind, rightfully so. How could this happen? And how could you not notice it? Maybe you really are dense enough to not notice.

You were so horrified, confused and exhausted, just feeling like crawling back to bed and staying there for the rest of the days.

Picking up the egg and examining it. Beraly getting out of the tub and going back to your room while leaning on the wall as you hold the egg in your arm. Faceplanting on your bed and flop the covers back over yourself. You stare at the egg again, maybe after some good, long, rest you would figure out what to do with it.

"Is Sylus the father?" You wonder to yourself out loud before immediately dismissing it. Sure, he's the only man you've been with as of not so recently, but the thought of your boss being the reason you layed an egg is just bizarre. The man you had hateful sex with is the father of the egg you just layed?

Now that you think about it, you need to make a call.

The phone rings once and answered.

"[Name]? Is everything alright?"

Your bosses voice came from the other side.

"Uh. Hi, Sylus, I'm calling in sick today."

"What happened?"

"I'm calling in sick, that's all you need to know." You hang up after that. You don't mean to be short temper with him- oh who are you kidding, yes you do. That guy has done nothing but fill you with spite (amongst other things); made your, now ex, boyfriend flee the country, made it impossible for you to find another job, heck even running away was a big ol' no.

You sigh before looking at the egg again, "I just wish he went back to not caring about my existence and being enamored by that hunter again." You whispered before sinking back into sleep.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You wake up to the sound of violent door knocking, still feeling weak, you sink back into the covers hugging the egg in a fatal position. Then came the cound of the lock being open, followed by footsteps coming to your bedroom door. Another knock came.

"[Name], are you alright?" That was Sylus' voice. How does he know where you live? You distinctly remember putting a fake address for work.

"Go away!" You yelled, you don't have the energy or the will to deal with whatever sort of tantrum this guy was about to throw.

He doesn't heed what you say and enters the room, goes up to your bed and takes the covers off. Seeing you in such a state while hugging an egg, you hear him say "so soon" and then go to your closet and take out some of your things. He comes back to you and lifts you out of bed.

"Noooho!" You whined. "I called in sick! You can't drag me to work."

Yes, that is what you're worried about. Not that he knows where you actually live. Not the egg. It's work.

"I'm not dragging you to work. This is a serious matter." He said in worry. This is the first time you hear him like that, not in his usual smug asshole tone, and it was a bit off-putting.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You were at his place and he was trying to take the egg from you.

"No! It's mine!" You sneer, inching away from him with the egg in your arms. What are you talking about? Hours ago you were contemplating on what to do with it. Sylus didn't look annoyed, in fact he was very patient with you, as if he knew what was up with you.

"I promise you, nothing bad will happen to it."

You suspiciously stare at him before reluctantly handing it over to him, which he carefully took it and walked out of the room, you wanted to go after him and scream for some reason.

When he came back, you demanded to know what he did to the egg. He didn't answer, instead he took you to his fancy bathroom where he took your pajamas and underwear off and scrubbed and washed your body.

"I could kick your ass."

"Sure you can."

"Don't test me!" You threatened, you witch He mused. Silence has overlooked atmosphere as he washed your body and dried you off.

"It came early."

"What?"

"The egg."

That's when you remember what he said before... "so soon".

"Expain." You demanded, glaring while also holding his arm i a death-grip. Sylus sighs as he looks deep into your eyes, his hand going over the one that was gripping on to him.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

A dragon? He's a dragon? Ofcourse you didn't belive him, even after everything that has happened, you didn't belive him.

And that's when you saw it for yourself; the horns, the claws, the scales, the tail. Your head was spinning comprehending all of this.

Now you're just sitting there and staring at the incubator where the egg was, all while ignoring the man responsible for all of this.

Sylus wraps you in a blanket and carries you to bed. You need to be recovering.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Sound of skin slapping echoes the room as you were holding on to Sylus's horns while he rolled his hips against yours, making deep thrusts, hitting your cervix in the process.

Bitting your lip so hard it almost drew blood, you didn't want him to hear you moan, not to give away of how much pleasure you're in.

Sylus pried your jaw open with his clawed hand, planting his lips to yours while his tongue explored the inside of your mouth. When he parted, a string of saliva was connecting your mouths.

Suddenly he started thrusting harder and deeper, hitting the spot that made you see stars. Your jaw was still held open as moans finally came out of it.

