#seiya

He was supposed to return from a mission today. One of the many that took him away. It had been a week since Xavier had left for the mission. A week of quiet apartment nights, of imagining the precise moment he’d return, of pacing around the small space like a nervous conductor waiting for the orchestra to begin.

You set out his favorite dishes, meticulously prepared: slow-roasted pork with a glaze of honey and soy, seared steaks with garlic butter, a delicate tray of fried appetizers, and bread fresh from the oven. You had even arranged a small dessert table—dark chocolate truffles and a pie you had baked yourself, slightly burnt at the edges, but still perfect in your eyes.

The gifts were lined up on the low table by the couch. There was the old Game Boy you’d found at an auction online with cartridges of games you know he would love. and alongside it, you’d created two custom consoles—one for each of you, with personalized skins and engraved initials. You remembered how he had once teased you for being “ridiculous with gifts,” and you smiled, knowing how much he liked them.

Every surface in the apartment bore evidence of your effort. The coffee table was cleared to make room for snacks, candles flickered in strategic corners, and a playlist of songs you knew he liked hummed softly in the background. You even left the lights dim, imagining him stepping through the door to find the whole place transformed into a small, cozy sanctuary just for the two of you.

The clock ticked louder than usual. Every creak in the apartment made your heart leap. You checked the door—again. The key in your hand felt heavier by the second, as though it carried all your anticipation. Maybe he’d teleport in. Maybe he’d just turn the knob, smile at you, and sigh that quiet, boyish “I’m here” that made your chest flutter.

And you waited.

You glanced at the clock for the hundredth time, checking the minute hand like it could somehow speed things along. The apartment smelled like home—or at least your version of it. Minutes stretched into hours.

At first, it was excitement. You paced lightly, smoothing out the wrinkles on the tablecloth, adjusting a stack of napkins, straightening the Game Boy next to the custom console. Then it shifted—slowly, imperceptibly—to anxiousness. The apartment suddenly felt too large, the silence too loud. Every creak of the floorboards, every faint thump from the city outside, made you startle. Had something happened on the mission? Was he… hurt? You knew it was normal for him to be MIA. And yet… you had hoped, for today, he might break the pattern, just for this one night.

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up your phone.

You tried to shake off the thought and called him.

No answer.

You tried again, slower this time, your thumb hovering over the call button as if hesitation could change the result. Still, silence.

Panic began to prick at the edges of your composure.

You reached for your phone with a shaky hand. His line went straight to voicemail. Twice. Three times. Your stomach twisted.

You sighed, trying to force calm into your voice, and called Jeremiah. The line clicked alive, and his familiar, grounding presence filled your ears almost immediately.

“Hey,”

“Hey, Jeremiah...? Have you heard from Xavier?”

“Not really…Everything okay?”

You exhaled shakily, biting your lip. “I… I just wanted to check if Xavier got back. I…I…”

“What’s wrong? You sound tense…”

You took another shaky breath, the tension of hours finally spilling out. “I… I set everything up. Food, gifts… the apartment. And he’s not here. I can’t reach him.”

“Hey, hey,” Jeremiah soothed, as if he could hear the storm raging in your chest. “Okay, slow down. Maybe he’s just running late. You’re safe at home, right?”

“Yes…” you muttered, your hands gripping the edge of the counter. “I… I cooked his favorite meals. I set up the Game Boy and the consoles… I just wanted to surprise him…”

“Sounds like someone’s been waiting too long,” Jeremiah hummed softly. “He’s probably fine. Missions get complicated, you know that. Don’t let your mind spiral. But hey… maybe you could come over here for a cup of tea. Calm your nerves a little? It’ll be okay.”

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the screen. Then, reluctantly, you nodded to yourself. “Okay… maybe I should.”

“Yeah,” Jeremiah agreed. “I’ll make some tea, you can sit, breathe. It’ll be fine. He’s Xavier. He’s… thorough, but he’ll be back. I’ll make sure you’re settled, and maybe we can try reaching him together.”

You hesitated, glancing around the apartment. The sight of the carefully arranged candles, the plates laid out with precision, the little console you’d set up—all of it made your chest ache. “Yeah… maybe I need that,” you admitted.

Jeremiah’s laugh was warm. “I’ll make it worth your while. And we can give him a hard time together.”

