Thoughtdaughter

Garrett Graham x f!reader

Summary: Garrett Graham is trying to figure out how to live without the girl he loves ,while you’re trying to convince yourself leaving him was the right thing to do. So far, neither of you seem to be succeeding

Word count: 11k+

Author's Note: Thank you guys so much for all the love on this story! It's very close to my heart, so it means a lot seeing people resonate with it. There's only one more part after this, which is where we get their happy ending. I wanted to show how hard the breakup was on both of them and sit with that pain for a little while before bringing them back together. Hopefully the angst is worth it!!

I also apologize for the slow updates. Work has been keeping me pretty busy lately, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like. Part 3 should hopefully be out by the end of next week.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/no comfort, self- worth issues

**************************************************

Thirty-two days.

It had been exactly thirty-two days since the breakup, though Garrett refused to think of it as counting, because counting meant admitting that each day had carved itself into him a little deeper, and he was not ready to admit just how badly this was still wrecking him.

Thirty-two days since he had watched you walk out of the hockey house with tears on your face and heartbreak in every step. Thirty-two days since he had stood at the top of the staircase, frozen and helpless, while the person he loved most left him behind. Thirty-two days since he had heard your voice saying things he still did not fully understand, things that had sounded too final to be real. Thirty-two days since he had seen you.

Life, infuriatingly, had not paused to match the shape of his grief.

Practice still started at six. Classes still demanded his attention. Games still had to be played. NHL scouts still came. The world kept moving as if nothing had split open inside him, as if one of the most important parts of his life had not just vanished overnight.

The first week had been the worst, because he kept waking up with the strange, hopeful instinct that maybe the breakup had only been a nightmare, only to remember, all over again, that it had been painfully real. He would reach for his phone before his eyes were even fully open, expecting a good morning text, a picture of your breakfast, a complaint about some professor, a reminder to eat something, and every single time he found nothing but silence. No little updates from your day. No random thoughts sent at odd hours. 

Allie and Hannah refused to tell him anything. That had become its own special kind of torture. The only thing either of them had offered in thirty-two days was a flat, almost cruelly simple, “She’s alive”. Every time he tried to push for more, every time Dean tried to pry something useful from them, the answers dried up immediately, and as much as it drove him insane, he understood why. He couldn’t even be angry with them for protecting you from him, because if the roles were reversed, he knew he would have done the same. He would have taken anything they were willing to give him, and the desperation in that thought was humiliating enough to make his jaw clench every time he admitted it to himself.

By the second week, reality had started settling in with a dull, merciless weight. This wasn’t a fight that needed time to cool down. This wasn’t a temporary silence or a bad stretch or some ugly misunderstanding that would eventually untangle itself. You were gone, and the worst part was that you had left not because you stopped loving him, but because you loved him too much to believe you deserved to stay. Garrett still could not wrap his mind around that, could not understand how you could look at the kind of love he felt for you and still see only danger in it.

So he threw himself into hockey with a kind of grim desperation that made even Coach nervous. If he stayed busy enough, he thought, maybe the ache would stay quiet. If he practiced hard enough, skated until his lungs burned and his legs trembled beneath him, maybe exhaustion would drag him under before his thoughts could. He stayed on the ice longer than everyone else, pushed through drills until sweat soaked through his shirt, took extra reps, extra shifts, extra everything, as if effort alone could outrun grief. Instead, all it did was make him harder to ignore. 

The guys assumed the extra skating was helping. It was not. Hockey was only a distraction, a way to keep his body busy while his mind kept bleeding out in the background. No matter how many hours he spent on the ice, he still found himself looking for your car when he crossed campus. He still knew which coffee shop you studied in. He still glanced toward the architecture building out of habit, still wondered whether you had eaten, whether you were sleeping, whether you were okay, whether you had ever looked at your phone and thought of him the way he thought of you every single day.

Coach started watching him with a worried look he didn’t bother hiding. Dean noticed Garrett had stopped joking around during practice. Logan noticed he had started volunteering for every drill that hurt. Tucker noticed the way Garrett could change the subject in half a second any time someone came close to saying your name.

Nobody brought you up after the third week, not after Garrett nearly snapped at a freshman who asked, with the kind of careless stupidity Garrett had no patience for, whether he was “finally over his ex.” He had not even realized he was moving until Dean grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back, but after that the lesson spread fast enough. Your name became a forbidden thing, something the guys tiptoed around like a bruise they did not want to press, but that did not stop him from thinking about you.

God, he thought about you constantly.

He missed the laugh that used to spill out of you when you were trying not to laugh. He missed the way you stole his hoodies as if they had always belonged to you. He missed finding your hair ties in strange corners of his room, the way you curled into his side when you were tired, the sound of your voice in the mornings, the soft, absentminded way you smiled at him over nothing at all. He missed the stupid little things too, the fries you swore you did not want until they were half gone, the way you always checked to make sure he ate before you did, the way you made his room feel warmer simply by being in it.

What haunted him most was how normal everything had felt before it ended. There had been no betrayal, no shouting match, no dramatic collapse, no one moment he could point to and say, there, that is where it all broke. One day he had been lying in bed with the girl he loved, and the next she had looked him in the eye and convinced herself he deserved someone easier. He had replayed that morning over and over in his head, every word, every pause, every look, and still he could not find the hidden answer, the thing he had failed to say, the thing he could have done to keep you from believing a lie that had been growing inside your own head for longer than he had realized.

Sleep became another casualty.

Garrett could not remember the last time he had rested properly. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain betrayed him. Some nights he dreamed about the breakup, and those were awful enough, but the dreams that hurt most were the ones where you were still there, where he came home and found you asleep in his bed, where your toothbrush still sat beside his sink, where your laughter still lived in the hallway outside his room, where nothing had changed and his heart had not yet learned how to brace itself. Then he would wake up, and the room would be empty, and that first second of forgetting would be followed by the brutal memory of remembering, which was somehow worse than the pain itself.

If you had fallen out of love, maybe he could have swallowed the loss and called it life. If you had cheated, maybe he could have hated you enough to survive it. If you had simply stopped caring, maybe time would have done the rest. But that was not what happened. You had cried in his bedroom and told him you loved him, and then you had walked away anyway, because somewhere along the line you had started believing your sadness was something he would eventually grow tired of carrying.

Garrett tightened his grip on his stick as he stood alone on the ice long after practice had ended. The arena was empty now, the overhead lights reflecting off the frozen surface in long, pale streaks, and the quiet made the pressure in his chest feel even worse. He could still hear your voice in his head, soft and broken, saying the words that had haunted him ever since.

You deserve somebody easy.

It still made him sick.

Because the truth was the exact opposite. Loving you had been the easiest thing he had ever done. The hard part had been convincing you that you were worth the effort, worth the patience, worth the kind of love that stayed when things got messy. And somehow, after a year of trying to show you that your sadness did not scare him away, he had still failed to make you feel safe enough to believe him.

A puck cracked sharply against the net at the far end of the rink, the sound bouncing back through the empty arena and cutting through the quiet like a slap. Garrett exhaled slowly and dragged a hand down his face before lifting his eyes toward the stands, almost expecting, for one impossible second, to see you there like you always used to be. 

You had come to so many of his practices, sitting up in the same section every time and watching him with that soft, proud look that made his whole body feel lighter the second he spotted you. You never complained, never acted bored, never made him feel ridiculous for wanting you there, and he had always played harder when he knew you were watching because hearing you cheer for him had become one of the best parts of his day.

But the stands were empty now.

Just rows of darkness and silence.

He turned away and headed for the locker room, his skates loud against the floor in the quiet hallway, and when he got there he dropped onto the bench with a tired sigh and pulled out his phone. He didn’t even have to think before opening Instagram and finding your profile, because that had become its own kind of ritual by now, stupid and painful and impossible to stop. You still hadn’t been online in a month. Not once. He had posted stories more than he normally would have because some selfish part of him kept hoping you might see them, might tap through them, might remember him even if you were trying not to.

He scrolled through your page slowly, stopping at the photos of you like he always did. There was one in particular that made something in his chest ache, the one where the two of you were smiling together and looked so stupidly happy it almost hurt to stare at it. A small smile tugged at his mouth despite himself when he saw that you still hadn’t taken it down. He remembered that day perfectly, could replay it in his mind without even trying.

 It had been the day he asked you to be his girlfriend, the two of you crammed into a photobooth and laughing until neither of you could keep a straight face, and then him asking the question with his heart in his throat while you looked at him like he had just handed you the world. 

He could still hear your shocked little "Are you serious?"

Could still remember the way you'd thrown your arms around his neck before he'd even finished asking. He still kept those same photo strips in his wallet, folded a little from being carried around too much, because he had never really been able to let them go.

But the smile did not last. It slipped away as quickly as it had come, and his throat tightened. Before he could sink any further into it, his phone buzzed in his hand, and a message from the boys lit up the screen.

Dean: Anyone up for Malone’s in an hour? Tuck: yh thats cool Logan: G u down?

Garrett stared at the messages for a second, thumb hovering over the keyboard while a part of him immediately wanted to say no, wanted to go home and sit in the dark and think about you until the night swallowed him whole. But another part of him, the part that was growing tired of doing this alone, the part that was sick of the silence and the memories and the way his own room felt like a trap, didn’t want to spend another night moping around by himself either.

G: yh ill meet you there

Dean: Did i just hear right or did he agree? Tuck: i think he did Logan: alright see u there man

Garrett let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, though it didn’t feel like one, and set his phone down beside him before finally getting up and heading for the showers.

The drive to Malone's was short, but Garrett still spent most of it staring blankly at red lights and trying not to think about the fact that this was the first time he'd agreed to go out with the guys in weeks.

The second Garrett walked through the doors of Malone's, Dean nearly dropped the menu in his hands.

"Holy shit," Dean said, staring at him. "It's alive."

Garrett rolled his eyes immediately.

"Don't start."

"No, seriously," Dean continued, pointing at him dramatically. "I was beginning to think we'd have to put your face on a missing persons poster."

Logan snorted into his drink.

"Tucker had money on you cancelling at the last second."

"I still think he's gonna leave after one beer," Tucker said without missing a beat.

Garrett shook his head and slid into the booth across from them.

"Good to know you all have hobbies."

The waitress came over and he ordered a beer before leaning back against the seat. The second she walked away, he noticed all three of them were staring at him.

Garrett sighed heavily. "Alright, what?"

Nobody answered right away.

Dean looked at Logan.

Logan looked at Tucker.

Tucker looked like he was trying to figure out who was going to say it first.

"Guys."

Logan finally cleared his throat. "You know we love you, right?"

Garrett immediately groaned. "Oh God."

"No, seriously," Logan said. "We're worried about you."

Tucker and Dean nodded in agreement. "We know these past few weeks have been rough," Tucker said carefully. "And honestly? We get it. Nobody expects you to magically be okay."

"But you've kind of been shutting everyone out," Dean added. "Including us."

Logan leaned forward slightly. "We just want you to know we're here, man. If you want to talk, we'll listen. If you want a distraction, we'll do that too. If you want to punch Dean—"

"Hey." Dean immediately raised a hand.

"I'm making sacrifices here."

That earned the first genuine laugh Garrett had let out in days and the guys visibly relaxed when they heard it. Garrett shook his head and looked around at them, feeling something warm settle in his chest for the first time in weeks.

"Thanks, guys."

The sincerity in his voice made them all smile.

The conversation slowly shifted after that. Hockey came up. Then classes. Tucker complained about an assignment. Dean got roasted for something stupid he'd done earlier that week. Logan told a story that somehow got more dramatic every time he retold it.

And for a few hours, Garrett felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. Normal.

The ache was still there.

It hadn't disappeared, but for the first time in thirty-two days, the grief wasn't the only thing in the room. By the time they left Malone's later that night, he felt a little lighter than he had when he'd arrived.

And right now, that felt like enough.

***************************************************

The arena was loud in the way Garrett usually loved, loud with anticipation and adrenaline and the collective roar of a crowd that seemed to breathe with the game, loud with the kind of energy that used to settle him the second he stepped onto the ice because hockey had always been the one place where everything else could disappear for a while. 

Tonight, though, none of it was reaching him. The noise should have been enough to pull him out of his own head, should have been enough to keep him focused on the puck and the shift and the next play, but his thoughts had been restless all night, skittering beneath the surface of everything he tried to do like something alive and impossible to pin down. The game had barely gotten going before he could already feel that familiar, ugly sense of distraction creeping over him, the same kind that had been haunting him for weeks, the same kind that showed up every time he thought too long about you.

Then the puck slid across the ice, Garrett intercepted it cleanly, and sent it over to Dean before turning toward the boards, and the crowd erupted a second later when Briar scored. He barely heard any of it. 

His eyes had drifted toward the stands without him even realizing it, because apparently some part of him still did that now, still searched without thinking, still looked for the shape of you in every arena he walked into as if his body had not learned yet how to stop hoping. He did not know why he bothered anymore. It was probably habit. It was probably pathetic. It was probably the one stupid instinct he had never managed to break, the one that made him look up at every game like maybe, just maybe, you would be there again.

And then he saw you.

Section 104. Third row.

For a second he genuinely thought his brain had turned on him, that he had imagined you so often he had finally started seeing you where you weren’t, but then his heart lurched so violently in his chest that it hurt, and the world around him seemed to narrow to a single impossible point. You were there. Real. After days of silence, days of not knowing where to put the ache in his chest, days of wondering whether you were sleeping, eating, breathing, whether you had started feeling better or just gotten better at hiding it, there you were in the stands like the universe had decided to twist the knife one more time.

You looked alive. Close enough that he could make out the line of your smile, close enough to see the way you pushed your hair behind your ear, close enough that if he abandoned the game right then and ran up the stairs, he could reach you in seconds, and the thought hit him so hard it almost knocked the breath out of him.

And then his gaze dropped. You weren't wearing his jersey.

The realization hit harder than it should have. Every game for almost a year, you had worn his number. Something that belonged to him, now you were dressed in Briar colors like everyone else. No number. No sign of him anywhere.

It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.

The referee’s whistle cut through the air, and Garrett did not move.

“Garrett!”

Dean’s voice snapped him back to the present just long enough for the play to restart, and he pushed forward on instinct, but the second his skates bit into the ice again, he could already feel how far gone his focus was because you were not alone. A guy was sitting beside you, tall and dark-haired, someone Garrett didn’t recognize, and he was leaning close enough to make you laugh. The sight hit him so hard it felt physical, like a fist straight to the lungs. His stomach dropped, his mouth went dry, and everything in him went still for one awful, humiliating second while the guy said something to you and you smiled.

Garrett stopped hearing the game.

He stopped hearing the crowd, his teammates, the skate blades, the buzz of the lights overhead. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, all he could see was you laughing beside somebody else while he stood helpless on the ice trying not to come apart in front of thousands of strangers.

Had it really only been thirty-six days?

The thought made him feel sick.

The puck came flying toward him a second later, and normally he would have taken it cleanly without even thinking, but his timing was off by a fraction, just enough for it to glance off his stick and skip away. The opposing team took possession almost instantly. He heard Logan shout his name, sharp and frustrated, but by then it was already too late. They scored.

The arena went quiet in that terrible, stunned way that always followed a bad goal, and Garrett stood there staring at the net, knowing exactly whose fault it was before the shame even had time to settle over him. Coach looked ready to strangle him from the bench. Garrett could feel it even from the ice.

And from there, everything only got worse.

His passes became sloppy. His instincts were late. He missed shots he normally would have buried without hesitation. It was like the ice had turned slick beneath him, like he was skating half a beat behind everyone else while his own head dragged him somewhere he did not want to go.

By the third period, even Dean was staring at him with the kind of concern that only showed up once things had already gone too far, but Garrett could not seem to recover. He was still looking up, still looking back, still making the same mistake over and over, and then the hit came so fast he barely saw the defenseman until his shoulder slammed into the glass hard enough to rattle his teeth. Pain exploded through him in a bright, blinding burst, and the crowd gasped as he hit the ice.

For one long second everything went white.

Then the noise came rushing back.

Whistle. Shouting. Skates scraping. Teammates calling his name.

And the first thing Garrett did, before he even fully understood where he was, was look up toward the stands.

Toward you.

Like an idiot.

Like a complete fucking idiot.

Someone grabbed his arm and hauled him upright, and when Garrett turned, it was Dean staring at him with a look half concern and half disbelief. “Jesus Christ, Graham.”

Garrett shoved him off automatically, more from instinct than actual irritation. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t, and everyone knew it.

Briar lost anyway, 4–2, in what had to be the ugliest game of the season, and by the time Garrett got into the locker room after the final buzzer, the silence waiting for him inside was worse than the noise had been. It was the kind of silence that meant everyone was angry but nobody wanted to be the first to say it. He sat down heavily on the bench and started pulling off his gear with hands that felt too stiff and slow, his whole body sore, his shoulder throbbing, his mind still somewhere in section 104 where you had been laughing at somebody who was not him.

Nobody spoke at first.

Then Logan finally lost patience.

“What the hell was that?”

Garrett didn’t answer.

Logan laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “No, seriously. What the fuck was that?”

“Leave it alone,” Dean said, but even his voice sounded tired.

“No.” Logan’s gaze locked on Garrett. “Coach is ripping us apart right now because our captain forgot how to play hockey.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened. “Logan.”

“No.” Logan shook his head, frustration finally snapping clean through his usual restraint. “You were checked out the entire game.”

Garrett stood up immediately, the motion so fast it shifted the whole room, and every guy in there seemed to go rigid at once because they all knew he hadn’t been right since the breakup, even if no one had been stupid enough to say it out loud until now. Logan’s face was flushed with anger, his voice getting louder now as he pointed straight at Garrett like he was trying to force him to finally hear what everyone had been ignoring.

“You know what I think?” he demanded. “I think you saw her.”

The room went dead silent.

It was the kind of silence that made it obvious everyone understood exactly who Logan meant. Not a single person in the room needed clarification. Logan stepped forward again, his own frustration spilling over now that he had finally started, and his voice sharpened with every word.

“You saw her in the stands and spent the entire game staring at her instead of playing hockey.”

Garrett’s fists clenched at his sides. “Shut up.”

“No.” Logan’s expression tightened. “Because I’m tired of watching this.”

Garrett looked ready to swing, and Dean and Tucker moved between them immediately, one hand out toward Logan, the other hand toward Garrett like they were trying to keep the whole room from detonating. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“No, it isn’t,” Logan shot back, and then he looked around the room like he wanted someone, anyone, to disagree with him, but no one did. “We’ve spent over a month watching him destroy himself.”

Nobody said a word because everyone knew it was true.

“We get it,” Logan went on, his voice still edged with anger but quieter now, more frustrated than cruel. “You’re heartbroken. Fine. Be heartbroken. But you’re the captain, G. People depend on you.”

That one landed harder than the shouting.

“And she isn’t coming back just because you punish yourself enough.”

The words settled over the room with brutal finality, and for the first time all night Garrett didn’t look angry. He didn’t look defensive. He didn’t look like he wanted to argue or throw something or storm out. He just looked exhausted, drained down to the bone in a way that had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with missing you for too long.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet enough that the whole room had to lean into it.

“I know.”

***************************************************

You spent the entire week crying in your bed, replaying that morning over and over until every second of it felt carved into you, sharp and impossible to erase. You never really remembered how you got home. One moment you had been standing in Garrett’s bedroom, saying the words that had already started to feel like a mistake the second they left your mouth, and the next you were standing outside your apartment with shaking hands, fumbling for your keys so badly you could barely get the door open. The second you stepped inside, whatever fragile thing had been holding you together finally gave way.

You sank to the floor before the first sob even finished tearing out of your chest.

Hannah and Allie came running when they heard you, and the moment they saw your face, whatever questions they might have had died in their throats. Neither of them asked what happened. Neither of them pushed. They just dropped down beside you, one on either side, and pulled you in like they already knew the truth would be too painful to say out loud. Allie wrapped her arms around your shoulders while Hannah held you against her chest, and that was all it took for the grief to come spilling out in full force.

You cried until your ribs hurt. You cried until your throat burned raw. You cried because you had just walked away from the person you loved most, and for the first time since making that decision, there was nobody there to tell you it had been the right thing to do.

Heartbreak felt different this time. Worse, somehow. You hadn’t felt anything like it in years, not even when your father left, and the closest thing you could compare it to was losing your mum, though even that was not quite the same. When your mum died, there had been finality to it, a cruel and unchangeable certainty that made the pain unbearable but at least simple in one horrible way. She was gone. There had never been a version of the world where you could call her, or run into her on campus, or wake up one morning and find her knocking on your door with coffee and an apology. 

But Garrett was still here. He was still breathing, still existing in the same city, still sleeping in the same bed you had spent countless nights beside him in. You could have driven to the hockey house right then and probably found him sitting exactly where you had left him, and the thought of that made your chest ache so badly you had to squeeze your eyes shut.

The days that followed blurred together into one long stretch of crying, exhaustion, and silence. You barely left your room. You slept at odd hours and ignored half the messages on your phone. You skipped meals until Hannah started practically forcing food into your hands, watching you with the kind of worried patience that made you feel both grateful and ashamed at the same time. Some days you were angry at Garrett for making you love him enough that losing him felt like being torn open. Some days you were angry at Dean and Logan and Tucker for being right, for noticing things you had tried so hard not to admit. Some days you were angry at your father for planting the kind of fear in you that taught you to expect people to leave. But most of the time, if you were honest, you were angry at yourself.

Because under all your reasons and all your justifications, beneath every explanation you had given Garrett that morning, there was one truth that kept clawing its way back to the surface no matter how hard you tried to bury it.

You missed him.

You missed him so badly it felt like a physical ache. You missed his voice, his stupid jokes, the way he reached for your hand without thinking, the way he looked at you like you were something precious and worth keeping safe. And no matter how many times you reminded yourself why you had done it, no matter how many times you told yourself that leaving him was for his own good, the same question kept circling back and back until it was impossible to ignore.