With the last thrust, you came hard while also getting filled up by him. Your back collapses back to the mattress with your arm spreading out on both sides. Heart was pounding fast as you were trying to catch your breath.

"I'll... I'll escape you one day."

His face still had that smug smile on, still thrusting a bit in you as his hand caresses your lower abdomen.

"I'd like to see you try."

you don’t move, don’t say anything. you just fiddle with your hands in your lap as you process his words. 

silence fills the room, and it’s so quiet, you can hear the playful laughter of the nurses just outside the door.  

your doctor dwells in the stillness for a moment, but it’s broken as he turns to move. with the pen in his hand, he’s already documenting your chart with his diagnosis, waiting for your answer, he’s made the decision to assume you’ll be ready to schedule the surgery by next week.  

he’s wrong to make such an assumption.

before you know it, you’re already forcing yourself out of the chair, brushing away nonexistent crumbs off your thighs. 

you avoid his gaze. 

but you announce this is something you’ll need time to think about. find out the pros and cons. 

except there are none. not when your life is at stake. 

there’s disappointment sprinkled with the slightest hint of worry, you can tell with the way he sighs deeply. still, he allows an order for the strongest pain medication available and something to help with your throat soreness. it’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll help until you’ve come to your decision.

you thank him, already crossing the room where your hand lies hovering above the knob, you ask him.  

“if i don’t get the surgery, how long would i have?”  

you hear him inhaling a sharp breath.

“you’d have nine months. after that, there’s nothing we can do.”  

you nod, moving to shut the door behind you.

the worst part is you already know who it is.  

but you make a vow for yourself.

you will never tell him, and he will never know.  

in a way, you’ve already sentenced yourself to death. 

so, you’ll hold out for as long as you can.  

because there is no world where you confess to your best friend you’re in love with him. god no.  

you don’t want to tell him you’re dying; you can’t fathom to tell him he’s the cause—that the vines wrapping around your heart, around your lungs, come from loving him.  

sentencing him to a lifetime of guilt and regret for not giving you his heart—something he has no control over—was cruel, and that quiet, ever-present voice in your head reminds you:  

you are your own ruin as much as he is.

later that day, you find caleb waiting for you outside the steps of your apartment, a hand perched on his knee, looking uninterested.  

that is, until he hears you approach. in an instant, he lights up; violet eyes painted like the sky before sunrise, and he gives you that familiar smile.  

“hey, you.” he’s already moving to stand beside you, watching as you pull your keys out of your bag. “care to explain where you've been?"  

you don’t try to look at him. you keep your focus on the clamoring of your keys as you twist one into the lock.  

“what do you mean?” you push the door open, and you drop all your belongings in the foyer. “i was in class.” 

lying always seemed easier than telling the truth. it’s a good thing it’s a habit you’ve mastered. 

“i’m confused. was class at the doctor’s office today?”

or not.

there are times you forget you willingly share locations with caleb. it was something both of you agreed upon during your third week of school. it was never a problem then. and before today, the only times he seemed to check on it were to see if you were home, which wasn’t often, as far as you were aware. 

but of course, today just had to be one of those days he decided to check. 

damn your luck. 

“what’s going on? are you okay?” caleb asks, reaching down to grab your backpack off the floor and hanging it on the hook in your hallway closet like it’s second nature.  

sometimes, he reminds you of an overbearing mother with the way he puts away your things without asking. on other days, he’s buying groceries after taking one glance at your empty fridge.

then there are the mornings he offers to drive you to class when the forecast shows even the slightest chance of rain.  

you make your way to the kitchen, opening the pantry to grab a snack. 

“feeling hungry?”  

“you’re avoiding the question.” he appears from the hallway, settling into the chair near the island. caleb isn’t the forgetful type. no attempt at side tracking could stop him from asking his questions until he gets a proper answer. 

“no i’m not.” you stuff your mouth full of cheez-its, nearly the entire bag, hoping it might buy you some time to come up with another reason for being at the doctor’s.  

“fine. if you don’t want me to ask, then i won’t. but if there’s something wrong, you can tell me.”  

a full minute passes until you’ve chewed and swallowed the last of the orange crackers. but he remains there watching, waiting.  