You moved through the apartment with shaky hands, extinguishing the candles one by one. The soft golden flames flickered in protest before dying out, leaving the room dim and quiet, the shadows retreating to the corners. The last thing you wanted was to cause a fire in his apartment. The quiet of the apartment, the scent of roasted meat and chocolate lingering in the air, had shifted from comforting to suffocating. Every minute without him felt like the walls themselves were closing in.

You began packing some of the food into a tote, neatly packing the containers. It was the least you could do for troubling Jeremiah with your anxious overthinking, your panicked call and now your company. A part of you felt guilty for burdening anyone, even him. You arranged the dishes carefully, the heavy aroma of garlic, honey, and roasting meat clinging to the containers.

You added a folded cloth napkin on top and then, almost unconsciously, slid Xavier’s keys into the bag.

Standing in the center of the apartment, you exhaled slowly. Every part of you—the worry, the anger, the quiet ache of disappointment—was coiled tight in your chest. Finally, trembling fingers hovered over your phone. You pressed Xavier’s number.

Your heart thudded violently as it rang.

“Hello?”

The voice that answered was low, husky with sleep, and it made your chest unclench slightly despite yourself. That soft, almost-boyish tone had always been a balm for your nerves. Relief and worry tangled together, knotting in your stomach.

“Xavier,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady, “where are you?”

For a moment, there was silence, save for faint sounds behind him. Then a soft, familiar voice cut through.

“…Where do you want to eat tonight?”

Lina.

Your stomach dropped. Your heart skipped, a harsh, twisting ache settling in your chest.

“Uh—okay, hold on, I am on a call…” Xavier murmured, more focused now, his voice steadying, prioritizing your line.

You swallowed hard, trying not to let the sharp sting of jealousy and hurt overwhelm you. But every word, every small movement in the background made your chest tighten.

“Xavier,” you whispered, trying to anchor yourself, “I… I need to know. Where are you?”

“Uh… I’m just checking out of the hotel after my mission.” he murmured, still sleepy.

Your mind raced. Mission complete? Already? Your fingers clutched the phone as the blood drained from your face. “When… when did the mission complete?” you asked, voice breaking even as you tried to hold yourself together.

“Last night…” he started, and you didn’t let him finish. Your mind had already made the leap. He hadn’t come home. He hadn’t come to you. Instead, he had stayed out, celebrating with someone else—or at least being near her. Your mind filled in the silence with everything you feared. The careful, meticulous plans, the hours spent waiting, the meals, the gifts—all of it rendered irrelevant by the simple fact that he hadn’t come home.

“It’s… it’s our anniversary today,” you choked, your voice raw and tight. “I was waiting for you… worried about you… and now you’re not even here.”

“—I—”

“No!” you snapped, cutting him off. Anger and hurt crashed over you in a wave. “I don’t want to hear you out. Your mission was over yesterday…”

There was a pause on the line, longer than usual, filled with a heaviness that made your chest ache.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m on my wa—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted sharply, the hurt finally lashing outward in words. “Don’t even bother. Just… don’t bother coming here.”

And before he could say another word, before he could explain, apologize again, before the world could shift back even slightly, you hung up.

The phone felt heavy in your hand, like a stone carved from disappointment and betrayal. You stormed out of the apartment, shoving your tote over your shoulder. The elevator descended slowly, each ding echoing like a drumbeat in your chest.

Lina. The name sent a sharp twist of jealousy and worry through you. You had heard things, fragments of stories Xavier had never fully explained: he wasn’t from Earth, not entirely, and in his past, there were threads of connection between him and Lina, a different Lina. Now, she was the Deepspace hunter who had always seemed… somehow entangled in Xavier’s life. The connection he and Lina had, something neither of them fully acknowledged, at least not in this life. But it was enough. Just enough to let the insecurity fester, to make your chest ache with the unfairness of it.

He had gone on this mission and had been gone so often. You knew Xavier’s world was complicated, dangerous, full of rules you didn’t understand. But the thought that he might have chosen to spend even a fragment of his time with her on a day like this, even in some harmless way, made your stomach twist. And still… still, you loved him. You loved him enough that it hurt to imagine him elsewhere while you had been waiting, heartsick and full of hope.

The streets were alive, neon flickering against the damp asphalt. You didn’t slow. You didn’t pause to consider where you were walking. The subway station was crowded, but your movements were frantic, almost reckless. The train roared into the station, metal screeching against rails. You shoved yourself into a car just as the doors slid shut. Your chest ached, and every minute that passed without Xavier’s presence felt like a shard in your ribs.