Was it worth it?

You asked yourself that question a hundred different ways during the first week. Every morning when you woke up and reached for your phone before remembering you had no right to expect him to be there. Every night when you lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, wondering whether he was okay, wondering if he was sleeping, wondering if he was still hurting as much as you were. Every time your fingers hovered over his contact before you forced yourself to put the phone down again. Was it worth it?

You tried to tell yourself yes. You tried to tell yourself that one day he would understand, that one day he would find someone easier, someone who didn’t carry grief and abandonment and fear around like extra weight strapped to her ribs. Someone who wouldn’t make him miss important things because she was falling apart. But every time you tried to picture him with someone else, your chest hurt so badly you could hardly breathe, and that was when the first terrible realization started to settle in.

You had left him because you thought it would make things better. But nothing was better.

You were still sad. Still grieving. Still carrying every wound you’d had before. The only difference now was that Garrett wasn’t there anymore, and somehow that hurt even more.

You kept reaching for your phone anyway.

Every morning. Every night. Every time something happened during your day. A funny sign on campus. A professor saying something ridiculous. A new coffee shop opening near the library. For months, Garrett had been the first person you told everything to, and now every instinct ended in silence. More than once you opened your messages and stared at his contact, your thumb hovering over the screen while your chest filled with that awful, helpless feeling that came right before tears. You never texted. Never called. But you stared.

The worst part was knowing that if he called right now, you would answer on the first ring. And that was not fair. You were the one who left. You did not get to break his heart and then expect him to put it back together for you. So you stayed away, cried when nobody was looking, and sometimes when people were.

The second week didn’t get easier.

It started with Allie walking into your room and freezing in the doorway. You were still in bed, the curtains still closed, an untouched plate of food sitting on your desk from earlier, and you hadn’t even realized how bad it looked until you saw her face. She stared at you for a second, then crossed her arms and said, “Get up.”

You pulled the blanket higher. “No.”

“Get up.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She gave you a flat look. “You haven’t gone anywhere in twelve days.”

“I go to class.”

“You go to class and then come home and rot.”

You glared at her. She glared right back. Then Hannah appeared behind her holding a coffee and said, “Oh good, the intervention started without me.”

“There isn’t an intervention,” you muttered.

“There absolutely is,” Hannah said, stepping in like she had been waiting for her cue.

You groaned, but they ignored you completely. Forty minutes later you somehow found yourself sitting in a coffee shop with both of them, while Allie aggressively shoved a muffin toward you and told you that sunlight was not optional. “I’m getting sunlight,” you argued.

“You hissed when I opened your curtains,” Allie said.

“Because it was bright.”

“You looked like a vampire.”

For the first time in days, you laughed, and it caught you so off guard that it almost felt like someone else had done it. The sound slipped out before you could stop it, and for a few seconds all three of you just sat there staring at each other. Then Hannah smiled, soft and careful, and that was what did it. Your eyes stung almost immediately, because you realized it had been the first real laugh since the breakup, and that realization ruined the moment just enough to remind you how much was still broken.

The third week brought a different kind of misery, the kind that came from realizing the breakup had not fixed anything at all. You still missed your dad. Still struggled with your mother’s death. Still carried the same insecurities you had before. Still woke up anxious. Still felt sad. The only difference was that now Garrett wasn’t there to reach for your hand when your thoughts got too loud. 

That realization followed you everywhere, especially at night, because despite your best efforts, despite refusing to ask questions and trying not to check his page, you still found ways. It started with Allie sitting beside you on the couch one night, scrolling through Instagram while you pretended not to care until you caught sight of Garrett’s profile picture. That was all it took. Just one glance, one stupid flicker of his name on a screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Can I see?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Allie looked up immediately. “No.”

“Allie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

She sighed like she had expected this all along. “You know this is unhealthy.”

“I know.”

“You broke up with him.”

“I know.”

“You cried for three hours after the last story.”

“I know.”

Another sigh, then she handed over the phone.

You hated how quickly you took it.

The video was only fifteen seconds long. Garrett was on the ice, helmet on, laughing at something Dean said off camera, and that was it. Nothing dramatic. Nothing special. Nothing that should have meant anything. But your chest still tightened anyway, because he looked real. Not like a memory. Not like a photograph. Real.

You watched the story three times before handing the phone back.

After that, it became a habit.

A tiny, private one you never admitted out loud. A practice clip. A team photo. A stupid video of Tucker doing something dumb. Brief, impossible glimpses of a life that no longer included you. And every single time, without fail, your heart broke all over again.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, you were trying reluctantly to force yourself back into something that resembled a routine. It felt wrong in a way you could not quite explain, like putting on clothes that no longer fit properly and pretending not to notice the seams pulling at the edges. Every part of you still wanted to stay in bed and disappear under the weight of the blankets, to let the days blur together until they stopped asking anything of you, but after weeks of doing exactly that, you were beginning to understand that grief only got louder the more room you gave it.

So you got up.

You went to class. You answered a few texts. You even made yourself go to the library, telling yourself it was because exams were coming and your architecture exam was only a week away, that this had nothing to do with the fact that you were desperate for something, anything, to pull your thoughts away from Garrett for more than five minutes. It was a convincing excuse, maybe even to yourself, and for a while you managed to believe it.

The library was packed when you got there, every table crowded with stressed students surrounded by open books, cold coffee, and enough highlighters to make the whole place look fluorescent. After wandering the rows for several minutes, you finally found an empty table tucked into a quieter corner and sat down before your brain could talk you out of it. You spread out your notes, opened your sketchbook, and bent over the page like burying yourself in work might somehow keep the rest of your life from catching up to you.

For almost an hour, it worked.

Then someone said your name.

You looked up from your sketchbook and froze when you saw Tucker standing there with a small, uncertain smile, like he was trying very hard not to make this weird when both of you already knew it was weird.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice light. “Haven’t seen you in forever.”

You gave him a careful smile of your own, though it felt thin around the edges. You hadn’t seen any of the boys since the breakup, and even though you had told Allie she didn’t have to change her whole life for you or stop bringing Dean around, she had refused to hear any of it. She kept saying being around them would be too hard for you after what you had heard, you had told her and Hannah, and while she had been furious on your behalf at first, you had managed to calm her down by insisting there were no hard feelings, because the boys had only been worried about Garrett. You would have done the same for any of them.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “How are you?”

Tucker nodded, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Good. Hockey season’s stressful, but you know, it is what it is.”

The conversation stalled after that, just long enough for the silence to start stretching awkwardly between you. You glanced down at your sketchbook, then back up at him, because there was one question sitting in your throat now, heavy and impossible to ignore, and it felt as though Tucker already knew exactly what you wanted to ask.

Your mind fought with itself for a second. You almost let him go. You almost swallowed the question and pretended you did not care.

“I’m gonna get go—” he started, already shifting his weight like he meant to leave.

“How is he, Tuck?”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Tucker’s expression softened immediately, and you looked away at once, suddenly wishing you had not said anything, wishing you had kept your mouth shut and your pride intact, but the moment had already passed. There was no taking it back now.

“You don’t have to answer that,” you said quietly, staring down at the edge of your notebook as if that could save you.

Tucker sighed and then dropped into the chair across from you, the movement so casual and so deliberate that it made you look up again despite yourself.

“He’s practicing a lot.”

That wasn’t really an answer, and you both knew it.

“He’s sleeping?” you asked, because somehow that felt like the next thing to check, the next sign of whether or not he was okay.

There was a pause.

Which was answer enough.

Your throat tightened. “He’s eating?”

Tucker dragged a hand over the back of his neck and gave you a look that confirmed everything before he even opened his mouth. “Dean’s basically been forcing food into him.”

You stared down at your sketchbook, the lines blurring together until they stopped meaning anything.

“Tuck…” you said after a moment, your voice smaller now, quieter, and much more fragile than you wanted it to be. “Is he angry at me?”

That seemed to catch him off guard.

His eyebrows pulled together at once. “No.”

The answer came instantly, without hesitation, without even a second of thought.

You looked up. “He should be.”

Tucker shook his head. “Maybe.”

The word landed carefully, like he was trying not to upset you more than you already were.

“He’s angry,” he said after a beat.

Your heart dropped.

“But not at you.”

That somehow hurt worse because anger at you would have been easier to understand. Something you could put a name to. Instead, Tucker just looked tired in that deeply familiar way people do when they care too much about someone else’s pain and don’t know how to fix it.

“The guy’s been through it,” he said quietly.

You nodded, because you knew that. God, you knew that. You had been thinking about it nonstop for weeks, trying not to picture him hurting, trying not to imagine what he looked like when nobody was around to distract him from your absence.

The silence stretched between you again, heavier this time.

Eventually Tucker stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets like he was starting to feel the weight of the conversation too.

“I should get going.”

You nodded, though neither of you moved right away.

Then he reached out and squeezed your shoulder, gentle and brief, the kind of touch that said more than any speech could have.

“You’ll be okay too, you know.”

That nearly made you cry, because it sounded less like comfort and more like something he was hoping was true for both of you.

Tucker gave you one last look, then walked away, disappearing between the shelves.

You watched him go.

Then you sat there for another ten minutes staring at nothing at all, your hands resting uselessly on your sketchbook as you asked yourself again for the hundredth time if it was worth it

***************************************************

The conversation with Tucker stayed with you far longer than you wanted it to, because it was the first real piece of Garrett you had been given in weeks, and it still was not enough, also because knowing he was not okay did not bring you the relief you thought it would. That was what made the guilt so unbearable, because you had left for his sake, because you had convinced yourself that walking away would make things easier for him, and yet the thought of him hurting now sat in your chest like something heavy and sharp, refusing to let you breathe around it. 

You tried to push it aside while you ate dinner,  while you stared at the ceiling before bed, then again the next morning and the next after that, but it followed you everywhere, settling into the corners of your day until it became impossible to ignore.

By Friday, Hannah had finally had enough of watching you disappear inside your own head.

“You need to leave this apartment.”

You looked up from where you were curled into the corner of the couch, knees tucked close to your chest, and shook your head immediately. “No.”

“That wasn’t really a suggestion.”

“It wasn’t a good one either.”

Hannah rolled her eyes, and across from her Allie looked equally unimpressed, the two of them having spent the last month hovering over you like worried guards around something fragile, as though they were waiting for you to crack open if they looked away for too long. At first it had felt sweet, even comforting, but now it was becoming harder and harder to not feel cornered.

“I’m serious,” Hannah said.

“So am I.”

“You haven’t done anything except go to class and the library for weeks.”

“I went grocery shopping.”

“Once.”

You pointed at her like that settled the argument. “Still counts.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“Allie, back me up here.”

Allie snorted into her drink and made no attempt to hide her amusement, which only made you narrow your eyes at her harder.

“We’re worried about you,” Hannah said, and the fight went out of you almost immediately, because you knew they were. You knew every annoying comment, every insistence, every attempt to drag you back into the world came from a place of concern, and somehow that made it more difficult to argue, not less.

You let out a long breath and sank deeper into the couch. “I’m fine.”

Both of them stared at you in the exact same way, and you stared back for a beat before muttering, “Okay, fine. I’m functioning.”

“That is not the same thing,” Allie said flatly.

“I know that.”

Silence settled for a second, and then Hannah leaned forward like she had been waiting for the right moment to unleash whatever terrible idea she had been holding onto.

“I have an idea.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “No.”

“I haven’t even said it yet.”

“I know your ideas.”

“Rude.”

Allie laughed, and Hannah ignored her completely.

“One of my classmates has an extra ticket for something tonight.”

“No. Absolutely not”

“You still do not know what it is.”

“I don’t care.”

Hannah sighed like she had been personally burdened by your stubbornness. “It is not a date.”

That made you go still because unfortunately, that had been your first assumption.

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“You just said classmate.”

“Because he is my classmate.”

You frowned, suspicious all over again, but she kept going before you could stop her.

“He was supposed to go with a friend. The friend bailed. Now he has an extra ticket and I already told him you were not interested in dating, so do not start panicking.”

You dropped your head back against the couch with a groan. “This is a nightmare.”

“It is one hockey game.”

At that word, your whole body stilled.

You sat up slowly. “Hockey game?”

A quick, guilty glance passed between Hannah and Allie, and your stomach dropped before either of them even said anything. You already knew. 

“It’s Briar.”

Your heart started pounding so hard it felt like it had moved into your throat.

“No.”

“Come on,” Hannah said. “You do not even have to stay the whole time.”

“No.”

“You do not even have to see him.”

That made you laugh again, but there was no humor in it, only that awful, brittle feeling that had lived inside you for weeks now. That was the problem, though, because you might see him. After spending so long carefully avoiding every possible chance of running into Garrett Graham, you were not sure your heart could handle seeing him in real life and not in a memory, not on a screen, not in someone else’s story.

Real.

The thought alone made your chest ache.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Allie said, and this time her voice softened just enough to make your defenses wobble. “You do not have to do anything except sit there and watch the game.”

You looked away because the truth was uglier than any of their encouragement could fix. A month ago, you would have done anything to see Garrett again. Now the thought of it made your stomach twist, because seeing him meant facing the fact that life had continued without you, and you were not sure which version of that truth would hurt more, seeing him miserable or seeing him happy.

You were tired. Exhausted, really, from grieving, from avoiding, from pretending the breakup had not carved a hole straight through the center of you.

So when Hannah and Allie kept looking at you with those hopeful, impossible faces, you finally let out a slow breath and said, “Fine.”

Hannah sat up so fast it was almost ridiculous. “Yes.”

You groaned. “Do not make me regret this.”

“No promises,” Allie said, and Hannah laughed like that settled everything.

But it did not settle anything.

Because somewhere deep inside your chest, underneath the fear and heartbreak and panic, something twisted painfully, and for the first time in thirty-six days there was a very real chance you were going to see Garrett again.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, you were regretting every decision that had led you here, especially the one where you had actually agreed to come. You had picked up your phone at least five times with every intention of cancelling, and each time you’d stopped yourself because you could already picture the look on Hannah’s and Allie’s faces, both of them worried enough as it was after spending the last month trying to drag you out of the hole you had disappeared into. 

You stood in front of your mirror one last time, staring at the completely ordinary outfit you’d put together out of habit more than effort, jeans and a Briar hoodie that felt almost insulting in how normal it looked, and then your eyes drifted toward the back of your bedroom door where Garrett’s jersey still hung untouched.

Your chest tightened instantly.

This was the first hockey game in almost a year where you wouldn’t be wearing his number. The first time you wouldn’t walk into the arena with GRAHAM stretched across your back like it belonged there. It felt wrong in a way you couldn’t quite explain, like you had forgotten something important, like a piece of yourself had stayed behind even before you did.

Your phone buzzed.

Ethan.

Hannah had connected the two of you earlier in the week, and despite the fact that you had already exchanged several texts with him, you still somehow managed to blank on his name every few hours, which was embarrassing enough to make you want to disappear into the floor. The message simply said outside, and you let out a long breath before grabbing your keys and forcing yourself to leave the apartment before you could change your mind again.

A few minutes later, you stepped outside and spotted Ethan’s car waiting near the curb. Relief washed over you immediately when you noticed Allie climbing into the backseat, because you had practically begged her to come with you and also because she was going to watch Dean play. 

The ride to the stadium passed in a blur of half-conversations and shallow breaths, but by the time the three of you made your way inside and climbed the stairs toward your seats, your stomach had already started to twist. Then you stopped dead.

It was the exact seat.

The one you had sat in at every home game. The one Garrett always knew how to find without even looking. The one where you had watched him score and celebrate and grin up at you from the ice like he could make the whole arena disappear just by glancing your way. The seat where he had pointed at you after wins. The seat where you had fallen in love with him in a hundred tiny moments that had once felt too small to matter and now felt impossible to forget.

For a second, you genuinely forgot how to breathe.

You just stared at it, unable to decide whether you wanted to laugh, cry, or turn around and walk straight back out of the arena.

The first period began exactly how you expected it to: loud, overwhelming, and so painfully disconnected from your own life that it almost felt like watching someone else’s world through glass. At first, you tried to focus on anything else, the game, the crowd, the sharp sound of skates cutting across the ice, the way the arena seemed to pulse every time Briar surged forward. Ethan turned out to be easier to talk to than you’d expected. He was quiet in a way that felt natural rather than awkward, and his humor slipped in so casually that you found yourself laughing before you had time to overthink it. He made a comment about the guy two rows down who looked personally offended by every missed pass, and to your own surprise, the sound that left you was real.

Allie noticed immediately and bumped your shoulder with a look that didn’t push, didn’t ask, just quietly acknowledged the fact that, for one brief second, you weren’t completely unraveling.

Then Briar scored.

The arena erupted, and you clapped because everyone else did, because it was easier than thinking about anything else, because your body still knew how to react even if your heart didn’t seem to belong to you anymore. Ethan half-stood in excitement before catching himself and sitting back down, laughing at himself when he realized he was the only one reacting that enthusiastically.

“You know,” he said, leaning closer so you could hear him over the noise, “I think I might be the only person here who doesn’t take this game personally.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your mouth despite yourself. “You’re not wrong.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I was worried.”

“About what?”

“That I’d accidentally sat next to a secret hockey analyst.”

That earned a real laugh from you, and for a moment it almost felt normal. Almost.

But even while you were talking, your eyes kept drifting back down toward the ice, and that was when you noticed it.

Something was off.

Not in a dramatic, obvious way. Just a subtle wrongness, something you only caught because you knew Garrett too well to miss it. He wasn’t sloppy. He wasn’t making huge mistakes. But there was a hesitation in him, a fraction too long before every pass, a beat too slow every time he turned, as if his body was out there while his mind had wandered somewhere else entirely.

Dean barked something from the bench. Logan looked frustrated. Coach stood rigidly behind the glass.

Garrett still didn’t settle.

You frowned before you even realized it. “What’s going on?”

Ethan glanced toward the ice. “Looks like they’re off their rhythm or something.”

But that wasn’t it.

You knew him too well.

Even from the stands, even after all this time, you could tell when something was wrong with him. Garrett took a shot and missed wide. Then another. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, confused and uneasy, and the sound of it made the back of your neck go cold.

Then the hit came out of nowhere.

One second he was moving across the ice, and the next a defenseman slammed into him hard enough to send him crashing down, the impact echoing through the arena as the crowd gasped in one sharp breath. You were on your feet before you even realized it, your heart lurching painfully as Garrett hit the ice and stayed there for a split second that felt like an eternity.

And then he looked up right at you. The entire world seemed to stop.

You couldn't tell what was in his expression from this far away.

Then his gaze shifted to Ethan sitting beside you.

Something in his face changed so quickly you almost missed it, and then he looked away. Just like that the moment was over.

The referee’s whistle shrieked. The crowd stayed suspended in shocked noise. 

Briar had lost the game.

Garrett pushed himself up and started toward the bench, and you watched him go with a kind of heartbreak so immediate and so sharp it felt almost physical. He disappeared into the tunnel a moment later, and you sat back down slowly, your hands trembling in your lap, because seeing him walk away shouldn’t have hurt that much, not when you were the one who had left, but it did.

Around you, the arena began emptying in waves. The disappointed noise of the crowd filled the space left behind by the game, strangers grumbling about missed passes and a team that had looked completely out of sync from the first period on. “

What the hell was wrong with Graham tonight?” someone muttered on your left. 

“Worst game I’ve seen him play all season,” said another. 

“He looked completely out of it.” You heard all of it. Felt all of it because you knew, or at least part of you thought you did.

Allie eventually peeled away to find Dean, which left you walking toward the parking lot with Ethan under a night that suddenly felt colder than when you’d arrived. Neither of you spoke for a few minutes. Then Ethan glanced over and asked, gently, “Are you okay?”

The question landed harder than it should have.

Were you okay?

The honest answer was no. You had not been okay for weeks. You had not been okay since the moment you walked away from Garrett. And standing there now, in a parking lot full of people leaving behind a game you could barely remember watching, you realized something with sudden, sick clarity.

You needed to see him.

Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now.

“Ethan,” you said, stopping so abruptly he had to stop too. “Thank you for tonight. I’ll take it from here.”

His brows pulled together. “What do you mean, you’ll take it from here?”

You swallowed, your throat tight. “It was really nice meeting you.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. If you did, you knew you would lose your nerve. Instead you turned and ran back toward the arena, the cold air cutting at your lungs as your heart hammered against your ribs. Garrett’s face kept flashing through your mind, the way he had looked at you, the way his eyes had shifted to Ethan beside you, the way he had looked away as if whatever he’d seen had been enough to break the moment clean in half.

You had to tell him.

You had to make him understand that Ethan was nothing. That there was no one else. That there had never been anyone else. That leaving Garrett had not stopped you from loving him, it had only made you realize how badly you had ruined the one thing you had never meant to lose.

By the time you reached the hallway outside the Briar locker room, your lungs were burning and your pulse was thudding so hard it drowned out almost everything else. The corridor was mostly empty now, a few staff members moving through with tired, distracted expressions. You ignored the curious looks and sat down on a bench outside the locker room, trying to drag air back into your chest, trying to decide how on earth you were supposed to explain something like this.

How did you apologize for breaking the heart of the person you loved most?

How did you admit that leaving him had not been about falling out of love, but about loving him so much it scared you sick?

You were so deep in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice anyone stop in front of you until a shadow fell across your shoes. When you looked up, Logan was standing there.

Hope hit you instantly and you shot to your feet so fast your knees nearly clipped the bench. “Hey.”

Your eyes moved past him at once, toward the locker room door.

“Is he still in there?”

The question barely left your mouth before Logan’s expression changed. 

“Logan?”

He looked exhausted, like the game had worn him down too. When he finally spoke, his voice was controlled in a way that made the words hit harder.

“Don’t you think this is a little unfair?”

You frowned. “What?”