“what?” you turn away from his gaze and reach into the refrigerator for a bottle of cold water.  

when your eyes fall upon him again, he looks like a kicked puppy, and for a second, you ask yourself if it’s fair to him to keep him in the dark about your condition. but would you be able to handle it? him knowing? still being around him as- 

then you cough.  

it comes out so suddenly that it’s harsh. it’s enough to make you put the water down and double over in exasperation.  

your fit feels endless, as if your body was attempting to rid itself of those petals your doctor had warned you about earlier, and maybe that was the case. the reason why your lungs refused to let you breathe. 

caleb is at your side in an instant, hands hovering over you, unsure of whether to comfort you or pull you upright.  

and just as quickly as it begins, it ends, leaving you parched, throat aching, the taste of iron strong on your tongue.  

you don’t want to turn to look at him, knowing if you do, you’ll find worry on his face.  

this was the last thing you wanted—for caleb to see you like this. it hasn’t been even four hours since the doctor told you about your disease.   

how were you going to last another nine months?  

his voice cuts through your thoughts, laced with concern.  

“you okay there, cupcake?” his warm hand rubs circles on your back as you take another swig of water, trying to soothe the pain. “is this what you didn’t want to tell me? that you’ve got a cough?”  

lie.  

finally, as you direct your gaze towards him, you see him attempt to maintain his playful facade. the slight tilt of his smile, but beneath it, you see how they’re lined with unease.

you nod.

“it’s just a cough. i’ve been having it for a few days now, but it started bothering me last night. that’s why i went.” he takes a step away from you. “it’s nothing contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about. the doctor said it should go away with the medication he gave me.”  

“i don’t care about that.” his reply is almost instant. “so that’s it? only the cough?”  

“yeah.”  

this time, his smile is bigger, and he chuckles.  

“had me worried there for a sec. i thought it was something really serious.” he pats your head. “you really should take better care of yourself, little troublemaker.”  

you pout at the stupid nickname, ducking your head so his hand slips away, and roll your eyes. 

“i will.” you nod, making promises you know you can’t keep.  

for some odd reason, caleb clears his schedule to come around more often.

even on days where he has flight simulations lined up, or a study session for another aviation paneling exam. he would be there, on the steps of your apartment, bored on his phone when waiting for you to appear. 

other times, he’d call you after class, wanting to check if you’d want to stop by the ramen shop near campus. you’d tell him no, you already had plans with your other friends. 

you assume it’s his attempt to make sure you’re taking your medications, that you’re eating enough, or simply because he’s worried. but you mention to him that your illness isn’t something he needs to fawn over. it’s a simple sickness, one that will go away in due time. 

the fit you had the other day in front of him wasn’t even that bad. you’ve had worse ones. 

but still, he’s persistent.   

he’s there in the morning to pick you up before class, shoving a breakfast sandwich into your hands.   

on the walk, he tells you that she was accepted into a selected program for aspiring hunters.

after class, he follows you home as if he lives there too, sometimes standing idly by as you do chores around the house or tend to your garden caringly (ironic, isn’t it).  

it’s such a coincidence when he mentions both you and her take a liking to purple hydrangeas. 

and he’s there after a late-night patrol shift, making sure you’ve already eaten dinner and taken your second round of medications for the day.  

just minutes before, he stepped outside, answering her the second he saw the caller id.

and when he returned minutes later, the smile on his face and the blush on the tips of his ears were not lost on you.

even during times like this, when it seems as if his actions towards you are pushing the boundaries of being more than friendly, you are immediately reminded where you stand in his life.

and you remember why you’ll take your secret to the grave.  

tonight, caleb stands in your kitchen, mincing the mushrooms, keeping a close eye on where you stand by the stove.  

you hadn’t invited him over, but he showed up anyway, like he always does. 

when he had texted you earlier, your replies seemed more clipped than usual. curt and short.  

and when he tried to call you, you declined, replying with a text that you were in the lobby of your doctor's office, waiting to be called by a nurse.

another visit, another push from your doctor to get the surgery, but you still haven’t decided. you have, you just can’t stand to be faced with disappointed eyes and a frown. 

the music in the background is low, but you can’t help but hum along to it anyway, using the spoon to stir the vegetables as they caramelize.  

in seconds, he enters your peripheral vision, dumping the pile of mushrooms from the cutting board into the pan.  

when he’s done, his eyes are on you, gifting you a lopsided grin as your brows scrunch.  

“you can’t just dump without saying anything,” you say to him, trying to keep your voice leveled.  