At first, the ride was uneventful. You gripped the tote tightly, trying to quiet your shaking hands. But then the train lurched violently. The lights flickered, and a siren blared. “Metaflux anomaly detected,” a mechanical voice announced, flat and unnerving. “Security measures activated.”

Your breath hitched.

A ripple of panic moved through the car. Sparks shot from overhead panels, and the sudden vibration made you stumble against a railing. Then, through the flashing red lights, figures appeared. Wanderers. Your heart slammed in your chest. You weren’t a hunter. You weren’t prepared. The doors screamed as someone—or something—thrashed against them. Glass cracked under impact.

You ducked instinctively, clutching the tote to your chest as a Wanderer lunged at another passenger, knocking them into the metal frame. Your breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. Panic threatened to overwhelm you entirely. The anger and heartbreak from Xavier’s absence turned into pure, raw terror.

You tried to call out, tried to move, but the crowd surged around you. Every step felt like a lifetime, every sound a metallic echo in your panicked mind. Sparks rained from the ceiling, acrid smoke burned your throat, and somewhere in the chaos, a piece of your tote ripped. The containers inside crashed to the floor, smashing open.

Your fingers clenched, your nails digging into the strap, trying to hold onto something familiar. You weren’t sure if it was hope or just stubborn survival instinct, but you weren’t letting go.

The train jolted again, violently this time, sending you sprawling against the shoulder of a stranger. The car shuddered and groaned like it might tear itself apart, and the crowd around you began to panic, pressed together in a mass of limbs and muffled screams. You tried to steady yourself, tried to take a breath, but the space was impossibly tight. People shoved past each other, bodies colliding, and your chest felt as if it were being compressed by a vise. Panic clawed at your chest. You couldn’t breathe. The press of bodies around you was suffocating.

A man fell in front of you, tripping over the scattered debris, and you stumbled with him. The crowd didn’t stop. Feet crushed against your shoes, your ankles twisting. You caught yourself against the wall, gasping, but another surge of people slammed against you. You were pushed to the floor, crawling on hands and knees, the metal of the train biting into your palms.

Your chest tightened so fiercely it hurt to inhale. The air smelled of fuel and burnt metal, sweat and panic mixing in a nauseating haze. Your head spun, the world tilting. You felt yourself slipping into that dizzying, detached sensation—where panic numbs the body just enough to make you aware of every ache, every cut, every scrape, and yet you can’t move fast enough to save yourself.

Your phone, wedged against your tote, skidded across the floor. A boot came down on it. The screen cracked, jagged lines spiderwebbing across the glass. Your fingers shot out to catch it—but someone’s heel landed on your hand instead. Pain shot up your wrist, a hot, searing spike. You screamed, muffled by the pressing bodies, and tried again, reaching desperately for the broken phone.

And then it rang.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You froze, trembling, the chaotic noise around you fading into a singular focus. The phone you had been avoiding since leaving the apartment—the one call you didn’t want to take—was ringing now, its cracked screen lighting up with Xavier’s name.

Your hand throbbed where it had been stepped on, blood prickling along the skin, but your fingers curled around the phone anyway. You barely noticed the heat of the panic pressing against your lungs, barely noticed the chaos of bodies and sparks and smoke around you.

Somewhere in the haze, the mechanical voice’s warnings were drowned out by screams, shouts, the wet thud of bodies falling and scrambling over each other. Your vision blurred, the world tilting and spinning. The crowd surged once more, a tidal wave of panic and fear, and you were swept along in it, blanking out for a moment as the pressure crushed against your chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe.

And still, the phone in your hand continued to ring. Xavier’s name, insistent, unrelenting.

XAVIER'S POV

Xavier gripped the edge of the passenger seat, the hum of the engine beneath him barely registering. Lina drove, her hands steady on the wheel, though her voice cut through the tense silence with relentless admonishment.

“You shouldn’t have ignored your injuries last night. You could’ve gone to a professional—really,” she scolded, eyes flicking toward him, concern layered under irritation. “Sleeping it off wasn’t going to fix anything, Xavier. And now you missed your anniversary—”

“Lina,” he cut her off softly, his voice clipped but calm, almost neutral, though the words vibrated with focus. “Not now.”

She raised an eyebrow, incredulous, but he didn’t care. His attention was elsewhere, directed entirely toward you. Lina’s voice faded into the haze of his focus. He needed to hear your voice.  Every word was a background hum to the tight coil of panic gnawing at his chest. You. Your face, your hands, the thought of you waiting, alone, angry, hurt. He had called again and again, each attempt going straight to voicemail.