He gave a short, humorless breath and shook his head once before looking at you properly, and since you’d known him, Logan did not look happy to see you.

“You can’t keep doing this to him.”

The words landed like a slap.

Your mouth parted. “What are you talking about?”

“You break up with him,” he said, still calm, which somehow made it worse. “You rip his heart out, and then you show up.”

“Logan—”

“No.” He cut you off immediately, and the sharpness of it made you flinch. “You didn’t see him after you left. You didn’t see what that did to him.”

His jaw tightened.

“He stopped sleeping.”

Your throat closed.

“He stopped eating properly. He’d sit in his room staring at his phone like an idiot, hoping you’d call.”

Each sentence hit harder than the last, sinking deeper with every word.

“And tonight?” Logan’s voice was still steady, but now it carried something raw underneath it. “Tonight was the first time I’ve ever watched Garrett completely fall apart on the ice.” 

“He loves you.” The words came out sharp and immediate, like they had been waiting there the entire time. “As much as he did before.”

Your heart cracked again.

“But you don’t get to keep breaking him and then show up whenever you miss him.”

The silence that followed felt enormous. You could hear the muffled sounds of people leaving the arena, the faint scrape of shoes, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Everything felt too bright, too empty, too exposed.

“He’s always going to love you,” Logan said quietly.

Then, with a look that felt like it had been dragged out of somewhere painfully honest, he added, “That’s the problem.”

The words hung in the hallway long after he stopped speaking.

You stared at him, unable to look away, and for a long moment all you could think about was how carefully you had told yourself the story of why you left. You had left because you loved Garrett. You had left because he deserved better. You had left because you were afraid of being the reason he missed opportunities or gave too much of himself away until there was nothing left.

That had been the story.

But standing here now, hearing Logan defend Garrett with the kind of loyalty that came from loving him deeply, something inside you shifted.

What if it had never been only about Garrett?

What if part of it had been about you too?

Your fear. Your insecurities. Your certainty that people always left before you could be left first. Your desperate need to be the one who walked away before you got abandoned.

The realization twisted in your stomach.

Garrett had never wanted to leave.

Not once.

He had spent a year choosing you, every single day, and instead of trusting him, you had looked at the life he wanted and decided you knew better. You had decided what was best for him. You had decided what he deserved. You had decided what he would one day regret. You had made the choice for him.

And now, even here, you were trying to do it again.

Your gaze drifted toward the locker room door.

You could still go in. You could still tell him Ethan wasn’t your boyfriend. You could still tell him you loved him. That you missed him. That breaking up with him had not fixed a single thing. But for once, you stopped thinking only about what you needed.

You thought about Garrett.

Tonight he played the worst game of the season. He had seen you sitting beside another guy. He had spent the last month surviving the heartbreak you caused. And now you were sitting outside his locker room because you wanted relief from your own guilt.

The thought made your chest ache because showing up right now wasn’t some grand romantic gesture. It was selfish. It was only another way of asking Garrett to carry something for you.

Your eyes burned..

“You should go home,” Logan said, and this time his voice was gentle.

You looked at the locker room door one last time. Your heart screamed at you to stay, to fight, to do something, anything. But you stayed where you were only long enough to understand the truth you had been trying not to see.

Maybe loving someone wasn’t always about chasing them. Sometimes it meant giving them the space to hurt and accepting that you could not fix everything the second it became unbearable.

A tear slipped down your cheek, then another. You wiped them away quickly, but your gaze never left the door.

Somewhere on the other side of it was Garrett probably changing out of his gear, Sitting in front of his locker or hurting.

The thought nearly undid you..

You wanted one more conversation. One more chance. One more minute.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

There was always one more minute. One more excuse. One more reason to wait. And somehow Garrett always ended up paying the price for your hesitation.

You took a shaky breath and stepped backward.

Then another.

Each step felt wrong, like you were walking away from him all over again.

Logan didn’t stop you. He didn’t reach for you. He just watched, and that was somehow kinder than anything else he could have done.

Your throat tightened. “Tell him…”

The words broke apart before you could finish.

Tell him what?

That you had come looking for him?

That you had sat outside the locker room debating whether to walk back into his life?

That you still loved him?

None of it felt fair tonight.

So you swallowed hard, shook your head, and let the thought die there.

“Never mind.”

Logan gave a small nod. Nothing more.

You were grateful for that, because if he had offered you even a sliver of kindness, you weren’t sure you would have been able to leave.

You turned and kept walking, past the locker rooms, past staff and fluorescent lights and the hollow noise of the arena settling after a loss, until the cold night finally hit your face and made everything feel real again.

Only then did you stop.

The parking lot was almost empty. Behind you, the arena glowed against the dark like a warning, and somewhere inside that building was Garrett Graham, the boy who loved you, the boy you loved, the boy you had been trying so hard to protect that you never stopped to ask what he actually wanted.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and stared at the building for a long moment. 

Garrett Graham x f!reader

Summary: You were in a loving relationship with Garrett Graham, and for the first time in your life, you had someone who loved you unconditionally. The problem was that no matter how much he loved you, it couldn't save you from yourself. You still seemed pretty sad for a girl in love.

Word count: 12k+

Author's Note: This fic is inspired by The Cure by Olivia Rodrigo. I wanted to explore what happens when someone has love but still struggles to feel okay because of the battles happening inside their own head. Hope you guys enjoy!!

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, self-worth issues, jealousy, family issues, and themes of depression.

****************************************************

You had been dating Garrett Graham for almost a year now.

Sometimes, that still felt weird to you.

You met sophomore year in a philosophy class after being forced into the same discussion group. At first, it was nothing more than late-night library sessions and sarcastic arguments over assignments. Then came coffee runs between classes, sitting in freezing hockey arenas just to watch him play, and the way he always walked you home afterward even when his apartment was in the opposite direction.

Somewhere along the way, the line between friendship and something else disappeared completely and now he was yours.

Sweet, patient, impossibly loving Garrett Graham. He was the kind of boyfriend people wrote songs about.

He remembered the smallest things about you. He kissed your forehead when he thought you were overthinking. He pulled you into his lap whenever you got quiet for too long, like he could physically hold you together with enough effort. Loving him came easy. Too easy.

But being loved by him?

That was harder.

Because no matter how gentle Garrett was with you, no matter how much he cared, there were still days where sadness clung to you so tightly you thought it might swallow you whole. Days where you looked at him and felt guilty for not feeling as happy as you were supposed to.

Tonight, the boys were throwing a party after beating Eastwood.

The house was loud in the way hockey houses always were. Music shook the walls while people shouted over each other from every corner of the room. Dean was currently making out with Allie against the kitchen island without a single ounce of shame while Hannah sat comfortably in Justin’s lap laughing at something he whispered into her ear. Across the room, Logan and Tucker were on what had to be their third game of beer pong, yelling like the championship depended on it.

You stood near the counter with a drink in your hand, watching everything happen around you without really feeling part of it.

Your mind had drifted somewhere far away again.

A cold can suddenly pressed against the side of your bare arm and you jumped slightly before turning to glare at your boyfriend.

Garrett grinned instantly, completely unapologetic.

“Did you really have to do that?”

You shoved at his shoulder lightly and he only laughed, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you against him.

“Of course I did,” he said. “How else am I supposed to get your attention?”

His tone was teasing, but there was something softer underneath it. Something that made your chest ache a little.

Garrett noticed everything.

He noticed when your smile started looking forced. When you got too quiet in crowded rooms. When your eyes lost focus because your thoughts had carried you somewhere he couldn’t follow.

And somehow, he always managed to bring you back.

The second your eyes met his, the noise around you faded into nothing.

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Garrett sighed into it immediately, one of his hands tightening slightly against your waist like he needed you closer. When you pulled away, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your hip. He’s about to say something when Logan suddenly yells his name from across the room.

“Graham! Come on, man!”

Garrett groans dramatically and you can already tell what it’s about. After every game, the four boys lined up shots on the kitchen counter and took them at the exact same time. They claimed it was good luck. At first you thought it was ridiculous, but considering how well their season was going, maybe they were onto something.

“You gonna survive two minutes without me?” Garrett asks, smiling softly.

You roll your eyes. “Go do your weird hockey cult tradition.”

He laughs quietly before leaning down to kiss you again. Slower this time. His hand cups the side of your face gently like he can’t help himself.

“You okay?” he asks against your lips and there it is again. That look that felt like he was searching your face for cracks. You give him a smile anyway. “Mhm. Go.” 

He hesitates for half a second longer before finally pulling away. The second he disappears into the crowd, your smile slowly fades.

The noise around you becomes unbearable again almost immediately. Music. Laughter. People talking over each other. Everyone seemed to belong somewhere in the room.

And then there was you.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of it all pretending you fit here. You loved them. You really did.

The boys had welcomed you so easily into their lives because Garrett loved you, and Hannah and Allie had done everything they could to make you feel included from the very beginning. They never made you feel unwanted.

But somehow you still kept everyone at arm’s length.

It was like there was a wall inside you that refused to fully come down no matter how badly you wanted connection. You could laugh with them, spend hours around them, care about them deeply but never completely let them in.

Garrett had been the exception and that still scared you a little.

Not because he’d ever hurt you. God, no. Garrett Graham was probably the gentlest person you’d ever known.

But because he mattered.

And somehow, despite every wall you’d tried to keep standing, he’d slipped past all of them anyway.

Not by forcing his way in. Not by demanding pieces of you before you were ready to give them. He’d just stayed. Patient and steady and impossibly warm. He noticed things without making you feel exposed for them. The forced smiles. The quiet spells. The way your eyes drifted somewhere far away when your thoughts got too loud.

And every single time, he found a way to bring you back.

It became one of the best things that had ever happened to you.

Which was exactly why it terrified you sometimes.

Because even with Garrett loving you the way he did, there were still days where your sadness sat so heavy inside your chest it felt unbearable. Days where you felt raw and exhausted and impossible to fix. Like a wound that had healed wrong.

Those were the days you tried hardest to hide from him.

He already carried enough. Hockey. Classes. Expectations. The pressure of always being needed by everyone around him.

He didn’t need to carry you too.

Your chest tightened suddenly, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. Before you could overthink it further, you slipped quietly out of the party and headed upstairs toward Garrett’s room.

The music dulled into a distant thump the second the door shut behind you.

You locked it immediately, not trusting one of the drunk hockey guys not to stumble into the wrong room later, then crossed toward Garrett’s dresser. His scent lingered everywhere in here — cedarwood, clean laundry, something warm and comforting that always made your chest ache in the softest way.

You peeled off your clothes until you were standing in just your tank top and shorts before grabbing one of Garrett’s old Briar hockey shirts from the pile near the bed.

The fabric swallowed you whole, hanging past your thighs. You crawled beneath the blankets slowly, curling into his side of the bed while muffled laughter and music echoed faintly through the floorboards below.

For a while, you just stared at the ceiling.

The sound of the lock clicking made you sit up immediately.

Garrett stumbled inside a second later, trying very hard to look sober despite the obvious sway in his step. The second he spotted you, his entire face lit up.

A dimple appeared in his cheek.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you.

“So much for not letting Logan get you drunk.”

Garrett scoffed dramatically as he kicked the door shut behind him. “The guy is relentless,” he slurred, words running together slightly.

You walked toward him before he could trip over his own feet, grabbing his hands and guiding him toward the bed. The second he sat down, he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against your stomach with a soft sigh.

“You smell good,” he mumbled into the fabric of his own shirt hanging off your body.

You smiled despite yourself, fingers sliding gently through his messy hair. “That’s probably because it’s literally your shirt.”

“Hm. Still counts.”

A quiet laugh left you as he pulled you closer between his knees, eyes already half shut from exhaustion and alcohol.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked softly after a moment, voice quieter now. “I was looking for you.”

Your fingers stilled briefly in his hair.

“I just wanted you to have fun with your friends,” you said gently. “Besides, I have biology at eight in the morning and my professor is evil about attendance.”

Garrett hummed against you, clearly listening even as sleep threatened to drag him under. His grip around your waist tightened slightly, like he needed the reassurance that you were still there.

“Still wanted you downstairs,” he mumbled.

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“Yeah?”

“Always.”

The word came out so simple. So honest.

You swallowed hard and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Alright, c’mon. You need to sleep, mister.”

He groaned dramatically as you tugged his shoes off, letting himself fall backward onto the mattress the second you finished. He landed crookedly across the bed, one arm immediately reaching for you even with his eyes closed.

You laughed quietly and pulled the blankets over him.

Garrett looked impossibly soft like this. Sleepy and warm and trusting.

His eyes stayed shut as he whispered, almost like it was instinct, “I love you so much.”

For one fragile second, all the noise in your head went quiet. You leaned down, brushing your fingers gently across his cheek.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

A sleepy smile spread across his face almost immediately and within seconds, Garrett was completely asleep, still reaching for you even in his dreams.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Biology was torture.

Not because the material was hard, but because your professor spoke in the same exact monotone voice for an hour and twenty minutes straight while the room stayed unbearably 

By the end of class, you had doodled all over the margins of your notebook and retained exactly three pieces of information, none of which you were confident were actually correct.

The second class ended, you shoved your notebook into your bag and practically bolted for the door heading back to your apartment with Hannah and Allie.

When they had asked you to move in with them for junior year, you'd agreed almost immediately. Part of it was because you genuinely liked them, and part of it was because you'd spent most of your life feeling lonely. The idea of having roommates who actually wanted you around had felt nice.

The second you walked in, the smell of Allie’s famous chicken curry hit you, and when you looked up, you saw both of them in the living room.

“She’s back!” Allie yelled from her seat, making you jump.

“Geez, Als, tone it down,” Hannah said from beside her, covering her ears.

You flopped down in the middle of them and sighed. “I hate bio.”

Then you turned to Hannah. “How exactly did you get an A in that class? The professor is terrible.”

Hannah tapped her temple. “I got the brains, babes.”

You snorted. "Sure."

As an architecture major, you still didn't understand why biology was required as a gen ed. You had yet to find a single connection between cellular respiration and designing buildings.

“Okay, enough of the science talk. It’s giving me a headache,” Allie said, throwing her hands up dramatically.

You rolled your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, already offended. “I would have you know theatre is genuinely harder than anything.”

You and Hannah both raised an eyebrow, and Allie gasped again.

“You know what? I was going to give you chicken curry, but now I’m withholding it.”

You gasped immediately, begging her to change her mind.

After hanging out with them for a while, you texted Garrett. He was at hockey practice.

You: how's the amateur hangover?

Garrett was a lightweight, and teasing him about it was one of your favorite things. He could genuinely get drunk off three shots, and you found that absolutely hilarious.

Garrett: haha

Garrett: Coach is killing us with drills

Garrett: i miss you :(

The stupid smile appeared before you could stop it.

Another message followed.

Garrett: the guys and i are going to malone's later

Garrett: can u come?

Garrett: i think dean would've told allie but if not everyone's invited

Your smile softened.

You: i miss you too

You: and i'll definitely think about it

Three dots appeared.

Garrett: of course

Garrett: gotta go before coach catches me

Garrett: bye. Love you

The words made your chest warm.

You: love you too

The typing bubble disappeared.

You sat there staring at the screen for a second longer than necessary before setting your phone down. After texting Hannah and Allie about Malone's and confirming they wanted to go, you spent the next hour working through assignments.

You were halfway through a discussion post when your phone rang.

You picked it up, automatically assuming it was Garrett.

But you froze the second you heard your father’s voice.

“Dad?” Your voice shook.

“Hey, lovey,” he said softly. The nickname making something uncomfortable twist inside your chest.

In the background, you could hear kids talking and laughing. “Just calling because Rachel wanted to know if you were down to have dinner this weekend?”

You hesitated.

Rachel was your dad’s new wife. He had divorced your mom when you were ten and started dating Rachel soon after. They got married two months later, and he had two kids now, ages eleven and nine.

Your dad had left you screaming and crying for him, and he never looked back. He only called you now maybe twice a year, and even then, it was usually because his wife pushed him to.

“Lovey?” he called again.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, that works.”

“I’ll let her know.”

He hung up before you could say anything else, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

No how are you.

No how's school.

No I miss you.

Nothing.

Then your phone buzzed with a message in the group chat with you, Hannah, and Allie asking if everyone was ready. You typed back that you weren’t feeling up to it anymore, and after a lot of persuasion that didn’t work, they finally gave in. You texted Garrett that you had a lot of assignments to do and would see him tomorrow, and you didn’t wait for a reply before silencing your phone and flipping it over so you wouldn’t have to look at the screen.

You knew exactly what you were feeling.

Every time your dad ended a call, it was like being ten years old all over again, and that feeling of abandonment hit you like a wave. The silence in the room felt too loud, and you knew you could talk to Garrett, but it all felt too raw and ugly to even bring up with him.

So you grabbed your laptop and opened Instagram.

You went to your dad’s page and unblocked him.

Your past therapist had told you that if blocking him was the only way to set a boundary, then that was fine but you never told her that every few months, curiosity won anyway.

You clicked on his profile.

The first picture was of him and Rachel. They were standing on a beach somewhere, smiling at each other like they were the only two people in the world. The caption underneath read, Didn't start living until I found you.

Your jaw tightened.

You told yourself to keep scrolling.

There were family vacations, birthday parties, Christmas mornings, little snapshots of a life that seemed so full of happiness. Every photo looked effortless. Every smile looked genuine.

Then you found a picture of him standing between your half-brother and half-sister.

His arms were wrapped around both of them, pulling them close against his sides. They were grinning at the camera while he looked down at them with a smile you recognized immediately.

The caption was simple.

My pride and joys.

You stared at the screen.

Maybe he didn't mean anything by it. Maybe he wasn't thinking. Maybe it was just a harmless caption that had taken him three seconds to write.

But your brain didn't care about any of that.

All it could focus on was what wasn't there.

Not you.

Never you.

A sharp ache spread through your chest so suddenly that it almost stole the air from your lungs. Before you realized it, tears were slipping down your cheeks.

You slammed the laptop shut and immediately blocked him again.

The room went silent.

And just like that, you weren't twenty-one anymore.

You were ten.

Ten years old, standing on the front porch after he'd driven away.

Ten years old, staring out the window every time a car pulled into the driveway because maybe this time it would be him.

Ten years old, waiting for phone calls that never came and birthdays he forgot and promises he never kept.

The worst part wasn't even that he'd left.

The worst part was that somewhere deep inside you, there was still a little girl trying to figure out why.

Why had it been so easy to leave you?

Why did everyone else seem worth staying for?

What was so wrong with you that your father could love another family so effortlessly while loving you always seemed to feel like an obligation?

The thought hit so hard that your breathing started to shake.

You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes and tried to force yourself to calm down, but every breath felt too fast, too shallow. The tears wouldn't stop, and no matter how many times you reminded yourself that you were older now, that you had people who loved you, that none of this was your fault, the hurt still felt exactly the same.

A knock at your door pulled you out of it.

You froze for a second before forcing yourself up. When you looked through the peephole, Garrett was standing there, eyes lowered to the floor, a small frown pulling at his face. The sight of him like that made your stomach drop. Panic hit instantly, and without thinking, you turned and rushed back into the bathroom.

You splashed water on your face, trying to get rid of the redness around your eyes, blowing your nose quickly and wiping at your cheeks until you felt slightly more put together. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want to see that look on his face either—the one that made it feel like you were something fragile he might not know how to hold without breaking.

By the time you walked back out, your breathing was steadier, your eyes less puffy. You opened the door again.

This time, Garrett was still there, standing a little straighter. In his hands he had a Malone’s bag. His eyes moved over your face immediately, narrowing slightly like he could already tell something was off.

Before you could say anything, he stepped inside and set the bag down without a word. Then he cupped your face gently, tilting your head up so you’d look at him. His arm slipped around you, pulling you into his chest, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

He didn’t speak at first. He just held you.

And that was almost worse, because it made the lump in your throat come back immediately.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, clinging to him before the tears could start again. The thoughts in your head didn’t stop, though. That quiet voice telling you you didn’t deserve this. That he came here because he felt bad. That you were too much. That he was going to get tired of it eventually. That you were already starting to wear him down.

You clung to him harder, like if you let go even a little bit, you’d fall apart completely.

“What—what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly, like you were trying to distract him, or maybe yourself.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, then pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I brought you some food,” he said quietly.

You frowned at him, because you knew him well enough to know he wasn’t saying the full truth. He wasn’t going to admit he was worried. He never did, not in a way that would make you feel worse.

“Besides,” he added, a small hint of teasing in his voice, “do I need an excuse to see my girlfriend?”

A soft laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“I guess not,” you murmured.

He pulled you back in again, kissing you softly this time, and you melted into it without thinking. When you broke apart, he guided you toward your room like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He set the food down and ate with you, the two of you falling into an easy quiet after a while. Eventually, he sat back against your headboard, and you rested your head in his lap. His fingers moved through your hair slowly, steady and grounding.

After a few minutes, he spoke.

“Are you going to tell me what’s really wrong now?”

You looked up at him. For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers picking at each other in your lap. You weren’t sure you were ready to go back there fully, but you also knew Garrett wasn’t going to push.

He never did.

“I spoke to my dad,” you said finally.

He didn’t interrupt. He just kept stroking your hair, waiting.

“He has a new family,” you continued quietly. “And he wants me to come visit this weekend.”

Garrett’s expression softened immediately. “And do you want to?”

You shrugged, still avoiding his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

Garrett didn’t respond right away. His hand stayed in your hair, slow and steady, like he was giving you space without letting you feel alone in it.

“I can come with you if you want me to,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The words hit you immediately.

You shook your head before he even finished the sentence. “Absolutely not. I can’t make you do that.”

Just the idea of it made something twist in your chest. Taking him there, putting him in the middle of that, letting him see all of it—it felt wrong in a way you couldn’t properly explain. Like it would somehow make everything more real, more exposed. Like you’d be dragging him into a version of your life you were still trying to keep separate from him.