“what’s so bad about an element of surprise?” 

smug bastard and his stupid smile. his gentle violet eyes and teasing voice.

sometimes it was so hard not to fall even further for him, he always made it near impossible. 

he was your undoing. your weakness. 

and you can never stay annoyed at him for too long. 

he turns back around to grab the marinated chicken from the fridge, and when the next song comes on, your thoughts already subside. instead, you’re singing lightly to the lyrics as they simmer through the air.  

he’s at your side again, humming the background vocals, attempting to harmonize with you. then without warning, he reaches for the spoon in your hand, successfully takes it and uses it to stir the vegetables.  

“you deserve a rest. go ahead and sit down.” that sentimental smile again. the one that makes the vines around your heart tighten. “i got it from here.”  

you allow him to take over, let him move into your spot by the stove as you saunter to the seat next to the island. chin leaning against your hand as you gaze upon him, attempting to keep the painful ache in your chest from robbing you of this moment.  

in this little bubble of your creation, he is yours. undeniably yours.  

and you pretend you were not dying from an almost incurable disease. 

caleb, on the other hand, begins to worry.  

he’s been observing the changes in your behavior. 

he notices how the color leaves your face with every passing day, sees how you attempt to find excuses to avoid him and your friends, hears the cough you had told him would pass with medication worsen.  

yes, you’ve assured him countless times that you’re attending your appointments and heeding your physicians instructions, so why are you still sick? why are the circles under your eyes darker and why does it seem like your quality of life is decreasing? 

he has all these questions. wants to ask you, but he’s afraid of crossing a boundary, one he’s not even sure he has the right to cross.

especially since you seemed so defensive about it when he asked about it the first time. 

he holds on to the fact that if you needed something, wanted to share anything, you would tell him. 

but you haven’t, and that concerns him even more. 

even with your measly efforts to pretend you didn’t catch his call or see his texts as they came in, he appears at your doorstep, backpack over his shoulder, windbreaker dotted with raindrops from the light drizzle outside. 

before you can refute him or offer another excuse about having too much homework, he invites himself in. 

“are you hungry?” he asks, already making his way to your kitchen. he’s certain he bought the ingredients to make spaghetti and meatballs, and it’s not like you ever used what he placed in your fridge to cook for yourself. not often, at least. 

“caleb what are you doing here?” 

his gaze flickers to the blanket wrapped tightly around you, to the way you watch him from where he stands, exhaustion weighing heavy on your eyelids. 

“saw you were home, and walking back to my apartment is just too far.” he says lightly, ducking to reach the pan from your cabinet. “figured you haven’t eaten either.”

you purse your lips at the half-truth and look away. 

and as if on cue, your stomach growls, embarrassingly loud. 

a light chuckle escapes his mouth, already turning away towards your fridge, pulling out tomatoes and meat. 

you roll your eyes. “whatever you use, you wash. i’m not in the mood to clean.” and with that, you’re already walking away. 

his eyes linger on your retreating figure, a small pout forming when he realizes you don’t care to sit by the island to watch him cook like you’ve done a hundred times before. 

with tonight's dinner eaten and your dishes washed, he decides to overstay his welcome. 

comfortable on your couch, his leans against the plush pillows, eyes fixed on the sci-fi movie you had playing as nothing more than background noise.  

he makes no move to leave when you excuse yourself for a shower. you tell him he’s free to go if he pleases, more than welcome to stay if he desires, but once you’re out, you’d be turning in for the night. 

violet eyes meet yours, and he shakes his head. “movies too good for me to leave halfway through. i’ll still be here when you get out.” 

then, fifteen minutes pass, and he hears it. 

a vile cough from your bathroom, once. twice. until it turns into the fit he recognizes from the first time, and for a moment, he thinks to run to the bathroom. to knock on your door and ask if you’re okay. 

but just as suddenly as it starts, it stops. 

another fifteen minutes tick by before the bathroom door opens, steam spilling out from the hot shower you’ve taken.

you exit with a towel in hand, massaging it through your hair, and he notices it immediately how pale you look. much paler than before. 

not hesitating, he’s on his feet and at your side in less than three strides.

“what was that?” 

“what was what?” 

he hates how oblivious you pretend to be. how you think lying to him will make him forget what he hears.  

“you’re still coughing.” 

“it’s a virus, it’s not going to leave me so easily.” 