“Of course, she isn’t picking up, she’s hurt and angry!” Lina stared at Xavier pointedly before focusing on the road.

He finally gave in, dialing Jeremiah. The line clicked, and then the familiar calm voice came through.

“Xavier, where the hell have you been?” Jeremiah’s tone was immediately sharp, worry threaded beneath the surface. “Your girlfriend was worried sick!”

“I’m on my way, I know. She’s mad at me…” Xavier said evenly, though his jaw tightened. “Check on her for me… please…”

Jeremiah’s voice faltered slightly, concern pressing against his words. “She was heading to Philo, my shop… tea to calm her nerves… She was so worried because you wouldn’t answer.”

Xavier’s teeth clenched audibly. She was on her way to Jeremiah? So, he could comfort her? Hell no. Not on his watch. “I’m on my way there. Don’t worry. Just… keep her there until I reach. Don’t… Don’t tell her I am coming…”

The car hummed as Lina continued to ramble how stupid Xavier was and that he should probably make it up to you, grovel or something.  Xavier tuned her out, still focused on calling you. The radio was like white noise to him. But Lina frowned as the RJ spoke about something.

“Xavier… Xavier...!” Lina’s voice cut in, tinged with irritation but laced with urgency. “Xavier, there’s a huge metaflux overload in the subway tunnels. Wanderers are swarming.”

His chest tightened, pulse spiking. “Which tunnel?”

“West Garden Station.”

“Book it. Now.”

“But—­”

“Now. Lina!”

Minutes later, Xavier materialized above the wrecked train, the air thick with the smell of fuel and burning metal. Below, chaos had erupted: hunters clashing with Wanderers, sparks flying from damaged conduits, the screech of metal-on-metal echoing in the tunnel.

Lina was already in the fray, moving with lethal precision, her figure darting from shadow to shadow. Xavier’s eyes scanned, the glow of his Evol barely contained behind his calm, neutral exterior. He hoped, prayed, that you weren’t here. That you hadn’t wandered into the chaos. Xavier teleported, his body shimmering into the chaos below. Sparks of energy lit the dim tunnels as Wanderers lunged at him, and he moved fluidly, almost unnaturally fast, disposing of threats with precise, lethal force.

He teleported from car to car, calling out your name, each step, each jump, calculated yet frantic. He dispatched Wanderers that got in his way. Every step, every impact he absorbed from stray Wanderers, every motion of his hands sending enemies sprawling—it all fed the panic twisting in his gut.

He tried calling you again. Voicemail. Nothing. His stomach twisted, clenched, a cold fire of desperation and fury coursing through him.

Then, from somewhere deeper in the car he currently was in, a faint vibration echoed against steel. Muffled, faint, almost imperceptible over the chaos. Xavier froze. His eyes narrowed, scanning.

A bloody hand. Wrapped around a phone with a hanging bunbun charm. His heart slammed into his ribs.

Your phone.

He moved instantly, teleporting across the few feet between him and the hand, his eyes wild as he brushed aside debris and knocked aside a Wanderer with a swift motion. His fingers pressed to your wrist. Pulse. Slow, but alive.

Relief clawed through him, thick and overwhelming, and he allowed himself a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Gently, reverently, he lifted you into his arms, cradling your injured body against his chest. Your weight was featherlight and heavy all at once, the reality of your survival crashing into him like waves.

“Shh… shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice low, soft, every word imbued with the terror and love coiled in his chest. “It’s me. It’s okay. You’re safe now.” The weight of you pressed against him, and a part of him cursed himself for every second you’d been alone, every second he’d failed to be there.

The world narrowed to your breathing, your pulse, your presence. He teleported out of the subway car, each step a blur, each flicker of space bending as he carried you away from the chaos and into safety.

---------------------------

Time blurred.

Time stretched thin, almost elastic, as Xavier held your hand as you lay on the hospital bed. Every fiber of his being screamed with the knowledge that you had been alone in the chaos, exposed to danger he had failed to prevent. The mission had left him bruised, fatigued, and slightly battered—minor injuries he had stubbornly insisted on sleeping off rather than revealing to anyone, least of all you. He had not wanted to worry you. He had assumed that he could recover quietly, as he always did, and be present for you afterward.