Garrett didn’t look surprised by your answer. If anything, his expression softened even more.

“Hey,” he said gently.

Your eyes flicked up to his.

“I’m not doing it because you’re making me,” he added. “I’m offering because I want to.”

Your throat tightened slightly, and you looked away again, focusing on your fingers instead of his face.

“I don’t want you to see it,” you admitted quietly. The words came out smaller than you intended. “I don’t want you to see… that part of me.”

There was a pause, and then his hand shifted, gently tilting your chin back toward him so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“That part of you?” he repeated, not unkindly. Just confused in a way that made it clear he didn’t accept what you were implying.

Your chest tightened again.

You didn’t answer right away, because there wasn’t a clean way to explain it. How do you tell someone that you feel like there’s a version of your life that’s too messy, too painful, too much—and you’re scared that if they see it, they’ll start looking at you differently?

Garrett seemed to understand the silence anyway.

“I don’t need everything to make sense,” he said quietly. “And I don’t need you to be okay all the time.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek like he was grounding you back into the moment.

“I just need you to stop acting like I’m gonna disappear the second things get hard.”

That landed heavier than you expected.

Because that was exactly what your brain kept preparing for.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The entire drive to your father's house felt like you were heading toward an execution.

You sat in the passenger seat with your hands wrapped tightly around the pie resting in your lap. It was something you'd picked up on the way over, a last-minute decision that somehow made the visit feel less empty. The aluminum tin dug into your palms as you stared out the window, watching familiar neighborhoods blur past while your stomach twisted itself into knots.

It had been three years since you'd seen your dad. The last time being at your mothers funeral and even that was just a quick check in with you before he had to leave.

Three years since you'd stood in the same room as him, heard his voice without it coming through a phone speaker, looked him in the eye instead of seeing him in pictures online. There had been the occasional text over the years. Birthday messages. Holiday greetings. Random check-ins that always felt awkward and forced. You usually responded with something short before letting the conversation die.

You still weren't entirely sure why you'd agreed to come.

Maybe it was because he'd mentioned Rachel wanted to see you. Maybe it was because part of you had always been curious about the woman who'd become more important than his daughter. Whatever the reason, it felt too late to back out now.

Every few minutes Garrett's hand would leave the steering wheel and find yours. Sometimes he squeezed your fingers. Sometimes his thumb brushed over your knuckles. He never said anything about it, but you knew he could tell how nervous you were.

The house came into view far too quickly.

Garrett pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine. The sudden silence felt deafening.

You stared at the front door.

You could still leave.

You could text your dad and tell him something came up. You could claim you were sick. You could tell Garrett to put the car in reverse and drive away before anyone knew you'd arrived.

A warm hand settled over yours before you could disappear too far into your thoughts.

You looked over and found Garrett already watching you.

"Last chance to run," you muttered, twisting his fingers between your own in a desperate attempt to calm yourself.

A small smile appeared on his face.

"Not happening."

You sighed dramatically. "No?"

"Nope. I've already spent all morning preparing my polite boyfriend routine."

That earned the smallest laugh from you.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Firm handshake. Good posture. Lots of eye contact. Maybe a 'yes, sir' if I'm feeling ambitious."

You rolled your eyes.

"You're ridiculous."

His smile softened as he squeezed your hand.

"You don't have to do this alone."

The teasing disappeared from his voice completely.

"If you decide you've had enough, just squeeze my hand."

"And then what?"

"I'll tell everyone I suddenly got diarrhea and we need to leave immediately."

A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I'm serious."

"You are absolutely not."

"I am. I'll even add dramatic stomach cramps if necessary."

Your smile grew despite yourself.

The sight seemed to relax him as much as it relaxed you.

He leaned across the center console and kissed you gently. It wasn't a passionate kiss or a dramatic one. It was grounding. Familiar. The kind of kiss that reminded you that no matter how awful tonight became, Garrett would be there beside you through all of it.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment.

"We got this."

You weren't entirely convinced.

But you nodded anyway.

The two of you climbed out of the car, and Garrett's hand settled against your lower back as you walked up the driveway. The gesture was subtle, but it made you feel steadier somehow.

Before you could knock, the front door swung open.

Your father stood there smiling.

"Lovey."

The nickname hit you harder than you expected.

Before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you.

Your entire body went rigid.

It wasn't that you hated him. You weren't even sure if hate was the right word for what you felt. The problem was that he was practically a stranger now, and strangers didn't get to hug you like they still knew you.

When he pulled away, he looked genuinely happy to see you.

"How are you, kiddo?"

"Good. Fine."

The answer came out too quickly.

You immediately thrust the pie into his hands.

"I didn't know what to bring."

His smile widened.

"You didn't have to bring anything."

Then his attention shifted to Garrett standing beside you.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"Well, who's this?"

You opened your mouth, but Garrett beat you to it.

He stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Garrett Graham, sir. Her boyfriend."

For a split second your dad looked genuinely caught off guard.

Then he laughed and shook Garrett's hand.

"Nice to meet you. You can call me Aaron."

Garrett smiled politely.

"Nice to meet you too, Aaron”. Your father stepped aside and invited both of you in. The first thing you noticed wasn't the furniture or the decorations. It was the photographs,they were everywhere.

Family vacations. Christmas mornings. Birthday parties. School pictures. Smiling faces frozen behind glass frames lining shelves and walls. An entire life. An entire family.

"Rach," your father called. "She's here."

Rachel appeared from the kitchen almost immediately, two children following behind her.

The second she saw you, her face lit up.

"Oh my gosh." Before you could react, she pulled you into a hug.

"It's been so long."

The last time you'd seen her in person had been your father's wedding. You'd still been a kid.

"Yeah," you answered quietly.

The silence that followed felt awkward until Garrett smoothly stepped forward.

"I'm Garrett, by the way. It's nice to meet you Mrs Hale"

Rachel smiled and shook his hand.

"Well, luckily I made enough food for a small army."

Garrett grinned.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh, don't call me ma'am. You're making me feel ancient." That made him laugh.

"Sorry. Thank you, Rachel."

Your father pointed toward the two kids. "This is Rowan and that's Reagan ." The older boy gave a small wave and the younger girl immediately hid behind Rachel's leg before peeking around it and waving shyly.

You waved back.

The moment felt strangely surreal. You already knew what they looked like. You'd seen enough pictures over the years for that. But standing in front of them felt different. Real.

Dinner was ready soon after, and everyone gathered around the table. You ended up seated beside Garrett while your father sat at the head. Rachel sat across from you with the kids on either side of her.

The longer dinner went on, the harder it became to ignore the ache in your chest.

Your eyes drifted toward Reagan.

She leaned against your father's shoulder while she talked. Without thinking, he reached over and helped cut up her food. A moment so small nobody else noticed but it hit you like a punch. She was the same age you'd been when he left.

Looking at her made it impossible not to think about that little girl you used to be. The one who waited by windows. The one who thought every phone call meant Dad was coming back. The one who couldn't understand why she suddenly wasn't enough anymore.

The lump forming in your throat became difficult to swallow.

Under the table, Garrett's hand found yours. His fingers slid between yours naturally, like he already knew exactly where your thoughts had gone. Two gentle squeezes.

‘Are you okay?’

The code had developed over months together. Small signals exchanged in crowded rooms and long lectures and uncomfortable situations.

You squeezed his hand once.

‘I'm okay.’

It wasn't entirely true but Garrett didn't let go. Throughout dinner, Rachel made a noticeable effort to include you. She asked questions about your classes, your friends, your plans after graduation. Whenever conversation started drifting away from you, she found a way to bring you back into it.

You appreciated it more than you could admit, but at the same time, every attempt somehow reminded you how much time had already passed.

How many years had existed without you sitting at this table.

How many dinners had happened before this one.

How many memories filled the walls around you.

You answered politely when spoken to, but the entire evening felt distant, almost unreal, like you were standing outside a window looking in.

Thankfully, Garrett seemed to sense it. Whenever attention shifted toward you for too long, he effortlessly redirected it toward himself. He answered questions, told stories, and made everyone laugh.

Within twenty minutes, Rowan was asking him about hockey, Reagan had decided he was her favorite person at the table, and even your father seemed amused by him.

Garrett handled the conversation so naturally that nobody appeared to notice how often he was shielding you from it.

Nobody except you.

After the dinner, Your father stood in the driveway long after dinner had ended, insisting on walking the two of you to the car despite your quiet protests. The evening had already drained you enough. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone with him, waiting for whatever apology or explanation he thought would somehow make things better.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Garrett,” he said, reaching out to shake Garrett’s hand. His smile was polite, almost strained at the edges, like he was trying too hard to make the moment look normal. “Hopefully this won’t be the last time we see each other.” 

The words were directed at Garrett, but your father was looking at you when he said them. You immediately looked away because you couldn't bear the hopeful expression on his face.

“It was nice meeting you too, sir,” Garrett said, courteous as always, his voice calm and steady in a way that made you feel even more fragile by comparison. He looked at you then, his expression quietly asking whether you were going to be okay, and you gave him the smallest nod you could manage before he slipped into the car.

You wrapped your arms around yourself while your father remained standing beside the driveway, the night air suddenly feeling too cold against your skin. He was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes. If anything, it looked like the smile was hurting him.

“I’m happy you gave us a chance and came over,” he said softly.

You did not know what to say to that. You had given him a chance, maybe, but you still did not understand why you had agreed to come in the first place. Maybe a part of you had been tired of carrying all that anger alone. Maybe a smaller, sadder part of you had wanted to see if he would be any different now that enough time had passed.

“Rachel and the kids were really happy you came,” he added.

You nodded, still saying nothing, because your silence was safer than your voice. If you spoke, you knew the words would come out sharper than you wanted them to.

“I know with your mum gone, I haven’t—”

That was enough.

Your chest tightened immediately, and before he could finish, you cut him off. This was not a conversation you were willing to have standing in a driveway, as though one dinner could somehow erase everything that had broken between you. You could feel your pulse in your throat, the old grief and the newer anger twisting together until you could hardly tell them apart.

“I would rather not talk about that,” you said, your voice strained but controlled. “Thank you for inviting me. You have a beautiful family.”

You did not wait for him to answer, and turned away before he could say anything else, because if he kept talking, you were not sure you would be able to keep yourself together. You slid into the car and shut the door behind you, and Garrett started the engine without asking questions, pulling out of the driveway and leaving your father behind in the light spilling from the porch.

The drive to Garrett’s apartment was painfully quiet. It was not an uncomfortable silence, exactly. You stared out the window and tried so hard not to cry that your throat began to ache. You were angry, but you were also ashamed of how much it still hurt. You hated that he could still get to you. 

You hated that a single dinner had dug up all the things you had tried so hard to bury. And underneath all of it was the awful, quiet fact that you did not even fully understand what you were feeling. Grief, resentment, humiliation and loneliness all blurred together until your chest felt heavy enough to collapse under.

When you finally looked up, you realized you were already in front of Garrett’s apartment. You did not have to say that you did not want to be alone. You would never have admitted it out loud, not with your pride and he knew that.

Tears began to spill over before you could stop them and you did not even know what you were crying for at first. Maybe it was for your father, and all the years of being left behind. Maybe it was the humiliating ache of seeing him happy while you were still carrying everything he had done. Maybe it was the way Garrett could look at you and seem to understand the whole mess of your heart without you having to explain a single thing. Whatever it was, the tears came faster once they started, and suddenly you could not hold yourself together anymore.

“Baby…” Garrett said, and his voice cracked with concern.

He did not hesitate. He reached for you immediately and pulled you into him and the second you were in his arms, something in you finally gave way completely, like your body had been waiting all evening for permission to fall apart.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why—” you managed, embarrassed even through the tears, because crying in front of someone always made you feel raw and exposed .

Garrett pulled back just enough to look at you, and when he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushed gently over your skin. His frown was soft, not disappointed or frustrated, just full of quiet concern that made your chest ache all over again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. “Never apologize for showing your emotions.”

That made your chin wobble, and the helplessness of it only made you cry harder. His tenderness was almost worse than anger would have been, because there was no edge to hide behind with Garrett. There was only honesty and care.

“Seeing him happy should make me feel good,” you said, voice trembling as it finally broke open. “But it doesn’t.”

Your breath hitched.

“He left me,” you continued, words spilling faster now, like once they started they couldn’t be stopped. “And he didn’t look back. I wasn’t enough for him to stay.”

Your fingers curled tighter into Garrett’s shirt as if it was the only thing anchoring you.

“When my mum died, he came to the funeral,” you said, swallowing hard, your voice shaking more with every sentence. “And all he did was talk about how sorry he was. How he should’ve been there. How he failed her.”

A bitter laugh slipped out through your tears, but it didn’t hold any humor.

“And I just sat there listening to him talk about her like she was the only thing he lost.”

Your throat tightened painfully.

“She wasn’t the only person he abandoned.”

The words came out quieter this time, heavier.

“I lost my mum,” you whispered, “and somehow I ended up comforting him.”

You shook your head slightly, like you were still trying to make sense of it years later. Like it still didn’t sit right inside you.

“And tonight,” you continued, voice cracking again, “watching him laugh with his kids… acting like this version of him actually exists… I just kept thinking—”

Your breath broke.

“Why couldn’t I get that?”

.The words hung in the air between you, raw and aching, like once they left your mouth there was no taking them back. For a second, you almost wished you could swallow them again. You could still feel the weight of them settling in your chest, the sting of admitting something you had spent years refusing to say out loud.

Garrett’s face softened. He pulled back just enough to brush the hair away from your face, but he didn’t let you go. His hands stayed on you as if he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even a little.

“You were a kid,” he said quietly, each word careful and steady. “You didn’t do anything to make somebody stay or leave. That was on him. Not you.”

His jaw tightened for a second, and you could see the anger he was trying to keep under control, not at you, never at you, but at the man who had made you carry this for so long.

“I know it hurts,” he added more softly. “And I know it messes with your head seeing him be a different person with someone else. But that does not mean there was something wrong with you. It means he failed you.”

His thumb brushed gently over your cheek.

“You were always worth staying for,” he said, his voice lower now, almost tender enough to break your heart. “He just wasn’t capable of doing it.”

Something inside you cracked open at that, and you felt yourself love him even harder for saying exactly what you needed to hear. You leaned in before you could overthink it and kissed him, putting every bit of love and pain and relief into it.

Garrett kissed you back immediately, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. Your fingers slipped into his hair, and for a moment it felt like everything else disappeared. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little harder.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lips, “I want nothing more than this right now, but not when you’re hurting like this.”

You groaned softly, but you nodded because you understood, even if you were still a little frustrated.

He kissed your forehead once, then got out of the car and came around to your side before you could protest. When he opened the door, he lifted you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your head against his chest as he carried you inside.

The apartment was quiet when you got in.

Too quiet.

You looked around, surprised. “Where are the boys?”

It was Saturday night, and usually that meant noise, movement, people somewhere in the background. At least one of them should have been here.

You caught the small hesitation in Garrett’s face before he answered, and your brows drew together.

“They had plans tonight,” he said. You frowned a little but you let it go.

Garrett carried you upstairs without another word. In his room, you changed into one of his hoodies while he took off his clothes, and soon you were both under the covers.

He pulled you close immediately, wrapping himself around you until his face was buried in your neck, holding you like he knew exactly how much you needed it.

**************************************************************************

The next morning, you woke slowly to the sound of water running in the bathroom. For a few seconds, you lay there half-awake, staring up at the ceiling, until the events of the night before began to settle back over you in pieces. The dinner. Your father. The tears you had tried so hard to hold back. Garrett’s arms around you when you finally gave in.

He was in the shower.

You turned onto your side and stayed there for a moment, still wrapped in the warmth of his bed, listening to the sound of the water and letting yourself breathe before the day fully began. You wanted to do something nice for him. After last night, after everything he had done without asking anything in return, making breakfast felt like the least you could do.

So you got up quietly and made your way downstairs, still half asleep but smiling a little at the thought of surprising him.

By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, voices drifted out from the kitchen. Dean, Tucker, and Logan were in there, talking as they moved around, and you instinctively smiled, already ready to step inside before one word caught your attention and stopped you cold.

Garrett’s name.

Your feet came to a halt before you even realized you were listening.

“Coach almost lost his mind,” Logan said. You frowned, standing still in the hallway, unsure what they were talking about but unable to make yourself walk away now.

“I mean, what else was he supposed to do?” Tucker replied. “He spent two months setting that dinner up.” A chair scraped against the floor and your stomach tightened for reasons you didn’t understand yet.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that angry,” Dean said, sounding tired. “Especially because Garrett didn’t show up.” Didn’t show up to what?

“He kept calling him,” Tucker said. “I’m pretty sure he called him like ten times, but his phone was off. I honestly thought he was gonna throw it.”

You took a small step closer without meaning to, your body moving before your mind could stop it. You were still hidden from view but still close enough to hear everything

“The Bruins guy looked pissed too,” Logan muttered. Your face fell the second you heard that.

“What was the point of getting scouts there if the captain couldn’t even show up?” Logan added, and the word landed like a blow.

Your thoughts started moving too fast, too scattered to catch. A dinner. Coach. Garrett not answering. Last night flashed in your head all at once, your question, the hesitation in his voice, the way he’d said the guys had gone out like it was nothing important.

But it hadn’t been nothing. It had been important. Important enough that he should have been there.

Your mouth went dry.

“Has anyone seen him this morning?” Tucker asked.

“No,” Logan said. “He replied to my flood of messages at like twelve.”

“Coach is gonna kill him when he gets to practice,” Tucker said, and the three of them laughed again, but you couldn’t focus on that. All you could focus on was that Garrett had missed something big for you.

“Yeah, he better have a damn good excuse,” Logan said. “Coach was really adamant about Garrett meeting the scouts.” You already knew the answer. You knew exactly where Garrett had been and why he hadn’t gone and it made your throat tighten so suddenly it hurt to swallow.

Then Dean’s voice cut through the silence, lower now.

“Do you think it’s because of her?” The kitchen went quiet after that. No one answered right away.

“I don’t know,” Tucker said eventually, but his voice had lost some of its ease. Your fingers curled tighter around the hoodie you were wearing, the fabric bunching in your fists as you stood frozen in the hallway.

“I’m just saying Garrett’s never blown something like that off before,” Logan said.

Nobody rushed to defend you or argued that the statement he made was false.

Dean spoke again, and this time there was something gentler in his voice, something tired and conflicted.

“I love her,” he said. “I really do. She’s good for him. But Garrett’s been dropping a lot lately. He missed practice when she was sick, which I’m not saying was wrong. I just—I don’t think it’s healthy.”

The words settled over you like cold water.

“Garrett loves people hard,” Dean said after a moment. “When he cares about someone, he gives them everything. But lately it feels like he’s been giving so much of himself away that there might not be anything left.”

You stood frozen in the hallway, your heart beating too hard, too fast, as if it had suddenly forgotten how to be calm. The space around you felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in until it was hard to breathe properly.

And just like that, every ugly thought you had ever tried to bury came rushing back.

The missed practices. The late nights. The way he always showed up the second you needed him. The way he had stayed beside you yesterday instead of being wherever Coach had expected him to be. The way he had held you all night while you cried over a man who had already hurt you more than enough.

Garrett never made you feel guilty, not once. He never sighed like you were asking too much. Never acted irritated. Never made you feel like loving you came with a price. He gave and gave and gave, as if caring for you was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe that was exactly what scared you because Garrett loved so completely that he didn’t seem to know where to draw the line. He kept reaching, kept giving, kept choosing you so easily that it almost felt like he didn’t notice what it cost him.

Your throat tightened at the thought of the scouts. The Bruins. All the opportunities that people spent years fighting for, hoping for, praying for. And Garrett had let one of them go.

For you.

The realization should have wrapped itself around your heart like warmth. Instead, it sank there like a stone.

Because no matter how many times Garrett told you otherwise, you couldn’t stop thinking the same thing anyway.

He shouldn’t have had to do that.

Your eyes stung.

You loved Garrett. God, you loved him so much it almost hurt to admit it even to yourself. You loved the way he remembered the smallest things about you, the way he reached for your hand without thinking, the way he looked at you like you were delicate in all the right ways—not broken, not a problem, just worth caring for.

But standing there, listening to his friends worry about him, something inside you shifted.

Not because you loved him any less.

Because you loved him enough to be afraid.

Afraid that one day he would wake up and realize how much he had given up for you. Afraid he would look back and see all the things he missed because he chose to stay by your side. Afraid that somewhere down the line, all that love would turn into regret.

And the worst part was that you weren’t sure you would survive it if it did.

A shaky breath left you.

Maybe Dean was wrong. Maybe Garrett would laugh it off and tell them they were overreacting. Maybe none of this meant what your mind was trying so hard to make it mean.

But the thought had already taken root inside your chest and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pull it out.

You didn’t remember walking back upstairs, only that somehow your legs carried you there.The conversation from the kitchen replaying endlessly in your head.

Garrett’s been dropping a lot lately.

I don’t think it’s healthy.

You were still shaking by the time you reached his bedroom door, and for a few seconds you just stood there with your hand around the handle, trying to convince yourself that there had to be some other explanation for what you had heard downstairs, some version of the truth that did not leave you feeling like you were about to split open from the inside, but deep down you already knew there wasn’t. 

When you finally pushed the door open, Garrett was standing near his dresser pulling a clean shirt over his head, his hair still damp from the shower and darkened at the ends with water, and the second he looked up and saw you, his whole face softened in that easy, familiar way that usually made your chest feel warm.

“Hey,” he said with a small smile, “I was wondering where you went.”

The smile disappeared almost immediately when he got a proper look at your face, and concern replaced it so fast it made your stomach turn. He crossed the room in a few quick steps and stopped in front of you, his hands settling gently on your arms as his eyes searched your face like he already knew something was wrong but needed to hear it from you anyway. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, because your throat already felt too tight to let the words out easily, but once you spoke there was no stopping it. “Did you miss the scouts dinner yesterday?”