“that’s it. i’m taking you to the hospital.” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you’re quicker. you rip it away before he can grab hold. 

you take a step away from him, “no you’re not. there’s no need to.” 

“you’re not okay. you don’t sound okay. you’re really worrying me.” 

“caleb, look at me.” you say to him, tone serious. “really. look at me.” 

you don’t know what takes over you. what causes you to cradle his cheeks in your hands. 

he flinches at the touch, noticing how cold your fingers feel against him. in the past, when your hands would graze his, or you leaned into his shoulder, you were always warm, but now...

your voice breaks him away from his thoughts. 

“i’m okay. there’s no reason to worry. if there were, i’d tell you. it’s my body after all.” 

he takes in your words, studies your face for any trace of hesitancy. you had to be lying. there was no other excuse. 

in the end, seeing your conviction, he chooses to believe you. you were right. 

still, he holds on to the doubt, the one that knows it isn’t true. you’re hiding something from him. he may not know what, but he’s sure of it. it would explain the distance, your cool skin, the faint red he barely noticed on your tongue. 

“alright.” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “if my best friend says she’s okay, i won’t push. but please, let me stay with you tonight. it’ll put me at ease.” 

you nod, agreeing to his terms. 

even if it kills you. even if it is killing you. 

resigned, he gently takes the towel out of your hands and beelines past you to the bathroom. in seconds, he fetches the blow dryer from underneath your bathroom sink.  

when he returns, his free hand finds your elbow, guiding you to sit by the couch without even asking if he could do this small, minuscule task for you. 

but you let him.

you seat yourself crisscrossed on the floor in front of him with your eyes shut as he turns the blowdryer on, running his fingers through your hair while you subconsciously lean into his touch. consistent and soothing, he brushes through another section. then another, and then another.  

you breathe in that familiar scent of his, something that strongly gives you the nostalgia of summer, twinged with the sweet aroma of apples and sandalwood.

it’s a scent you know you’ll miss dearly when the time eventually comes, one you know you’ll memorize even in death. 

you find it difficult to believe how easily caleb is able to divide his time between you, school, and her.

because, unlike before, he never tried to reconcile the space between the woman he loves and the woman he calls his best friend, or the career he’s so desperate to excel in. 

but on this particular day, he invites you to try a new coffee shop. one he found scrolling through the campus’s moments page. it’s a small business, and apparently, they have an apple crisp latte that is simply to die for. 

you hadn’t wanted to go. you wanted to stay home and pack a few of your belongings into boxes. that way, after you were gone, it’d be easier for your parents to-

your thought is interrupted when a chime rings through the empty cafe, and the scraping of the chair caleb is sitting in slides across the tile.

your eyes follow him, watches as it takes no effort for him to be by the entrance in seconds, smiling from ear to ear. 

when she throws herself into his arms, giggling as he spins her around, you pretend the thorns don’t sink into your lungs deeper. 

you’ve only ever seen her through photos, heard her voice through voice messages, or facetime calls. but today was different. 

she’s here, she’s real, and she plays a small, uncredited part in your suffering. 

no she doesn’t. there’s no blame to put on anyone but yourself. it’s your own fault. 

and maybe caleb’s.

risen from your chair, you stand like a forgotten third wheel behind them.

and even if you hated it, it probably wasn't cordial of you to stay seated after all.

caleb's eye catches sight of you, and lets her go, putting her down, his hands are on her shoulders, and he turns her to face you.

her kind eyes fall upon you, and excitement, bright in her voice, she tells you how long she’s wanted to meet you. 

“i swear caleb’s been keeping you from me. he thinks i’d steal you for myself.” 

you force a small laugh when you feel the way his gaze settles on you. it’s not hostile, nor jealous, but even then, you’d rather not play into their teasing theatrics. your body is too tired, throat burning as it waits for the next dosage of pain medication. 

still, her joyous personality seeps into you. she takes your hand and guides you to where you were seated at earlier.

she's already asking you all sorts of questions, takes a moment to compliment your outfit, and returns back to chatting about god knows what.

your eyes glaze over caleb, and you notice the way he's engrossed in her musings, rolls his eyes when she asks something too ditzy, laughs when appropriate, and pinches her cheek when she mumbles a memory from their shared childhood.

in return to her incessant chatter, you reply with polite formalities, compliment her back, then shift the topic away from girl talk, asking her how she tolerates caleb when he’s nothing but bothersome. 