But now you were here and he realized the magnitude of his miscalculation. His chest felt like it had been hollowed out and refilled with lead. Calm, neutral Xavier was gone; underneath, a storm raged. He had failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to share his burden, failed to honor an unspoken promise: that he would be there. And now, in the sterile white light of the hospital, with the distant hum of machines and antiseptic cutting the tension, the storm only intensified.

He shook his head slightly, trying to suppress the internal chaos. No. Not now. Focus. She’s alive. She’s here.

But every shallow breath you drew, every weak movement of your fingers as you stirred, shredded him a little more.

Your first whimper of pain, barely audible but sharp enough to pierce through the fog of his thoughts, yanked him upright. His head shot toward you instantly, eyes scanning your face for the source of discomfort.

“It’s okay,” he whispered immediately, voice low and soothing, a rare warmth threading through the calm neutrality he usually maintained. “You’re going to be okay.”

In his other hand, almost awkwardly, he held a small book—its worn cover titled Caregiving Basics, something he had snatched up earlier, frantic, thinking of the small ways he could support you even in this sterile, alien environment. His calm exterior cracked as he studied you, the way your breathing caught in small, fragile increments, the way your fingers twitched as if reaching for him without strength.

“Xavier…” your voice was weak, shaky, and laced with relief.

He leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’m here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” His thumb stroked lightly across your wrist, memorizing the warmth of your skin, grounding himself in the proof that you had survived the chaos.

He moved silently sitting on the edge next to you. Every movement was measured, slow, as though the gentlest touch could break you or him. His fingers brushed your hair from your damp forehead, smoothing it back with reverent care.

“I didn’t want to miss our anniversary… The mission ended and there were some… injuries I—I didn’t want to worry you,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I could sleep it off. I didn’t realize… I wasn’t thinking. I should have… I should have—” He exhaled sharply and paused, swallowing the weight of his guilt. “I am sorry... I know it means a little… but…”

You swallowed, feeling your own tension slip away as the fear and anger from the phone call earlier dissolved in the warmth of his presence. Sheepish, you whispered, “I… I shouldn’t have yelled at you…”

Xavier’s hand cupped your cheek gently. “Shh… your anger was valid, you didn’t know…” he murmured, tilting his head to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You scared me.”

Your own voice cracked, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. “You scared me too when you didn’t answer… I thought…”

“I know,” he said, a hint of anguish threading through the neutral tone. “Jeremiah told me everything. You were worried. I… I can’t—” He trailed off, swallowing against the guilt coiling in his chest. “I am sorry. I am so so sorry.”

You exhaled shakily, guilt and relief mingling in the same breath. “I… I overreacted, I guess.”

He shook his head again, smiling faintly despite the tension in his chest. “No. You were worried about me, which is… normal. Which is… right.” He lowered himself carefully to lean against the headboard, despite the sterile sheets and the beep of monitors that reminded him of the reality of your vulnerability. “I wasn’t here for our anniversary… for the first one. And now… now you’re hurt. And I… I hate that I wasn’t here.”

You pressed closer. “How are you, though? You were hurt too…”

He gave a faint, boyish shrug, neutral expression masking the tremor beneath. “I’ll sleep it off,” he said lightly, though the tight set of his jaw betrayed the lingering pain. He shifted closer, nestling against your side, letting his warmth and weight settle around you despite knowing the nurse might scold him later for sleeping next to you.

His arms wrapped around you, careful yet possessive, a steady anchor in the haze of your exhaustion and fear. His voice softened as he murmured against your hair, “Next time you’re mad at me… you take it out on the giant bunbun plush, Okay? He can handle it... Don’t… don’t hold it in. Don’t… take it out on yourself.”

You let out a weak laugh “I… Okay.” You exhaled slowly, letting the tension leave your body in tiny, shuddering breaths. The anger, the fear, the jealousy, the heartbreak—all melted into the quiet of the room, cocooned by his presence.

Xavier buried his face against your hair, holding you. “I am sorry… I’ll do better… for you…for us...” He would make up for this. He would never let you feel unsafe again. And for now… that promise, unspoken but understood, hung between you in the quiet hospital room.

You murmured, almost half-asleep, “Xavier…”

“Shh... sleep… I am here.”

And for now, as your breathing slowed, mingling with his calm presence. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the weight of fear, guilt, relief, and love pressing in layers. And as Xavier tightened his hold just slightly, whispering, “I love you… and I won’t let go,” And for the first time since the chaos, you let yourself sink into him, into the warmth, into the quiet promise that the world could tear itself apart, but he would always find you.

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Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus Version | Caleb Version

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