Everything in him seemed to still, not in a way anyone else would have noticed, but you noticed because you knew him too well by now, because you could read the smallest changes in his face like other people read a page. His fingers tightened slightly around your arms before he took a slow breath and looked at you with something that already looked too close to guilt.

“How did you—”

“You did.” Your voice came out sharper than you meant it to. “Please tell me you didn’t miss it because of me.”

He looked away first, and a hollow, disbelieving laugh slipped out of you, though there was nothing funny about it at all, nothing even remotely close to it, and you took a step back before you could stop yourself because suddenly you couldn’t stand the feel of his hands on you anymore, not because he had done anything wrong, but because the guilt inside you was crawling under your skin like something alive.

“Why would you do that?” you asked, shaking your head as if you could physically shake the answer loose. “Why didn’t you tell me? Garrett, I would’ve been fine. It was one dinner.”

His expression softened immediately, and it made him look so sincere, so gentle, so heartbreakingly convinced that he had done the right thing. “You weren’t fine.”

You stared at him. “What?”

“You weren’t fine,” he repeated, quieter this time but no less certain. “You were crying in my car. You could barely breathe. You spent the whole night convincing yourself that your father leaving was somehow your fault.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Your eyes burned instantly. “No, it doesn’t. Hockey matters. Your future matters. Scouts matter.”

“You matter.”

The answer came so fast it sounded like instinct. He said it like he had already decided, already chosen, already let his heart go exactly where it wanted to go, and all you could think about was the cost.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, and even to your own ears it sounded like the beginning of a confession you were trying very hard not to make.

He frowned. “Doing what?”

“Choosing me.”

Garrett looked genuinely confused, like he could not understand how something so simple could feel so impossible to you. “As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to everything else.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his damp hair. “You say that like I’m being forced into this. I missed one dinner.”

“One dinner with Bruins scouts.”

“So?”

You stared at him, because the fact that he could say it like that, like it was nothing, like it was just one unimportant thing on a long list of other things, made your chest ache in a way that felt almost unbearable. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Do you?” His voice wasn’t raised, but there was an edge to it now, frustration finally slipping through. “You needed me.”

“And you needed to be there.”

“I wanted to be with you.”

Tears stung your eyes harder now, and your voice cracked around the next question before you could stop it. “Why?”

The frustration disappeared from his face all at once, replaced by something that looked almost like heartbreak. He seemed to understand then that this was not really about the dinner, or the scouts, or the missed opportunity, and the realization passed between you both in one silent, devastating second.

“Because I love you.”

Your head shook before you could stop it. “That’s not enough.”

His eyes widened slightly. “What?”

“It shouldn’t be enough.” You wiped angrily at the tears slipping down your cheeks, furious at yourself for crying, furious at him for saying the exact thing that made everything inside you feel worse. “You shouldn’t be missing important things because your girlfriend is having a bad day.”

“A bad day?” He looked at you like he couldn’t believe what you were saying. “That’s what you think last night was?”

You looked away, because you did not know what else to call it, and the truth was that you had spent the whole night feeling like something inside you was coming apart. All you knew was that he had given up something important because of you, and the weight of that had begun settling in your chest like lead.

“You don’t understand.”

“No,” Garrett said quietly, “I don’t think you understand.”

You looked up at him again, and there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t annoyance. It was pain, pure and open and immediate. “You keep acting like loving you is some kind of burden.”

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“It is.”

His voice cracked just slightly, and the sound of it nearly split you in half.

“You keep acting like every time I choose you, I’m losing something.”

“You are.”

“I’m not”

The force in his voice startled both of you into silence, and for a second all you could hear was the sound of your own uneven breathing. Garrett dragged in a breath, his eyes bright now, and you could tell he was trying not to push too hard, trying not to turn this into something uglier than it already was.

“You don’t get to decide what matters more to me,” he said.

And that was the problem, because he meant it. He meant every word, every choice, every sacrifice, every missed dinner and skipped practice and late night spent holding you together when you were falling apart. There was no resentment in him, no frustration, no regret, nothing you could point to and say this is why I’m leaving, this is the reason it hurts, because he had none of that, and somehow that made everything feel even worse.

You thought about what you had heard downstairs. Dean saying Garrett loved people hard. Logan and Tucker talking about the scouts and Coach and how Garrett had never blown something like this off before. Nobody had denied it, and that silence had scared you more than actual blame would have, because if even they could see it, then maybe the truth had been there all along.

“One day you’re going to regret it,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

Garrett went very still. “What?”

“One day you’re going to wake up and realize how much you’ve given up.”

His face changed immediately, like the words had hit somewhere deep and ugly and tender all at once. 

“You’ll resent me.”

The pain in his eyes was immediate and raw, and it made your throat close up because you had hurt him now, really hurt him, and you hated yourself for it even as you kept going. “I could never resent you,” he said, and his voice was breaking now. “You don’t know that.”

You loved him. God, you loved him so much it was almost cruel, because if you didn’t love him this would have been easier, this would have just been anger or fear or a stupid misunderstanding you could laugh off later, but you did love him, and that made every sacrifice feel heavier, every compromise feel dangerous, every choice feel like another thing waiting to collapse. The realization hit you so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs: you were not afraid he would stop loving you, you were afraid of what happened after he finally realized how much of himself he had given away.

A sob caught in your throat.

He stepped toward you. You stepped back.

You closed your eyes for a second, because you could feel the end of this already, and you knew that if you looked at him too long, you would lose your nerve. “I can’t do this anymore.”

The room went still.

When you opened your eyes again, he looked like he had not understood the words, like maybe if he just stared at you hard enough the sentence would somehow rearrange itself into something kinder.

“What does that mean?”

Your tears came harder now, hot and unstoppable. “I think we should break up.”

The color drained from his face so fast it scared you, and for a second all he did was stare at you, waiting for you to laugh, waiting for you to tell him you were spiraling and overreacting and never meant it, but you didn’t say any of that, because you knew if you did you would never leave, and leaving had become the only thing that felt remotely possible.

“No,” he said finally, but it was quiet, like the word had fallen out of him more than been spoken. 

“Garrett—”

“No.” He took one step toward you, his eyes locked on yours. “ because this doesn’t make any sense. You’re upset because I missed a dinner. Fine, be upset. Be angry. Yell at me if you want. But we are not breaking up over this.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” he asked, and now there was genuine confusion in his voice, almost desperation. “Because I don’t understand. I chose to be there for my girlfriend. Why are you acting like I did something horrible?”

You looked away because he couldn’t see it. Garrett loved you in a way that made sacrifice feel natural, and all you could think about was how much he had already given up to stay beside you. You thought about last night, how he had sat with you through the dinner, how he had squeezed your hand every time he felt you drifting, how he had held you until you fell asleep as if your sadness was his own burden to carry, and now you knew what had cost him that time, what he had walked away from, and suddenly it felt unbearable.

You wiped at your face with the heel of your hand. “I’m tired.”

His expression softened instantly. “Then let’s talk about this when you’ve calmed down.”

Your voice cracked on the word. “No, because if I don’t say it now, I never will.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, forcing yourself to look at him even though it felt like looking straight at the thing that would destroy you. “A part of me was relying on you.”

His brows pulled together. “What?”

“A part of me was relying on you to fix me.”

The words tasted awful the second they were out, humiliating and ugly and too honest to take back. Garrett shook his head immediately. 

“No, you weren’t.”

Your voice broke completely this time. “Every time I was sad, every time I felt awful, every time I started spiraling, you were there. Every single time.”

“Because I wanted to be.”

“I know,” you cried, and that was the problem, because you did know. “That’s the problem.”

He looked lost now, and the sight of it made your heart twist with guilt because you had been his whole world for a moment too long, and you had let yourself depend on that feeling because it was easier than facing the mess inside your own head.

“I kept thinking,” you said, voice trembling, “if you loved me enough, maybe eventually all this would go away.”

You gestured helplessly toward yourself, toward the sadness, the anger, the loneliness you had carried for so long you barely knew what it felt like to be without it. “The heaviness. The overthinking. The part of me that always feels wrong.”

“But it didn’t,” you whispered. “It didn’t go away.”

The room blurred through your tears. “I love you so much, Garrett.”

That hurt him. You could see it instantly.

He took a step toward you. “Stop. You don’t have to be fixed.”

“Maybe not.” Your breath shook. “But you shouldn’t have to carry me while I figure out how to fix myself.”

The silence after that was heavy and awful, because he understood now, maybe too much, and the realization sat between you like something fragile and doomed. “I don’t carry you,” he said quietly.

The pain in his voice almost made you change your mind.

“You do,” you whispered back. “You notice everything. When I get quiet. When I stop eating properly. When I start overthinking. When I spiral. You notice all of it.”

“Because I care about you.”

“And I care about you too,” you said, the words coming out desperate now, almost pleading. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

“No,” he repeated, this time with more force, though it still sounded like it was tearing something open inside him. “Don’t say that.”

“You deserve somebody who doesn’t need this much from you,” you said, talking over him now because if you stopped you might lose the nerve to keep going. “You deserve somebody who isn’t sad all the time. Somebody easy.”

His face twisted like you had struck him.

“You think you’re hard to love?” he asked, and the devastation in his voice nearly made you take it all back right there. “You actually think that?”

You looked away, because yes, you did, every day of your life, and hearing it from your own mouth made it worse. Garrett stared at you for a long time before he dragged a shaking hand down his face and let out a breath that sounded like it hurt.

“I’ve spent almost a year loving you,” he said, rough and raw now, “and somehow you’ve convinced yourself I do it because I have to.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I don’t stay because I feel sorry for you. I don’t choose you because I’m trying to save you. I choose you because you’re you.”

The tears would not stop now, and you wished they would, because all of this was too much, too honest, too painful to survive in one room. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to take the words and hold them somewhere safe, but there was still that terrified part of you, the part that had been abandoned once and never really recovered, whispering that nothing this good could last.

“What happens when you get tired too?” you asked quietly.

Garrett looked at you like that broke him in a place he had no words for.

He took a breath, and when he spoke again his voice was almost gentle. “Then we deal with it together.”

He always wanted to fix things together. Always wanted to stay, always wanted to talk, always wanted to build something strong enough to survive whatever came next, and you could not stop thinking that someday he would wake up and realize how much he had already given and how little he had gotten back in return.

Maybe that made you a coward. Maybe it made you cruel. But all you could see now was the future, and in it Garrett looked tired and disappointed and quietly resentful, and the image was enough to make your chest hurt all over again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You could barely see through your tears anymore, but you forced the next words out anyway because this was the part that would break both of you, and once it started you couldn’t stop it. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.” His voice cracked. “We can figure this out.”

You shook your head.

He was already trying, already reaching, already turning this into something solvable, and all you could think was that he should not have to do any of that for you, not after last night, not after the scouts, not after all the pieces of himself he’d already given away just to stay beside you.

The room suddenly felt unbearable. You could not breathe. Could not think. Could not stay one second longer without either collapsing into his arms or saying something even worse.

So before your courage failed you, before you turned into a mess of apologies and broken promises, you reached for the door.

“Please.”

The word stopped you because it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t angry, it was worse than that, it was broken, and hearing him sound like that nearly made you turn around.

You almost did it, almost turned back, almost let him pull you into his arms and undo every word you had just said, but if you looked at him again you would not leave, and if you did not leave now, you knew you never would.

So you opened the door and walked out.

By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs your vision was blurred completely, and the boys were still in the kitchen. Dean looked up first, then Logan, then Tucker, and the second they saw your face, all three of them froze. Concern flooded the room immediately.

“Hey—” Dean stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor. “What happened?”

You could not answer, because if you tried, the sob that had been sitting in your throat for the last ten minutes would finally tear loose and leave you wrecked in front of all of them. Tucker looked toward the stairs, then back at you, and the understanding that slowly settled over his face was almost worse than the confusion.

“Where’s Garrett?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head.

The silence in the kitchen was deafening.

Nobody knew what to say. Nobody knew what had happened. They only knew something terrible had. Behind you, there were footsteps upstairs, fast and urgent, followed by Garrett’s voice calling your name, and the sound of it nearly destroyed you because it was so full of panic and grief and love and everything you could not bear to hold anymore.

You reached for the front door.

You heard someone move behind you, heard Garrett’s voice again, more desperate this time, but you did not turn around, because if you did, you would stay.

Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Y/n and Azriel finally talk about everything

Authors Note: Guys I know it's been months and I'm honestly so sorry😭. Your girl has been fighting for her life!!. I've really been thinking of ways to end this story perfectly and I just got the motivation literally yesterday. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and thank you for all the love on this story (not me getting emotional lol)

P.S: There's one more chapter and that's gonna be Feyre's birth and just a cute family bonding moment.

***************************************************

Azriel stilled at the sound of his name—your voice soft and familiar, and somehow still heavenly after everything.

He had avoided you for days, carrying his guilt like a second skin. But now you were here. Saying his name.

He turned slowly, and the sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs.

The way your eyes caught the moonlight, the way your scent hit him all at once, it was too much. He couldn’t breathe.

You stepped into the room, arms crossed over your chest as you tugged your robe tighter, as if the fabric could hold you together. His shadows darted toward you immediately, frantic and protective, twining around your arms and brushing against your skin as if checking for wounds.

A small smile tugged at your lips. You’d missed them. Missed him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, your voice gentle, breaking the thick silence between you.

He shook his head, and you nodded like you already knew. Because you did. You knew Azriel better than you knew yourself sometimes. You understood why he’d kept his distance, why he was punishing himself the way he always did..quietly, alone.

It didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. But you understood.

So instead of yelling at him like you wanted to do, you simply walked forward, closing the space between you, and wrapped your arms around his neck.  It was like seeing him had melted you to your very core. Because you were just two people who tried very hard not to mess things up.

Your voice cracked as you felt his hand slide to your wrist, fingers pressing gently over your pulse like he needed to reassure himself you were here, alive, and this wasn’t some cruel illusion.

“I said things I didn’t mean that night,” you whispered, voice shaking.

His thumb traced small circles against your pulse, his shadows brushing against your arms. “Nothing that wasn’t true,” he murmured.

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head, tears brimming. “None of it was true. I was angry, Az. I wanted to hurt you because I felt so betrayed, because it felt like no one was on my side, like everyone was just expecting me to wake up from grieving and move on.”

You felt your chest tighten, memories of that dark, endless ache creeping back, and Azriel saw it,  the way you were slipping back into the past, into the guilt and loneliness you had carried alone for so long.

He lifted your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. So much was said in the silence, in the way you both looked at each other as if you were seeing one another clearly for the first time in so long.

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted, his voice rough, “but I was afraid. Afraid you’d look at me with that hatred again, and I couldn’t stand it. So I watched over you while you slept, because at least then I could convince myself I could be near you without you hating me.”

Your lips trembled, tears spilling freely now. “Az…”

“I know there were so many ways I failed you,” he continued, and you shook your head to protest, but he kept going, his eyes holding yours like they were the only anchor he had. “Yes. I wasn’t the best mate. I didn’t protect you. I didn’t protect our family. And I will live with that for the rest of my life.”

He sucked in a breath, and you could see it in his eyes, like he was opening his soul for you to see, letting you look into the very heart of him as his shadows curled around you protectively.

“But I promise you,” he said softly, reverently, “I will never let you down again, for as long as we both shall live.”

You didn’t respond right away, so you just leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, closing your eyes as your tears touched his cheeks, mixing with his own. His shadows curled tighter around you, protective, comforting, like they knew you needed it.

Neither of you spoke. You just stayed there, breathing each other in, letting the silence say everything your words couldn’t. The world felt impossibly quiet, as if it was holding its breath for the two of you.

He pulled you softly onto his lap, your forehead still resting against his. His grip on you was reverent, terrified, desperate. You could feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven. Yours matched it perfectly.

And then you remembered what you needed to tell him.

“Az…” you whispered, breath shaky. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You slipped off his lap and stood, pacing, robe swaying around you. Your hands trembled. Your chest tightened. How could you even say this aloud?

“Y/N?” Azriel stood slowly, concern darkening his features. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth. No sound came out. And then finally—

“Caelan,” you choked, the name breaking you in half.

Azriel froze.

His entire body went rigid.

Slowly—terrified—he sat down, staring at you. “What?”

Your voice trembled. “I saw him, Az. Our son. I saw Caelan.”

Azriel shook his head once, then again, harder. “That’s not possible, Y/N… I..I can’t—how?”

And you told him.

Everything.

Meeting the Mother. The afterlife. The garden. The children. The little boy with golden eyes. Caelan’s hands in yours. His voice. His warmth. His message. His love.

By the time you finished, Azriel was no longer sitting.

He was on his knees.

And then you heard the sound that shattered every piece of you.

He wept.

Not quietly. Not in silence.

He broke.

Sobs tore from him as he braced his hands on the floor, shoulders shaking, shadows flickering wildly as if they were mourning too. It was raw. It was brutal. It was Azriel, finally letting himself feel everything he’d buried so deep it had poisoned him.

“Az…” Your voice cracked as you knelt in front of him.

You reached for him, and he collapsed into you, his head pressing into your chest as you wrapped your arms around him. His shadows wrapped around you both, curling protectively, trembling from the force of his grief.

You held him. You held him as he cried for the child he never got to meet. For the pain he’d carried alone. You held him as he broke.

And you didn’t let go.

**************************************************

Time didn’t fix everything. Everyone knew that, but it softened the edges.

A month had passed since you woke, since you told Azriel about Caelan, since you both shattered and held each other through it. Healing wasn’t linear. Some days were gentle. Some days were brutal. But neither of you faced them alone anymore.

You and Azriel had started seeing Madja together, at her insistence. She was calm, grounding, sharp in the ways you needed, soft in the ways Azriel needed. She didn’t let either of you avoid the hard things.

Some days he woke up shaking, haunted by everything he had failed to protect. You held him.

Some days you couldn’t breathe, memories of the bridge or the grief or the afterlife crushing you. He held you.

You were healing. Not perfectly. Not quickly. But honestly.

And that mattered.

In the same month, Feyre’s belly had rounded beautifully, almost ready. The whole House was buzzing with anticipation, preparing for the newest High Lady’s child. Hope was returning to Velaris, little by little.

But there was still one thing left undone.

One thing Madja said you couldn’t avoid forever.

She brought it up at your last session, her voice gentle but unyielding.

“It is time you visited the house,” she’d said. “The one from before the attack.”

You and Azriel had gone still.

You hadn’t set foot there since that night—the night everything changed. The night Caelan was lost. The night your life split into a before and after.

Azriel’s jaw had clenched. Your fingers had curled into your knees. The room had gone unbearably quiet.

Madja didn’t push, didn’t force. She simply looked at both of you with eyes full of knowing.

“What you avoid,” she murmured, “will continue to hurt you. What you face together may finally begin to scar over.”

And maybe she was right.

So here you were standing with Azriel in front of the small river house you once shared. The one with the balcony Azriel liked to brood on, the kitchen where you burned bread exactly fourteen times, the bedroom where you whispered names for the baby you thought you’d have.

The place where life had once felt whole.

Azriel stood stiff beside you, wings tucked tight, shadows coiled low and quiet. You could feel the dread radiating from him, but you could also feel his hand reaching for yours, hesitant but certain.

You took it. His fingers closed around yours immediately, grip firm, like he needed the anchor.

You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

Together, you stepped toward the door.

And with a shaky breath, Azriel turned the handle.

You and Azriel stepped inside, the familiar creak of the old floorboards underfoot stirring something deep within you. The scent of aged wood and faint sunlight through dusty windows made your chest ache with memories.

The kitchen came first, the heart of the home. Every evening, you had made dinner here, filling the space with the smell of bread, spices, and love. Your hands traced the worn countertop, fingertips brushing over grooves where years of laughter, arguments, and quiet moments had settled into the surface. 

Azriel lingered downstairs, his gaze scanning the walls and floor as if seeing ghosts in every corner. You climbed the stairs slowly, each step weighted with grief and longing.

At the end of the hallway, you found the door, the one you had painted together, the one that had been meant for Caelan. The blue walls still gleamed faintly, almost as if waiting. You pressed a hand against the smooth surface, recalling the afternoons you had spent, paint-streaked and laughing, your hand on your growing belly while Azriel carefully chose each shade.

Tears pricked your eyes, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks. Your steps faltered, then carried you closer to the cot in the center of the room. The little blanket lay folded neatly inside, soft and bright, untouched by time. You picked it up, holding it to your chest as if the small piece of fabric could carry the warmth and love you had for the child you had never held.

Azriel’s footsteps were soft but deliberate as he climbed the stairs, following the faint sound of your sobs. He paused at the doorway, his chest tightening at the sight of you on your knees, clutching the little blanket to your chest, tears streaming freely down your face.

Without a word, he crossed the room and knelt in front of you. His arms wrapped around your trembling form, turning you gently to face him. Your hands fisted against his shirt as you cried, the raw grief spilling out in waves he couldn’t soothe, couldn’t take away, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I’m here,” he murmured, voice rough, lips brushing your temple as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. His fingers tangled in your hair, smoothing it back as though he could somehow protect you from the pain that had seeped into every corner of your being.

“It hurts,” you whispered brokenly, and he nodded, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I know,” he said softly before pulling back slightly, his eyes scanning the nursery–the soft blue walls, the tiny cot, the little blanket in your hands. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Do you remember,” he said, a faint glimmer of mischief in his voice, “when we painted these walls and you got that blue streak across your cheek because you tried to sneak a brush while I wasn’t looking?”

Your lips twitched, the corners lifting into a small, fragile smile despite the tears, a brief flicker of light in the ache that weighed on you.

Azriel’s own chest eased slightly at the sight. He pressed his forehead to yours again, soft and reverent. “See?” he whispered, brushing your tears away. “Even if everything hurts, there are moments like this. Moments we can still hold onto.”