“you’re lucky you two live so far away from each other,” you say, forcing your tone to stay light. “trust me, if you were around him this often, you’d get tired of him. god knows i do.” 

it’s a lie, of course. because the bitter truth is how you wished to be in her position. 

and not when it comes to the distance. no.

you may have his time and his presence, but she has his heart. 

and so much more.

at this realization, an itch creeps into your throat. that familiar heaviness that comes just before you cough. 

you stand abruptly, pushing yourself away from the table. it’s so loud and sudden, even the barista from behind the counter stops refilling the cups to look at you. 

“i’ll be right back,” you manage, already rushing to the bathroom, slipping inside and locking the door behind you.

crouched beside the toilet, uncaring of how unsanitary it is, you hurl. 

crabapple petals spill out. first, one by one. then, in clusters, clogging your breath, forcing your lungs to fight for air while you can only endure and pray that the music playing over the speakers is loud enough to mask the sounds. 

it isn’t. 

mustn’t have been, not when you hear the pounding on the door, urgent and relentless. 

“hey, are you okay in there?” caleb. of course. 

“open the door. i’m serious” 

he isn’t yelling, but the firmness in his voice makes your chest tighten. 

luckily, it seems like your hanahaki gives you a little grace. the fit slows, the petals trickle off, ceasing and nothing but the blood that spills from the corners of your mouth is the only thing left. 

you flush the toilet, wincing at the concerning amount of familiar pink and burning red that disappear from sight.  

forcing yourself upright, you stumble to the sink and take a glance at the mirror in front of you. catch the way your tears had caused smudges into your foundation, see the blood on your lips. 

you barely recognize yourself. 

you turn on the faucet, allowing the cool water to sink into your hands, and bring it to rub your face, clearing away your makeup, causing the mascara to bleed down your face. 

finally, you use the paper towel to wipe the chaos away. 

caleb knocks again. 

“please, let me in.”

you ignore him. 

you clasp your hands once again, bringing the water to your lips, gargling away the taste of copper and washing the red away until the inside of your mouth returned to its normal shade of pink. 

a few more knocks, softer now, reverberate around the walls. 

once satisfied, do you walk to the door—only to find caleb leaning against it. 

he loses his balance, stumbles forward onto his knees from the lost support, and you watch as if happens. 

“oh my god caleb i’m so sorry.” you say, instinctively reaching out. 

but caleb catches it, drags you down with him until you’re also seated on the dirty tile. 

“you had another fit, didn’t you?” 

you avoid his gaze.

“answer me.” 

the sharpness in his tone sends a chill down your spine, and you’re reminded how scary caleb can get. it’s so rare when it happens.

“i’m okay. it wasn’t that bad.” you gently pry his hand from your arm and place it back in his lap. “i think it’s just time for my afternoon dosage. i should go.” 

“no. i’m taking you to the hospital.” he leaves no room for argument. 

“caleb, i’m fine.” you dig your knees into the ground, using them as leverage to push yourself upright. 

“see?” 

then, without warning, everything blurs and the edges of your vision darken. 

caleb’s expression shifts from frustration to fear in an instant.

“hey. look at me.” 

you attempt to, but it’s so hard, and the vertigo crashes into you with no mercy. your knees wobble, then weaken. your body becomes too heavy to keep upright. with no strength left, you let gravity drag you down.

but he catches you before you meet the floor, guiding your head to fall against his chest, wrapping his arms tight around you. you’re motionless, but he sees you’re still breathing, and your heartbeat is there. faint, but enough to reassure him you’re alive.

“caleb.” her voice cuts through his thoughts. “what happened?” 

“i don’t know,” his grip tightens harder around your body. it frightens him how cold you were in this moment.

you hear them, but they sound far away. too muffled for you to make out their words.

and it’s getting dark. too dark. you feel your eyelids ignoring your command to stay open, and your chest… you feel no itch, but it’s burning, searing like a hot iron.

you want to scream, to move, to do anything, but you can’t. it’s too much, nothing at all.

“hey. you’re going to be okay, stay with me.”

you can barely register the words. but you catch it, the tremble in his voice.

but you can’t find it in you to respond. there’s no force left within you.

all you can do is succumb to the darkness, allow your body to rest, sink into that feeling of comfortable warmth, and become enveloped in caleb’s familiar scent of apple orchard and leather.

it’s heaven your mind thinks before it slips into nothingness.

⏾