You rested your head against his chest, letting his warmth and presence carry you, even if just for a little while, knowing that while the pain would never fully vanish, you didn’t have to face it alone.

When you and Azriel finally stepped through the townhouse doors, the sky already deep violet, your fingers were still laced with his. Your eyes felt swollen, your throat raw, but your heart… lighter. 

Dinner was being set—Elain humming softly in the kitchen, Feyre and Nesta arguing over place settings, Cassian sneaking pastries when he thought no one was watching. Amren and Mor drinking wine. 

You and Azriel slipped upstairs to wash up, exchanging quiet smiles and soft touches. But when you pulled on a fresh shirt, something in your chest felt tight again. You needed air, so you stepped into the garden.

The night was cool and calm, the scent of jasmine curling around you. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you stared up at the stars, letting the quiet settle your breathing. The memories from the house still whispered at the edges of your thoughts, but they didn’t suffocate you now.

You didn’t even notice the bench shift until someone sat beside you.

You turned and found Rhys.

He gave you a small, soft smile. You returned it, then looked back at the sky. The silence between you was easy, comforting, like he’d come here not to talk but simply to sit with you.

After a long moment, he spoke, “I’m proud of you,” he said. His voice wasn’t full of High Lord formality. It was just Rhys. Your friend. Your brother in every way that mattered.

“For going back there today,” he continued. “For letting yourself feel it instead of running from it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes blinking up at the stars. “It hurt,” you admitted. “A lot.”

“I know.” His voice wavered, “But healing usually does.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the stars until they blurred. His presence was strangely comforting—nonintrusive, safe.

Then he looked at you, and his voice lowered. “There is something I need to say… something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

You turned to him, meeting his violet eyes in the moonlight.

He gave you a small, sad smile. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For all the ways we failed you. I should’ve seen how much you were hurting. I should’ve done more.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers curling and uncurling like he didn’t know what to do with them. “When Velaris was attacked… I failed a lot of people. But you—” His voice cracked, so faintly you almost missed it. “I failed you in a way that has eaten at me every day since.”

Your chest tightened.

“You lost everything in a single moment,” he said, eyes finally rising to meet yours. “Your child. Your home. Your sense of safety. And instead of holding you together, instead of protecting you the way a High Lord should protect his family—” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “I let you fall apart alone.”

You swallowed hard, throat thick.

Rhys looked away again, exhaling shakily. “He came to me once—months after the attack, because he didn’t know how to help you. And I told him to give you space. But what you needed wasn’t space.” His voice broke slightly. “You needed someone to grab your hand and remind you you weren’t alone in the dark anymore.”

You blinked, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Rhys saw it, but he didn’t touch you. He didn’t crowd you. He simply sat with you, eyes gentle and honest in a way most people never saw from him.

“I should’ve done better by you,” he said. “Not as a High Lord. As family.”

He looked up at the stars, voice quieter than the breeze. “And when Azriel told me you two were going to Madja together… I realized you were trying again. Fighting again. And I cannot tell you how relieved I was to see it.”

You let out a trembling breath.

Rhys offered the faintest smile. “ I need you to know that I see you. I see how hard you’re trying. And I’m… I’m grateful you’re still here.”

Another tear. You didn’t wipe it.

Rhys turned his head toward you, “You and Azriel… you’re finding your way back to each other. And that’s something worth protecting. Something worth fighting for.”.

For a long moment, you just stared at Rhys—at this male who carried the weight of an entire city on his shoulders, yet somehow still found room to carry guilt for things that had never been his fault to bear.

Your chest tightened, then you reached out and took his hand.

You gave it a small squeeze, your way of saying I hear you. I see you. I’m not angry anymore.And then, before he could speak, you leaned over and hugged him.

Rhys froze for half a heartbeat, clearly not expecting it, then exhaled shakily and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in gently like you were something precious he’d almost lost.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your hair. “For giving me a chance to say it.”

You pulled back, wiping at your face with a small laugh. “Please don’t make me cry again,” you sniffed. “I’ve met my emotional quota for the next… I don’t know, decade.”

Rhys huffed a laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders and with that, the two of you headed back inside.

When you stepped into the dining room, warmth washed over you immediately—voices, soft chatter, the clatter of dishes. Home.

Azriel looked up the moment he sensed you, shadows curling around the back of your chair before your body even touched it. You slid in beside him, and he rested a hand on your knee under the table, grounding, gentle, warm.

You looked around the table… at Feyre, glowing and exhausted; at Cassian shoveling food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks; at Mor trying to smack his hand away; at Nesta and Amren rolling their eyes; at Elaine smiling quietly; at Rhys watching Feyre.

Your family.

And in the middle of that warmth, something in your chest shifted. Your heart, the one that had felt broken, hollow, frozen for so long began to beat again.

You inhaled sharply, eyes burning, and Azriel looked at you, brow furrowing in concern.

You just shook your head gently, giving him a soft smile.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

Summary: Regina has been dethroned as the "Queen Bee" and she meets Rodrick who doesn't care about status at all. She can't be seen around him but why is it so hard to stay away?

Note: Regina is a bitch at first but she'll eventually soften up. Rodrick is Janice and Greg's older brother and this is set when regina is going through it.

Authors Note: I know I haven't finished my last story but I had to jump on this immediately. I'm obsessed!!!

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“You can’t sit with us,” Gretchen spat, glaring at her.

Regina stared back in disbelief, then rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Those rules aren’t real,” she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. Her appetite had been through the roof lately, but she’d been trusting those Kaltein bars Cady recommended, thinking it was just the “water weight” shedding off.

“They were real the day I wore a vest,” Karen drawled, but Regina was already irritated, noticing a few people staring and the fact that Cady hadn’t said a word to her since she sat down.

“Because that vest looked disgusting, Karen,” Regina snapped.

She could feel panic creeping in. She was supposed to wear pink today, but her mind had been everywhere these past few weeks.

“You can’t sit with us,” Gretchen snapped, louder this time.

Regina froze. The whole cafeteria went quiet. A strange, sharp sting hit her chest—hurt, of all things.

“This hoodie’s all that fits me right now,” she said softly. When she looked up, Cady looked away. Regina straightened her shoulders, refusing to let them see her fall apart. “Fine,” she said simply, standing up.

She walked out, her throat burning, but before she could make it to the door, someone bumped into her.

“Move it, fatty!” a girl shouted.

Laughter broke out instantly. Regina had never been on the receiving end of mockery before, and the humiliation burned hot in her chest.

She kept her head high, storming toward the back doors. She wasn’t going to cry—not in front of those lowlifes.

She pushed through the door and headed for the bleachers, the quiet air hitting her like a slap. The place was empty; everyone had gone to fifth period.

“Don’t cry… don’t cry…” she muttered under her breath, shaking out her hands as if she could shake the nerves away. The nerve of them to treat her like that. But one tear still slipped free, traitorous and hot against her cheek.

First, Aaron had broken up with her and gotten with Cady. And now this. Regina knew she could be a bitch, but she had made them who they were. She’d gone from the top of the food chain to the bottom of the list overnight.

“Ughhh.”

She froze at the sound. Someone yawned beneath the bleachers. She looked down and saw a boy sprawled out on the bench below, earbuds half in, hood up, looking like he couldn’t care less about the world.

“Do you go around crying and waking people up,” he said, sitting up slowly, rubbing his eye, “or is that just something you do once in a while?”

“Excuse you?” Regina snapped, her shock quickly turning to anger. “For your information, this is a public space, nerd, and I wasn’t crying.” She wiped her eyes quickly, clearing any evidence. “I just had dust in my eye.”

“Sure you did,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. His smile was lazy, almost amused. “Not every day the Queen Bee graces you with her presence.”

Regina blinked. There was something about the way he said it like he was mocking her without even trying, that made her blood boil.

“Who even are you?” she demanded.

He tilted his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Rodrick,” he said simply.

She glanced at her phone. The bell was about to ring any moment, and she wasn’t going to be caught lingering with him. It was social suicide, and she didn’t need more of that right now.

“Well, Rodrick,” she said, his name tasting foreign on her tongue, “I’d say it was nice meeting you, but we both know that would be a lie.” She forced a fake smile at him before striding to her car and driving off.

Rodrick watched her go, and he couldn’t stop the smirk spreading across his face. He stood, grabbed his drumsticks, and finally turned on his phone, which he always kept off during his naps behind the school.

“Shit,” he muttered, scanning the messages from his bandmates. He was late for practice. He called Janice. “Yo, do you still need a ride, or are you catching one with Damian? I’m late for band.”

He could feel her eye-roll even over the phone, but he didn’t care.

“You’re always late for band,” Janice started.

“Well, when you get your own car, you can lecture me about lateness,” Rodrick said. Janice still hadn’t gotten her license, so he was stuck driving her—one of the conditions his parents had set.

Janice groaned. “Fine.”

“Thanks, lil sis,” he said, cutting the call.

He had made it to his car when he spotted Aaron Samuels and Cady Heron a few cars down, tangled together in a kiss. “Huh,” he muttered, sliding in behind the wheel. He had assumed Regina and Aaron were together, but maybe he’d been wrong. He never kept up with high school gossip; most of the time, it didn’t make sense, so he just stayed to himself.

Rodrick parked his car in the lot behind the music hall, grabbing his drumsticks from the passenger seat. He could already hear the faint crash of drums and the buzz of guitar amps spilling out of the open garage door.

“Finally decided to show up, huh?” Bill’s voice boomed as soon as Rodrick stepped inside, the lead guitarist already slapping the strings of his guitar like he was trying to shake off a bad mood.

“I know, I know,” Rodrick said, setting his bag down and stretching. “Second time this week, I get it. I’m a menace to punctuality.”

Drew, the bassist, raised an eyebrow. “That’s an understatement. What happened? Napped behind the school again?”

Rodrick smirked. “You got me. It’s an art form.”

Bill groaned, but the tension eased slightly. Rodrick could read his bandmates like a book, they might get frustrated easily, but music was the glue. Loded Diper was bigger than their petty fights or late arrivals. This year, prom was going to be huge.

Rodrick set up his kit, slapping his drumsticks against the snare to warm up. He could still feel Regina lingering in his mind. Weird. He didn’t know why he even cared, but there it was. The “Queen Bee” had stormed off, head held high, and for some reason, that made him grin. 

“Seriously, man,” Drew said, tuning his bass. “You’re spacing out again. Ready to actually play, or are you just gonna stare at the walls like last practice?”

“Staring at walls builds character,” Rodrick replied smoothly, sliding onto his stool. “And drums build… everything else.”

Bill rolled his eyes but counted them in. “Alright, let’s run ‘Time to Die’ one more time. And Rodrick, try to actually keep up this time.”

Rodrick smirked, hitting the first beat with a perfect, lazy snap of his sticks. As the rhythm filled the garage, his mind wandered—back to Regina, back to the weird little spark of annoyance and curiosity she’d left behind.

It was ridiculous. He didn’t do people. But for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who’d made Janice miserable, the one who had stormed past him like he didn’t exist, and yet… maybe, just maybe, he found it entertaining.

“Keep up, Samuels!” Bill barked mid-song, his anger flaring as the drums got faster.

Rodrick grinned to himself. Entertainment, chaos, music—it all blended perfectly. And somehow, that little encounter behind the school added an extra edge to his mood. He’d forgotten what it felt like to actually notice someone. And he didn’t even hate it.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n takes one step in healing.

Authors Note: (I know that I've been gone and I'm so sorry guys😭 I've been in a little funk lately and I found it hard to write but I'm hoping now that I'm on summer break I'll have more time). Also things are going to start taking a better turn now. Not entirely but we're making progress. YAYY!!

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It had been nearly a week since you’d woken up, and you hadn’t left the room once. The only person you’d allowed in was Madja.

You weren’t ready–not yet. The weight of everything you had been through clung to you like a second skin, impossible to shed. You had almost died, and even now, you weren’t sure how to face the people who had waited, prayed, and grieved for you.

So you begged Madja for more time. Maybe it was the desperation in your voice, or the hollow look in your eyes, but she agreed. And for that, you were grateful.

Everyone else had accepted the distance—except Azriel.

He was angry. Hurt. Not at you, but at the entire situation, at the helplessness that had nearly torn him apart. He had almost lost you and he couldn’t even hold you, couldn’t look into your eyes and know you were still there. Still his. And though he understood why you needed space, a part of him couldn’t shake the fear that you were still angry. That maybe you still felt betrayed. So he let you go, because loving you meant giving you what you needed, even if it broke him.

Madja had been your constant, checking in on your body, and more gently, your mind. Somewhere along the way, a quiet bond had formed between you and the healer.

“What are you thinking about?”

Her voice pulled you from your thoughts, startling you slightly.

“Hm?” you glanced down at her as she carefully cleaned the cuts on your knees.

“You’re deep in thought,” she repeated, her tone soft, but observant. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You didn’t even know where to begin. There was too much—too many layers to unravel. You couldn’t tell her everything. Not yet. You needed Azriel to be the first. Even though you still didn’t know how to tell him.

“Everything,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a breath. “I just…”

You trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. How to explain the ache in your chest, the weight in your heart, the storm in your mind.

Madja didn’t push. She simply looked up at you, her hands stilling for a moment as she gave you space to find the words. Her presence was grounding, like a quiet harbor in the middle of your storm.

“I just…” you started again, voice soft and trembling. “I don’t know how to go back. How to face them. How to face him.”

She resumed tending to your knees, slow and gentle. “You don’t have to have all the answers today.”

You looked away, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “But I should. They’ve all been waiting. Azriel has been waiting. I owe him an explanation… I owe everyone something. And I—” you exhaled sharply, swallowing down the emotion, “I don’t even know where to start.”

Madja paused again, and when she looked up, her expression was kind, but there was strength in it, too. “You don’t owe anyone more than what you’re ready to give. Healing doesn’t come on command, and neither does clarity. Azriel will wait. He already has waited, hasn’t he?”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

“Then let him,” she said softly. “Let the people who love you meet you where you are. And when you're ready—truly ready—you’ll know what to say. And how to say it.”

Your chest tightened. “What if… what if he’s changed his mind? What if I waited too long?”

Madja let out a quiet, almost amused breath. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you..even when you were not awake to see it. That kind of love doesn’t fade in a week. It doesn’t vanish in silence.”

You blinked, letting that sink in, letting her words smooth over the jagged edge of your fear.

“I miss him,” you whispered, voice cracking. “So much it hurts.”

Madja smiled gently and reached for your hand. “Then let that be your first truth.”

Those words stayed with you. They were what finally pushed you to face your family after nights spent reliving every possible worst-case scenario. A few days later, when you told Madja you were ready, her face lit up with pride. She squeezed your hand and said softly, “I’m proud of you, my dear.”

And then the door opened.

One by one, they stepped in—Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Mor, and Amren. But not Azriel.

Your eyes scanned behind them instinctively, your breath catching,waiting, hoping—but he wasn’t there. A quiet ache bloomed in your chest, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t focus on that now.

For a long moment, silence hung thick in the air. Everyone stood still, unsure, uncertain. The memory of your last interaction, words flung in anger and pain, then your near-death lingered between you all like smoke that refused to clear.

Your throat tightened. You opened your mouth to speak— But Nesta was already moving.

She didn’t say anything. She just walked forward and pulled you into a fierce, grounding hug. It was everything. No words, no explanations, just arms wrapped around you with the kind of love that needed no translation. The tears came then, stinging your eyes, slipping silently down your cheeks.

Elain followed, her smile soft and understanding as she wrapped you in warmth. She didn’t speak either, but her embrace was steady and reassuring, as if telling you: you’re still ours, no matter what.

Cassian was next. His hug was strong but gentle, careful not to overwhelm you. “Don’t you ever scare us like that again,” he whispered into your hair, his voice rough with emotion.

You hugged him tighter in response, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. Mor came right after, eyes already wet with tears. She cupped your face and kissed your forehead before wrapping her arms around you. You felt her body tremble with unspoken regrets as she whispered them into your ear. You just held her, wordlessly forgiving her because you understood..none of you had been okay.

Then came Amren.

She stood in front of you, silent. You blinked at her in surprise, unsure if she’d say anything at all. But then without a word, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. Brief but sincere. You caught Cassian’s raised brow and the small shrug he gave. You let out a shaky laugh and hugged her back. This—this was more than enough from Amren. Her walls didn’t fall easily, and this gesture said everything.

Rhys was the last to come forward. His hug was tight, almost suffocating—as if he could hold you tightly enough to make the pain vanish. You felt the storm of guilt and relief in him, and it broke your heart.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

You shook your head and whispered, so only he could hear, “It’s not your fault.”

He pulled back, his jaw clenched, and nodded once, but you knew it would take time for him to believe that.

“Az?” you asked quietly.

Rhys hesitated, then shook his head. A silent answer.

Your heart sank, but you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the disappointment from showing. He wasn’t ready. You had to respect that.

And then, only one remained.

Feyre.

She stood off to the side, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress, her eyes downcast. The soft glow of pregnancy surrounded her—her bump had grown, and she was radiant—but you could see the hesitancy in her stance.

Feyre..your best friend. Your sister. And yet, ever since she got pregnant, a quiet wall had risen between you. You hadn’t known how to be happy for her when you were grieving something you never got to hold. When her world was filling with life and yours had emptied.

You hadn’t been there for her. Not in the ways she needed. And she hadn’t pushed—but the space had grown between you anyway.

“Feyre…” you started, unsure of what would follow.

But she looked up at you, eyes glassy, lip trembling and without a word, she all but ran into your arms.

You held her tightly, the kind of embrace that made time stop. Tears slipped quietly down both your cheeks, soaking into each other’s shoulders. The silence was thick, but it said everything—pain, guilt, love. The others, sensing the intimacy of the moment, quietly stepped out of the room. No words. No glances. Just a soft hush of understanding as the door clicked shut behind them.

“I’m sorry,” you both whispered at once, voices cracking under the weight of it all. A small, tearful laugh escaped you, a fragile thing, but it softened the edges.

You pulled back just enough to look at her.

“I shouldn’t have made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about your pregnancy,” you said, voice trembling. “You shouldn’t have had to dim your joy because I was hurting.”

Feyre immediately shook her head, gripping your hands tightly. “No—no, Y/N. You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I should’ve been a better friend. I should’ve talked to you first before announcing it in front of everyone. I just... I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to look at you and tell you this thing was happening to me, while I could see you breaking a little more each day.”

Her eyes were filled with tears, with guilt, with a pain that mirrored your own. “I didn’t know how to exist beside your grief. And I’m sorry. I should’ve tried harder—for you, for Azriel. We all should’ve.”

She wiped at her cheeks, but the tears kept falling. “I wanted to share the joy of this pregnancy with you,” she whispered. “But I hurt you instead.”

“Hey,” you whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek with your thumb. “Even in those moments where I was hurting… not once did I ever want you to be unhappy, Feyre. We made a promise to always be there for each other. Maybe we lost that for a while—but I’m still here. And I want you to know how happy I am for you. Truly.”

Feyre’s lips parted in a soft sob, her expression lighting up as though she had been waiting for those words, aching for them.

“I want you to know…” your voice trembled, breaking at the end, “you’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

She broke then, tears flowing freely as she pulled you into another hug—this one different. lighter.

After Feyre left, you stayed in your bed, your thoughts a quiet storm.

There was a strange sense of calm now, a fragile peace settling in the cracks. You’d taken the first step with your family. That had to count for something. But in the quiet moments, especially when it was just you and the silence, your mind wandered. You hadn’t let yourself dwell too deeply on your time in the afterlife, you were afraid of what might unravel if you did. But there was a sliver of comfort nestled in your chest, a belief that your son..your beautiful boy..was proud of you. Proud of the strength it took to stay. To try.

You missed him more than words could ever touch. And you missed Azriel, too.

Some days had passed. Little by little, you’d started making progress. You began healing sessions with Madja, and though you weren’t always in the mood to talk, you showed up. That counted, too. You focused as best as you could, despite the gnawing ache left by Azriel’s absence. He still hadn’t come to see you, and it was beginning to grate at the edges of your resolve.

You were angry—hurt in ways you didn’t know how to name, and you knew it showed, especially when the others came to visit. You didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Y/N?” Madja’s voice gently pulled you back from your spiraling thoughts.

You blinked, looking over at her.

“I was asking how your relationship with your family is nowadays.”

You wanted to brush it off with a joke or some vague reply, but you reminded yourself why you were here. This was the space to speak truth. To feel and let it be felt.

“It’s… okay, I guess,” you said with a small shrug.

Madja didn’t push—she waited

“I’m trying,” you added, fingers fidgeting in your lap. “And I can see that they’re trying, too. I appreciate that. I really do.”

Madja nodded slowly, her expression warm, patient.

“But?” she asked gently.

You looked at her, startled. “But what?”

“There’s a ‘but’ in your voice,” she said simply, “even if you don’t hear it yet.”

You paused. Let yourself sit in the question. And slowly, the words began to form—heavy, aching, real.

“A part of me still aches for the version I was before. And… I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and bare. You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it didn’t stop the tremble in your voice.

“I feel like it would be easier to just… let go. Let life pass me by. But I know now that I don’t want that. I want to fight, Madja. I want to try. It’s just so damn hard.”

Your voice cracked, and tears burned behind your eyes.

“Especially with Azriel ignoring me like I mean nothing to him.”

There it was—the truth. The pain that had been festering in the quiet corners of your heart.

“How does that make you feel?” 

You paused. Let yourself sit in the question. 

“I’m angry,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. 

You looked down at your hands, trying to steady the tremble in them. “And I get it. I shut everyone out. But… It's different with him. It hurts more. I know I hurt him. I said things before everything happened that I can’t take back. But he hurt me, too.”

Madja stayed quiet for a long moment, then leaned forward just slightly. 

Then she leaned forward slightly, her voice soft but firm. “You’re grieving two things at once, Y/N. The life you lost and the love you feel slipping through your fingers. That’s not easy. That’s not something anyone can move through quickly.”

You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt, jaw clenched as you fought to keep it together.

“But grief,” she continued, “isn’t a straight path. And healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means learning how to live with the pieces—without letting them cut you every time you breathe.”

You nodded slowly, her words settling like stones in your chest—painful, but grounding.

“And Azriel?” she asked, voice gentler still. “Do you think he’s avoiding you because he doesn’t care?”

“No,” you said without hesitation. “That’s not it. I know he cares. But I don’t know if he forgives me… or if he thinks I haven’t forgiven him.”

Madja gave a quiet hum, the kind that said she’d been waiting for that.

“Y/N… you nearly died. You were broken in every way a person can be. And Azriel, who loves you, had to watch it happen. Had to live with the fear that he’d lost you for good. That’s not something a person walks away from untouched.”

She gave you space to sit with that before continuing.

“Maybe,” she said, “just maybe… he’s afraid. Afraid that facing you means facing the guilt he carries. That maybe you still can’t stand to look at him. And this distance? This silence? It might be his way of protecting you. Or protecting himself.”

Your throat tightened. You blinked fast, trying not to cry again.

Madja reached for your hand.

“I’m not excusing the silence. You deserve better than that. But sometimes, people who love deeply… they run when the weight of that love starts to feel like it’s doing more harm than good.”

You stayed quiet, mind reeling. You’d been so sure he was punishing you. Or that he’d given up. But what if he was just… scared? Like you had been?

“What do I do?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Madja gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ve already taken the first steps with everyone else. Maybe it’s time to take one with him, too. Even if it’s just a letter. A word. A start.”

Late at night, sleep refused to come. You lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, your mind swirling with memories and doubts. The room was quiet, too quiet, until you noticed tiny shadows flickering just beyond your door, shadows you hadn’t seen in a long time.

Curiosity tugged at you, stronger than the heaviness pressing on your chest. Slowly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, muscles stiff from rest. The shadows moved gently, as if inviting you, beckoning.

Without quite knowing why, you followed them. Quiet footsteps trailing behind the little flickering shapes as they drifted down the hallway, past the familiar creaks of the old house. They slipped past the stairs and floated up the steps with an almost playful grace.

Your heart quickened when you reached the training ring. The shadows paused, then disappeared completely, as if their purpose was fulfilled.

There, in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows, stood Azriel. He moved with fierce intensity, every strike and block precise but filled with a restless energy. To an outsider, it looked like training, hard and focused. But you knew better.

You knew this was his way of battling the insomnia that haunted him, the way he tried to burn off the weight of his own fears and guilt.

You watched him for a long moment, your stomach tightening. The ache in your chest deepened, the quiet longing sharper than ever.

Then, remembering Madja’s words, you took a slow, steady breath and stepped forward into the ring, letting your presence break the silence.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: The aftermath of the night on the bridge.

Warning: emotional turmoil!!, angst

Authors Note: I'm trying to be more consistent guys I promise!! also I had severe writer's block

***************************************************

Azriel had been pacing the room, waiting for you to return. The rest sat in tense silence, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on their shoulders. There was no way any of them could sleep—not until you were back.

He hated this. Hated sitting here, waiting, when every instinct in him screamed that something was wrong.

Azriel didn’t care about space anymore. He needed to find you.

Just as he stood, his entire body seized. A sharp, searing pain slammed into his chest, stealing his breath. His knees buckled as a ragged gasp tore from his throat.

Then it hit him.

A surge of emotions crashed through the bond—overwhelming, suffocating. And then, pain. Pain so raw, so brutal, it had him collapsing to the floor.

The bond was severing.

“Az!” Cassian shouted, rushing to his side, Rhys close behind.

Azriel clutched his chest, his breathing ragged. “Something’s wrong,” he choked out. His vision blurred as realization cut through him like a blade to the heart.

The pain could only mean one thing.

You had severed the bond.

Even through your fights, your grief, you had never done this before. You had blocked him out, but the bond had always been intact, a lifeline—no matter how fragile. But now… now there was nothing. Just a hollow emptiness where you should have been.

Azriel stumbled towards the door, his entire body trembling. “I have to find her,” he rasped.

Rhys, Cassian, and Mor were already on his heels as he staggered out into the night. His breathing came fast and uneven, the agony of the broken bond coursing through him like fire in his veins. His shadows had already spread out, desperate to find you, and when they did, when they grew frantic near the bridge—his heart nearly stopped.

No. You wouldn’t.

But as he neared the bridge, his worst fear became reality.

“Y/N?” Azriel’s voice cracked as he spotted one of your shoes on the ledge.

Cassian shot into the sky, already heading toward the healer’s, needing no further instruction. Time was slipping through their fingers like sand, and every second mattered.

Azriel didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate.

He dove into the freezing water, the impact shocking, but nothing compared to the icy terror gripping his soul. He fought against the current, his wings useless in the water as he searched, his lungs burning.

Then, he saw you.

Sinking.

Drifting further from him.

A broken, strangled sound tore from his throat, lost to the water as panic surged through him. He forced his body to move faster, his every muscle screaming as he pushed himself forward. The distance between you felt endless, unbearable, but he pushed through it, he had to.

With one final, desperate push, he reached you, his arm locking around your waist, pulling you against him. You were too still, too cold. Azriel’s breath came in ragged bursts as he kicked upward with everything he had, the weight of both of you dragging him down, but he forced himself to keep going. 

His muscles screamed in protest as he swam toward the riverbank, his arms trembling from the effort of keeping you above water. Each stroke felt heavier, his body threatening to give out, but he didn’t stop. 

Finally, his feet found solid ground.

He stumbled onto the shore, collapsing to his knees as he pulled you onto the damp earth. His hands trembled as he brushed wet strands of hair from your face, his vision blurring.

.He laid you down on the damp grass, his hands already moving, pressing against your chest.

“Is she breathing?” Mor’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with fear.

Azriel didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. His hands pushed down again, steady, desperate. “Come back to me, Y/N.”

He tilted your head back, sealing his mouth over yours, breathing air into your lungs.

No response.

His hands trembled as he resumed compressions. “You can’t just leave me like this!” His voice cracked, raw and choked with emotion. He forced another breath into you, pressing against your heart over and over.

Tears blurred his vision, spilling down his face as he whispered, “There’s so much I didn’t get to tell you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice broke completely as a sob tore through him. “Please don’t do this.”

Mor was crying, hands over her mouth as she shook beside Rhys.

Rhys took a hesitant step forward, his own grief barely contained as he placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Az…” His voice was nothing more than a broken whisper.

Azriel shook him off, desperation clawing at his insides. “No.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked. “She wouldn’t leave me.”

He pressed down on your chest again. Again. Again. His hands shook, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Azriel’s hands were trembling as he pressed against your chest again, harder this time, his voice nothing more than a wrecked plea. “Come back to me.” His vision was blurred with tears, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. “Please.”

Another breath. Another push.

Then—

A sharp, ragged cough.

Your body convulsed slightly as water spilled from your lips, sputtering past parted lips in a wet, choking gasp.

Azriel froze, his breath catching mid-sob.

Then, again. A weak, fluttering beat beneath his palm.

“She’s breathing,” he choked out, his entire body going still as he leaned down, pressing his ear to your chest. It was faint, fragile, but it was there. “She’s breathing.”

Relief slammed into him so hard he nearly collapsed. Mor let out a broken sob, her hands clutching her chest, while Rhys exhaled sharply, already reaching out with his power to let the others at the house know.

“We need to get her to the house—now.”

Rhys held onto Azriel and Mor as they winnowed straight into the house.

“Is she okay?” Feyre’s voice was the first thing they heard, urgent and trembling. But the moment her eyes landed on you, limp and unmoving in Azriel’s arms, her hand flew over her mouth, her head shaking in silent devastation.

“Her heartbeat is faint,” Azriel muttered, barely able to form the words. His grip on you tightened as he turned to Cassian. “Where’s Madja?” His voice was raw with desperation.

“In the family room,” Cassian said, but Azriel didn’t even wait for him to finish before he was moving, the others right on his heels.

The moment they entered, Madja was already prepared, her tools laid out, her sharp eyes assessing the situation in an instant. “Put her down,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Azriel reluctantly laid you on the bed, his fingers lingering for just a second before Madja was by your side. Her hands moved quickly, assessing, diagnosing.

“She’s too cold,” Madja announced. “I need hot towels, now.”

The others rushed to follow her command, disappearing to fetch whatever was needed. But Azriel didn’t move. He couldn’t. He just stood there, staring at you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest heaving with the weight of it all.

“This is my fault,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes never left your face, his heart pounding with every agonizing second that passed.

Madja paused, her sharp gaze flicking to him. “There is no room for self-pity right now, young man,” she said firmly. “She doesn’t need that. Not right now.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion. He nodded, but the guilt still sat heavy in his chest, crushing, unrelenting.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as Madja worked swiftly, her hands moving with purpose and precision. She worked tirelessly to stabilize your body, bringing warmth back into your cold skin, forcing your body to respond. Slowly but surely, your heartbeat began to pick up, faint but steady. It was the only sign of hope they had.

Azriel watched, unwilling to look away, his heart still lodged in his throat, his every instinct screaming for you to wake up. He hadn’t known how badly he needed you to breathe, to open your eyes, until the moments had dragged on in painful silence.

“Her body is stabilizing,” Madja finally said, her voice hoarse from the strain of her work. “Her heartbeat is stronger now, her body is responding, but...” She trailed off, looking at Azriel, knowing exactly what that ‘but’ meant.

“But her mind isn’t,” Azriel finished for her, his voice low and raw. He stepped closer to you, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as if he could will you to wake up. His heart ached as he watched your face—still too pale, too distant. 

It seemed as though you were fighting with yourself,your body clinging to life, but your mind slipping away, not quite ready to fully come back. 

Madja stepped aside, letting Azriel kneel beside you, her voice soft but firm. “She’s not fully conscious yet. It’s a matter of her will now—whether she wants to wake up or not.”

Azriel’s eyes burned, his hand now gripping yours, hoping that in some small way, you could feel the strength he was pouring into you, the desperate plea without words. “Please, don't leave me” he whispered, his voice cracking. 

He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but his voice trembled with the weight of everything that had led up to this moment. “I should have been better. I should have protected you, but I... I was too late.”

Azriel leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath shaky. “Come back to me.”

***************************************************

Azriel had spent the entire week sitting across from you, his eyes never leaving your still form. It had been nearly two weeks, and you still hadn't woken up, and every moment without you felt like a cruel, unrelenting weight on his chest. He couldn't understand it, how the love of his life, the one person who made him feel whole, could be lying in front of him, barely breathing, and he could do nothing to pull you back from whatever darkness held you.

Every day, he would talk to you, his voice hoarse and ragged, begging you to wake up. He’d share everything, telling you about the days without you, about how much he missed you, how every inch of his soul ached for you. But no matter how much he begged, no matter how many times he told you he loved you, nothing seemed to reach you.

Some days, when the grief became too much to bear, Azriel would break down, tears slipping silently down his face, his body trembling with the weight of his own helplessness. He hated seeing you like this. He hated that he couldn’t make it right, couldn’t undo whatever had led to this moment. It hurt him too much, knowing you were there and he was still here—alive, breathing, and yet so desperately empty without you.

He missed everything about you. Your laugh, the way it could light up the room, the way it could pull him out of his darkness, make him forget everything just for a moment. He missed your scent---how it wrapped around him, how it lingered even when you weren’t near. The warmth of your presence, the lightness you brought to him every day, the way your eyes would always soften when you looked at him.

Azriel couldn’t remember what it felt like to not need you. Every inch of him longed for you. The nights without you felt endless, like he was drowning in the silence of your absence. He couldn’t bear the idea that this might be his reality, that he might never hear your voice again or feel your touch. It was a reality he refused to accept, no matter how long it took.

But even in the dark hours, when despair almost swallowed him whole, Azriel clung to one hope: that you were still there, somewhere in the vast, empty space between your body and your mind. That one day, you would hear him and wake up, and the bond between you both would be whole again.

**************************************************

Madja had come by daily to check on you, and each visit seemed to bring more weight onto Azriel’s already-burdened soul. The days dragged on without any significant changes, nothing that would offer him even the smallest glimpse of hope. The uncertainty of your condition was a slow, agonizing torture for him. He was becoming a shell of the person he once was, living only for the moments when he could sit by your side and pray that you might wake up. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Now, he sat in a chair beside your bed, his hand never leaving yours, the only connection he had left to you. His body felt hollow, his heart echoing with the emptiness that had taken root in his chest.

The door opened, but Azriel didn’t acknowledge it. Feyre stepped in, she was farther along in her pregnancy now, her belly noticeably rounder, but the weight of her joy seemed muted against the overwhelming sorrow that consumed the room.

Feyre walked silently over to the chair beside Azriel, her gaze briefly flicking to his drawn face before landing on you. Her expression tightened in quiet anguish, and she settled into the chair across from Azriel, her eyes never leaving you.

They sat in silence. No words were spoken. There was nothing either of them could say that would change the reality they were facing. The pain was too deep, too consuming. 

Feyre had been coming here regularly, sitting beside Azriel without saying much, and that was how they both preferred it. The silence felt almost sacred because it was a silence born of shared understanding, of an unspoken bond forged through grief. Neither of them needed to explain themselves. They knew what the other was feeling.

Feyre’s hands gently folded in her lap, but her eyes were distant, unfocused as they lingered on you. Her thoughts were heavy. She was acutely aware of how everything had unfolded. How, in the chaos of her own life, she had failed to notice your pain, the weight you had carried and the battles you had fought alone. And now, seeing you like this, seeing Azriel like this, she couldn’t ignore the sharp pang of guilt that gnawed at her every time she thought of it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t care. But she had been blind to the extent of your suffering. She had been so caught up in her own struggles, her own joys, that she hadn’t been there for you the way she should have been. She couldn’t even tell Azriel that she was sorry. She wasn’t sure if words would be enough anyway.

The quiet between them was broken only by the soft sounds of your breath, still faint, still fragile.

Feyre reached out, her hand resting gently on Azriel’s, offering silent comfort. The gesture spoke volumes in the stillness of the room. She didn’t need to say anything. Neither of them did. 

After a long pause, Feyre finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile and breaking. “I should have been there for you… for her.” The words felt foreign in her mouth, heavy with the regret that had been eating away at her for days now. “She was so strong,” Feyre whispered, tears glistening in her eyes as they slid down her cheeks. “But I didn’t see how much she was carrying. I didn’t see how hard it was for her to keep going.””

Azriel’s eyes flickered to her for a brief moment, the words that had been sitting on his tongue falling away. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything. He understood her pain, he knew the guilt she carried but he was too deep in his own. There were no words to offer that would ease it, no comfort he could give. All he could do was remain silent, his hand still firmly wrapped around yours.

Just as he was about to speak, he felt it—a soft twitch in your hand.

His breath caught, his body going still as he stared at your fingers, still wrapped loosely around his. He felt the smallest flicker of hope in his chest, a wave of disbelief and longing all at once. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze, his focus entirely on you. Was it real?

He held his breath, watching intently as your hand twitched again, and then—

Your eyes fluttered open, faintly at first, barely more than a whisper of movement.

"Az..." Your voice was so soft, so fragile, like a memory carried on the wind.

Azriel’s heart slammed into his chest. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His entire body went rigid as the shock of your words and the sight of your eyes flickering open overwhelmed him. His pulse roared in his ears, the rest of the world vanishing in the wake of your awakening.

You—you were awake.

“Feyre,” Azriel breathed, his voice raw and filled with urgency. His grip on your hand tightened, a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins. “Get Madja. Now.”

**************************************************

You weren’t supposed to be here. No..there was no way you were still alive after what had happened.

Your surroundings were bathed in an endless, ethereal white glow, soft and warm, yet eerily unfamiliar. The last thing you remembered was the crushing weight of darkness pulling you under, the world slipping from your grasp as Azriel’s voice called your name.

And yet… you woke up here.

The overwhelming serenity of the place settled into your bones, a deep, unnatural calm that made you uneasy. It felt too peaceful. Too final.

"Hello?" Your voice was barely above a whisper as you took in the figures moving around you, people who seemed content, at ease. They smiled and laughed, their presence light, almost weightless. But something was wrong. You called out again, louder this time, but it was as if they didn’t hear you.

A shiver crawled down your spine.

“Y/n.”

The voice was soft, melodic, and when you turned toward it, your breath caught.

A woman stood before you—the most stunning woman you had ever seen. Her beauty was almost unnatural, otherworldly, as if she had been sculpted by the gods themselves. Everything about her, from the way she held herself to the effortless grace in her movements made you feel small, insignificant. Wary.

She approached, her golden eyes warm but unreadable.

"Where am I?" you asked, your voice barely steady as you glanced around, searching for answers, for anything familiar.

The woman smiled, and something about the way she did made your stomach twist. It was kind, but there was an understanding in her expression that unsettled you. Like she knew what you were feeling before you did.

"You are in the Afterworld, my dear."

No, that couldn’t be right. If this was the afterworld… if you were here…

Your breath hitched, panic tightening in your chest. That means Azriel…

Your mind raced, piecing together what little memory you had left before everything went dark. Azriel had been calling for you. He had been there. You had tried to reach him, to respond, but the darkness had swallowed you whole before you could.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, stepping back instinctively. “No, I have to get back.” Your voice was more frantic now, desperation creeping into every syllable. “I promised him, Azriel, he-he’s waiting for me. I have to go back.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, watching you with something like understanding. She didn’t argue. She didn’t tell you it was impossible. She simply extended her hand toward you.

“Y/n,” she said softly, beckoning you forward. “There’s something I need to show you.”

You hesitated, wariness prickling at the edges of your mind. Who was she? Could you trust her?

But something about her presence was… steadying.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out and took her hand.

The world around you shifted in an instant. One moment, you were surrounded by an endless expanse of white; the next, you were standing in the middle of a vast, sun-dappled garden.

Lush greenery stretched in every direction, filled with towering trees and vibrant flowers in full bloom. The air smelled of fresh earth and something sweet, something warm and familiar.

Laughter rang through the space, high-pitched, bright, innocent.

You turned, your breath catching as you took in the sight before you.

Children.

Dozens of them, running through the fields, their giggles and delighted shrieks echoing through the air. Some chased each other in games of tag, others sat in circles, weaving flower crowns with nimble fingers. There were children of all ages, of all features and sizes, their faces alight with unfiltered joy.

Your brows furrowed as confusion settled over you.

“Why are we here?” you asked, glancing at the woman beside you.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she led you forward, past the children playing, past the ones sitting beneath the trees, until your steps slowed—until your gaze landed on him.

A young boy stood apart from the others, his small fingers skimming over the petals of a pale blue flower. His dark, tousled hair shifted as he moved, the familiar inky shade catching the sunlight.

Your heart stopped.

Slowly, almost as if he felt your presence, the boy turned.

And you nearly collapsed at the sight of those eyes.

Hazel.

Azriel’s eyes.

Your breath shuddered, the realization slamming into you with the force of a wave. 

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

The boy blinked up at you, his head tilting ever so slightly in quiet curiosity. His fingers clutched the flower he had been holding, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He was just watching you.

The woman at your side finally spoke, her voice laced with something deep, something knowing.

“He has been waiting for you.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

You didn’t need to ask. Didn’t need her to clarify.

You already knew.

This was your son.

Tears burned your eyes, your body trembling as you took an unsteady step forward.

The boy didn’t move. He just watched you, those hazel eyes filled with something unreadable, yet achingly innocent.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you slowly knelt before him, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like an unbearable tide. Seeing him now, seeing what could have been, what should have been, shattered something deep inside you.

He was everything you had never gotten the chance to hold. The life that had been stolen before it could even begin. And yet, here he stood. Whole. Real. Alive in a way you never thought possible.

A sob tore from your throat as you reached out, your hands shaking. The moment your fingers brushed against his small shoulders, something inside you shattered. Without hesitation, you pulled him into your arms, clutching him as if he might disappear.

The boy didn’t resist.

He melted into you, his tiny arms wrapping tightly around your neck, as though he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. As though he had missed you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice broken, shaking. Tears streamed down your face, soaking into his soft curls as you held him tighter. “I’m so, so sorry.”

For not knowing him.

For not protecting him.

For never getting the chance to love him the way you should have.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, locked in an embrace that transcended time, grief, and fate itself. 

You swallowed hard, blinking through your tears as you slowly pulled back just enough to look at him. “What’s your name?” you whispered, brushing his dark curls away from his face.

The boy tilted his head slightly, as if considering his answer. “I don’t have one,” he finally said.

Your breath hitched. No name. No identity. Because he had never been given the chance.

You bit your lip, struggling to keep yourself together. “Can I—” Your voice wavered. “Can I give you one?”

His eyes lit up with something you couldn’t quite name, something soft and hopeful. He nodded.

You swallowed, thinking, but the answer came to you as naturally as breathing. A name that carried meaning. A name that felt right. A name you and Azriel had once spoken about, dreamed about, if you were ever blessed with a son.

“Caelan,” you whispered.

The boy—Caelan—smiled. A small, soft thing that made your heart clench.

You let out a trembling breath, running your hand gently over his curls. “Caelan,” you repeated, committing it to memory, to your soul.

The woman beside you hummed approvingly. “A beautiful name.”

You looked back at her then, your mind still spinning, still struggling to comprehend what was happening. “Why is he here?” you asked, your voice raw. “Why—why am I seeing him?”

The woman’s expression was kind, yet unreadable. “Because you needed to,” she said simply. “Because he needed to.”

Your throat tightened. You turned back to Caelan, your fingers ghosting over his cheek. He leaned into your touch. “I—” Your voice caught. “I should have—”

Caelan shook his head before you could finish, his small hands reaching up to hold yours. “Don’t cry, Mama.”

A broken sound caught in your throat at the name—Mama. He had called you Mama.

Your hands trembled as you cupped his face, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, breathing him in. “I didn’t get to meet you,” you choked out, voice thick with sorrow. “I didn’t get to hold you.”

Caelan’s little brows furrowed as he reached for your hands, squeezing them. “But I knew you,” he whispered, tilting his head as he studied you. “I’ve always known you.”

Your breath hitched, your entire world tilting at his words.

He reached out then, pressing his small palm over your heart. “I was here,” he said simply. “I was always here.”

A sob broke from your lips as you pulled him back into your arms, holding him tightly, desperately. You had always felt the absence of something, an emptiness you had never been able to explain. And now, hearing those words from him, it all made sense.

You had never been alone in your grief.

You had carried him with you, always.

The stunning woman who had brought you here stood silently nearby, watching the exchange with something like sorrow and understanding in her gaze.

After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice gentle. “It is rare for souls to meet like this,” she said. “But your bond… it is strong. Stronger than most.”

You held Caelan close, your mind whirling with emotions too big to contain. “Is he… is he happy here?” Your voice wavered. “Has he been alone?”

The woman smiled softly, shaking her head. “No, my dear. He has never been alone. And yes, he is happy.” She looked down at Caelan with a fondness that made your heart ache. “But he has always watched over you. And his father.”

Your heart clenched painfully. Azriel.

The thought of him, of his pain, his grief, nearly brought you to your knees.

Caelan seemed to sense your shift in emotions. He pulled back slightly, his small hands finding yours again. “You have to go back,” he said, his voice serious in a way that no child’s voice should be.

Panic flared in your chest as you shook your head. “No, I can’t leave you. Not again.”

Caelan squeezed your hands, his golden eyes filled with something impossibly wise. “But I was never really gone,” he whispered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you looked at him, at this beautiful, impossible boy who had been taken from you too soon.

“Will I ever see you again?” you asked, voice barely holding together.

Caelan lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You will,” he said softly. “But not right now.”

And then, before you could say anything else, before you could hold onto him for just a little longer—

The world around you began to fade.

“No, wait—” You reached for him, desperation clawing at you.

Caelan didn’t look afraid. He didn’t cry. He just smiled at you, that soft, knowing smile.

The last thing you heard was the sound of his voice, ringing in your heart like a promise.

“I love you, Mama.”

You watched as he slowly faded away, his form dissolving into the distance, leaving you with nothing but the emptiness of his absence. You were left in a place you couldn't name, alone with the woman who had brought you here.

“Who are you?” You finally asked, the question hanging heavy in the stillness of the space. Your time here felt as if it was running out, slipping through your fingers like sand.

The woman smiled, and then something incredible happened. She began to glow, her form radiating a brilliant, unearthly light. She doubled in size, her presence growing even more powerful, and if you had thought she was beautiful before, now she was indescribable—an ethereal being that seemed to transcend every word you knew.

The very air around her hummed with an ancient energy, one that made your heart race and your soul tremble in recognition.

“You called out to me, the night on the bridge,” the woman said, her voice soft yet filled with a weight that made the ground beneath your feet feel like it was trembling.

By the Cauldron…

You pieced it together in an instant, the truth crashing down on you like a wave. Your breath caught in your throat as the realization settled within you, heavy and undeniable.

You were standing before the Mother herself.

Her presence was overwhelming. Sacred. You had always heard the stories, the legends. The Mother, the source of all creation, the one who shaped life and death. But standing before her, feeling the weight of her power, her eternal wisdom—it was impossible to comprehend.

“I… I didn’t call for you,” you whispered, still stunned, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of what was happening.

The Mother’s smile deepened, a warmth in her gaze. “You did, my child. In the depths of your grief, you called out for guidance, for strength. You may not have realized it then, but your heart reached for me.”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, but only one question emerged from your lips. “What happens now?”

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer to you, her presence filling the space around you with a peaceful, all-encompassing energy. “What happens now is entirely up to you,” she said gently. “You have the power to choose your path. To heal, to return, or to remain here.”

Tears stung your eyes as you thought of Azriel, of everything you had left behind. But you also thought of Caelan, the boy you had never been able to hold, the child who had shown you so much love in such a short time.

The Mother’s voice echoed in your mind, “No matter what you decide, you are never truly alone.”

You swallowed, your heart torn between the world you had known and the one that now lay before you. "I want to be with Azriel," you said quietly. 

The Mother nodded, her eyes full of understanding. "Then return to him, child. Your bond has been restored. It is strong, and it will guide you both through the pain. But remember, your strength is in your love for him, for Caelan, and for yourself."

The light around her began to fade, and she took a step back, her form blurring as if made of light itself. “Go now,” she whispered softly, “and know that I am with you always.”

With one final look at the Mother, you felt yourself being pulled back, her warmth lingering in your soul as the world around you blurred. The serene light, the comforting presence, all began to fade, and with it, you felt yourself slipping, fading from the afterworld, back into the realm you had left behind.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as you were suddenly aware of your body again—the weight of it, the ache, the pulse of life flowing through you. You felt everything, your chest rising and falling, your fingers twitching at your sides. The world around you was blurry, disorienting, but you could feel the faintest hint of warmth, the unmistakable touch of someone’s hand holding yours.

Your eyes flutter open, the blinding light forcing you to blink as the world slowly comes into focus. The room was unfamiliar, hazy except for him.

Azriel.

His face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, and in that moment, all you could do was breathe, your heart thundering in your chest as you tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

"Az," you whisper, his name fragile on your lips, as if testing the feel of it, as if speaking it for the very first time.

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, and the shock in his eyes melted into a raw, overwhelming relief. He froze, unable to speak at first, and then the words spilled from him in a rushed, desperate whisper. “Feyre,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “Get Madja. Now.”

And in that instant, you knew—without question, without doubt.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: There's an attack on Velaris and you and Azriel are struggling to reconnect after sudden events that leave the both of you broken beyond repair.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n is confronted by her family, forcing her to face the pain she has been drowning in.

Warning: angst, emotional turmoil!!!

Authors note: This was a really hard and emotional chapter for me to write but I hope you all like it, and I promise things are going to start looking better a bit :) Also I should be uploading more since spring break starts soon. Yay!!

******************************************************

Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag as you stood frozen in the doorway.

No one spoke at first. They just watched you, their gazes heavy with concern, pity, frustration. Your stomach twisted. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want their worried eyes and hushed tones, didn’t want them all looking at you like you were something fragile, something broken.

Rhysand was the first to break the silence. “Sit down.” His voice was gentle, but it was still a command.

You scoffed, shifting your weight. “I don’t have time for whatever this is.”

“Please Y/n” Feyre shifted in her seat, her hands folded over her growing bump. She looked like she wanted to reach for you, to soften this somehow. 

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you took a slow breath, steadying yourself.

“Seriously?” you muttered, scanning their faces—Feyre, Cassian, Elain, Mor , Rhys, Amren, even Nesta. They all looked at you like you were some animal that was out of control.

It made your skin crawl.

“We’re worried about you,” Mor said gently. “You’ve been pulling away from us, shutting us out.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “So what? You all decided to corner me about it?”

Cassian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re not trying to gang up on you.”

You glanced at Nesta, the only one who was watching you with understanding. She knew how it felt, feeling cornered by people you considered family.

Your throat tightened, and the words came out harsh. “I don’t need this.” You turned on your heel, the desire to escape the room overwhelming. You just wanted to forget about tonight, to hide away in the quiet and push everything down.

But then Rhys spoke, his voice low and steady. “We know about the drinking.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a slap. Your back stiffened, your heart pounding. Still facing away, you clenched your jaw, unwilling to show how much his words cut.

“We’re sorry for not noticing it sooner,” Rhys added, guilt lacing his tone.

You turned slowly, and your eyes locked onto Azriel’s. The hurt in your chest flared, deep and raw. “You told them?” The words came out before you could stop them, dripping with the sting of betrayal.

Azriel’s gaze flickered with regret, but he didn’t answer right away, leaving the weight of the question hanging between you.

His silence spoke louder than anything he could have said. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t look away. It was like he was waiting for you to understand, even though you weren’t sure if you could.

“I had to,” Azriel finally murmured, his voice rough, almost apologetic. “I couldn’t watch you spiral anymore.”

The hurt in your chest deepened, and you felt something sharp tighten around your heart. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand why he did it—it was the fact that it felt like another invasion, another betrayal. It felt like your brokenness was something to be shared without your permission.

"You had to?" you echoed, your voice trembling slightly. "So what now, Azriel? You get to decide when enough is enough? You get to decide what’s best for me?" You laughed, but it was bitter. "You really thought telling them about my drinking was the answer?"

“Y/n, that’s—" Azriel started, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“No,” you cut him off, your voice growing steadier, though the pain in your chest still made it hard to breathe. “You don’t get to speak for me. I didn’t ask for your help, Azriel. I didn’t ask for anyone’s help." The words tumbled out faster now, the frustration and anger finally bubbling to the surface. 

"You all just expect me to snap out of grieving my child? Just like that?" You met their eyes, your expression raw and vulnerable, the pain evident in the depths of your gaze. "I held his lifeless body in my arms, and my whole world shattered right then and there."

Another broken laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head. "Have any of you ever thought that maybe I want to feel this? That maybe this pain is something I need to carry, for now, at least? I don’t need your opinions on how to heal." Your voice cracked, but you stood your ground, unflinching. "None of you were there. You weren’t there to soothe me after nightmares, or to hold me when I cried... I was."

The words hung heavy in the air, the rawness of your vulnerability evident in every syllable. You hadn’t said this much, hadn’t let anyone in, not since that day. It was like a dam had broken, but you couldn’t take it back now. The pain, the anger, the fear—everything poured out in one rushed confession.

Amren's eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. "Maybe you're holding onto this grief because it's easier than facing the reality that you've lost control," she said, her voice sharp, almost detached. "Sometimes, wallowing in pain can feel like the only thing left, but that's not healing. That's just letting the darkness win."

The words cut through the room, like a blade, leaving an almost physical tension in the air

"I don’t care,” you snapped, already walking toward them, but then you saw Rhys step in front of Feyre, as if he were shielding her. You stopped dead in your tracks, disbelief crashing over you. Did he really think you would hurt her? The thought stung more than you cared to admit, and suddenly, all your anger felt like it had a target.

You scoffed, shaking your head, the bitterness bleeding into your words. “You know what I think? I think you’ve all been looking for an excuse to get me out. To push me aside.”

Nothing you were saying made sense, but it didn’t matter. You couldn’t think straight—your emotions were a storm that didn’t give you the luxury of clarity. “Feyre’s pregnant, right? So you don’t want me around, sulking and bringing down the mood. Is that it?” Your teeth ground together so hard you thought they might shatter.

Feyre’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. You saw the tears welling in her gaze before she could blink them away. Even Rhys, usually so composed, faltered, his jaw tightening.

You exhaled sharply, as if trying to expel the weight crushing your chest. “I’ll be out of your hair then. I’ll start staying with Clotho.” The words spilled out before you even thought them through. You hadn’t asked Clotho yet, but it didn’t matter. You couldn’t stay here.

“Like hell you are,” Azriel’s voice cut through the air, tight with disbelief and something dangerously close to desperation. His wings flared slightly as he stepped toward you, but Feyre caught his arm, shaking her head. Silently pleading with him not to make this worse.

You looked at Azriel, your voice seething with pain “You know,” you started, voice eerily calm, “if someone had told me my mate would go behind my back—would collaborate with others to talk about me like some problem to be solved—I would’ve laughed.” 

You let the words sink in, let them settle like poison in the air. “I thought you of all people would understand. But you failed me.”

Azriel looked like you had struck him. But it wasn’t enough. Not for the pain clawing at your ribs, the agony of betrayal that suffocated you.

So you twisted the knife.

“Just like you did back then.” Your voice was cold, unforgiving. “And it cost us our child.”

The silence between you was suffocating, and you could feel your heart breaking all over again as you whispered, "You should have just let me die that day on the windowsill. All your problems would have disappeared."

Azriel sucked in a sharp breath, his face paling, his shadows recoiling from him like they, too, felt the weight of your words.

You could barely stand to look at their faces anymore—the faces of the people who should have been your refuge, but now felt like the ones causing you the most pain. 

Without another word, without looking back, you turned on your heel and stormed out the door, every fiber of your being screamed to run.

And this time, no one stopped you.

*******************************************************

Azriel watched you storm out, his heart hammering in his chest, a weight settling over him that he couldn’t shake. He stood frozen for a moment, his gaze still locked on the door you had just slammed shut behind you. The rawness in your voice, the betrayal in your words—it felt like a punch to his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He had failed you. 

“Let her go,” Feyre’s voice was soft, yet firm, as she held him back, her hand gripping his arm tightly.

Azriel shook his head, frustration boiling over. “I can’t just let her leave like this, Feyre. I can’t—”

“I know,” Feyre said quietly, her voice full of understanding, but there was a finality to it. “But she needs space. She needs to be alone right now. If you go after her, you’ll only make it worse.”

Azriel stood still, his fists clenched, eyes burning with unspent anger and regret. His mind raced, replaying every word you’d said, the sharpness of them cutting deeper with each passing second. Just like you did back then, which cost us our child.

The words echoed in his head, drowning out everything else. He had never thought he would hear those words from you, never thought that he–would cause you to feel that way. And yet here he was, paralyzed by the enormity of it. He had destroyed the one thing that mattered most. 

He finally let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. But he couldn’t help the tears threatening to sting his eyes. Not in front of them. He wouldn’t let them see him break.

Rhys watched him carefully, his expression softened with concern, but Azriel couldn’t look at him. The weight of his own failure was too much to bear.

It was Nesta who, though silent, seemed to speak volumes. Her face was set in a grim line, her eyes flicking briefly between him and the door where you had just left. She didn’t say a word, but Azriel could feel the unspoken truth in her gaze. She was disappointed—disappointed in them, in the way they had handled the situation. The way they had cornered you, made you feel like there was no escape, no place for your grief.

Nesta had been there. She had lived through this exact kind of heartache, through this kind of pain. She didn’t need to say it out loud for Azriel to understand that she knew exactly what you were going through—and she knew what you needed. Space. Time. Patience. The one thing they hadn’t given you.

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, his chest tight as the realization hit him harder than any blow. His thoughts were a whirlwind of chaos, drowning in guilt, in shame. He had been so focused on fixing things, on helping you, that he forgot to actually see you, forgot to let you heal in your own time. He had thought he was doing the right thing by stepping in, but all he had done was push you further away.

*****************************************************

The weight of everything felt unbearable. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay in that place—trapped by your own mind, suffocating under the pressure on your chest. It was hard to breathe, and every inhale felt like a struggle. Self-loathing consumed you, gnawing at you relentlessly. 

You thought of Azriel, his face flashing in your mind when you had hurled those cruel words at him. Words you didn’t mean, but in the chaos of your own hurt, you had lashed out, throwing his one insecurity back at him, hoping it would hurt him as much as you were hurting. And it did. You could see it in his eyes, the weight of regret that still lingered from that day.

You couldn’t believe you’d done that. You had always known how deeply Azriel cared, and yet you had used his vulnerability as a weapon. A part of you knew the damage was done, and it made the guilt gnaw even harder at your insides.

You run your hand through your hair, absentmindedly walking with no destination, your legs carrying you without thinking. When you finally blinked and looked up, you found yourself standing outside of Rita’s. You hadn’t been here in a while, but the urge to drown your pain in alcohol was overpowering now, and before you could reconsider, you stepped inside. The heavy air of sweat and booze hit your senses, but you pushed it aside.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You started drinking quickly, each glass blurring your thoughts even more. You weren’t a good mate. You weren’t a good friend. And deep down, you thought you wouldn’t have been a good mother either. That thought, that self-condemnation, made you indulge more. The person you were—the one who had been strong, who had cared for others—felt like a distant memory. She would have slapped some sense into you, but she was gone. You were left in the aftermath of your own choices, a hollow version of yourself.

Stumbling out of the bar, the cool night air hit you, but it couldn’t clear the fog in your mind. You had no plan, no direction, but your feet carried you anyway. Without realizing it, you found yourself standing at the Sidra Bridge, as you often did when your mind needed escape. The river’s gentle rush below called to you in a way you couldn’t ignore.

The world around you felt distant, fuzzy. You sat at the ledge, the steady flow of the river like a soothing lullaby. And for a brief moment, the thought of surrendering to its cold embrace seemed comforting, like an end to the pain that had suffocated you for so long.

"What did I do to deserve this?" you yelled into the night, the words torn from your chest. "Why me? Why was my baby taken from me?" The words came out broken, raw, and desperate, the weight of your grief too much to bear. You hadn’t allowed yourself to break like this in a long time, but now you could feel it unraveling.

"I can’t take this anymore," you whispered, your voice barely audible, choked by the sobs that shook your body. You clutched your chest, trying to quell the aching void inside, but nothing could soothe it. The night air seemed to mock you, wrapping around you with its icy touch, offering no comfort.

You felt so stupid, so lost. You tried to turn around, intending to step away from the ledge, but your body was uncooperative. You stumbled, losing your balance, and before you could catch yourself, you fell backward, plummeting toward the river below.

The world around you faded, the cold water enveloping you with each passing second. Memories of your life flashed before your eyes, and you screamed Azriel’s name, as if somehow, he might hear you. But deep down, you knew no one would come.

 You were too far gone, too lost in your own despair to fight against the water’s pull. The cold was unforgiving as it enveloped you more, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a strange sense of surrender. No one would save you, and part of you didn’t want to be saved. The pain, the guilt, the regret—they had all become too much to bear.

As your body sank deeper into the cold river, your thoughts turned to Azriel, the one person who had always been there for you. You imagined the devastation he would feel when he found out you were gone, and a pang of regret twists in your chest.

But then, amidst the chaos of your emotions, the image of your son flickered in your mind. The idea of finally being reunited with him, of holding him again, offered a bittersweet solace. The river, the cold, it whispered promises of peace, of a reunion that could ease the unbearable ache in your heart.

In your final moments, you opened the bond between you and Azriel, pouring all your feelings into it—comfort, love, regret for the way things had ended. You poured your heart into the bond, letting him feel the depth of your affection for him, your sorrow for what had been. And then, with what little strength remained, you severed the connection, cutting the ties between your souls.

You sent a final wish into the universe—one last hope for Azriel. A wish that he would find joy, love, and peace, a life free from the torment and sadness that had consumed both of you and one where he didn’t have a mate who was nothing more than an emotional wreck.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Azriel and Y/n take a step closer to each other but is that enough

Warnings: angst, emotional turmoil!!

Authors note: Finally back!!! I've been dealing with major writers block and just trying to survive in school lol. Also this chapter is a bit short but the next one is going to be longer.

**************************************************

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Everyone went still, and then the murmur of congratulations began, but you were still frozen. They had all been smiling, but their eyes flickered nervously toward you, unsure of how to react, how to celebrate when they knew the state of your heart, when they knew you were not quite there with them.

You tried to smile, tried to be happy for her, and you whispered, “I’m happy for you, Fey,” but the words felt like they got stuck in your throat. It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for her—of course, you were but something sharp and painful cut through you. You hated that you felt sad. You hated that the joy you wanted to share with her felt tainted by the emptiness inside you.

Feyre’s voice softened, and she started, “I wish-” but she didn’t finish.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice tight, almost broken. You stood up quickly, needing to put some distance between you and the table, between you and the growing ache in your chest. You reached out, pulling her into a hug. “You’ll make an excellent mother,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. Feyre hugged you back tightly, her arms warm and reassuring, but all you could feel was the distance between you and everything that used to be.

You pulled back from the hug, forcing a smile even though it felt like a mask slipping over your face. “Excuse me, I’ll be going to bed,” you said quietly, the words barely more than a whisper. You couldn’t stay there, couldn’t sit at the table and pretend everything was okay when it felt like your walls were cracking under the pressure.

You turned quickly, walking toward your room, but as you passed through the hall, you heard the sound of their laughter, their congratulations, the excited murmurs of joy filling the air. And you stopped for a moment, your hand on the doorframe, your chest tight. You wanted to be happy for her. You wanted to celebrate with them. But why did it feel like everything inside of you was crumbling, like you were too far gone to share in that happiness? 

**************************************************

Azriel had seen how broken you were when Feyre announced her pregnancy. He had felt it through the bond you had forgotten to close off this evening. Every raw emotion crashed into him, the sharp sting of sorrow, the aching hollowness that you tried to bury beneath a forced smile. It settled inside him like a weight, pressing against his ribs, making it hard to breathe.

His eyes followed you as you walked away, his shadows shifting restlessly, aching to follow you, to wrap around you and shield you from this moment. But he stayed seated, forcing himself to believe that maybe—just maybe, you wanted space. That you needed to process this on your own.

But anger burned low and simmered beneath his skin. They knew. Rhys and Feyre knew how fragile you still were, how much you had lost, how much you still carried. And yet they had sprung this on you tonight, in front of everyone, as if it wouldn’t crack something inside you. Azriel was happy for them truly, he was, but did it have to be now?

"Excuse me," he said, standing abruptly.

Rhys reached out, stopping him before he could leave. “Az,” he murmured, regret lining his voice.

Feyre’s face was tight with guilt as she glanced toward the door you had disappeared through. "I didn’t think she was going to come down tonight," she admitted. "I had planned to announce it, but… I should have waited."

Azriel clenched his jaw, his wings tensing as he exhaled sharply. He wanted to be understanding, he knew Feyre hadn’t meant to hurt you, but that didn’t change the fact that she had. That Rhys had.

"You should have waited," he said, his voice low, controlled, but edged with something sharp. "She’s barely keeping herself together as it is."

Feyre’s expression crumbled, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I know," she whispered. "I just—I thought maybe it would bring her some happiness."

Azriel scoffed softly, shaking his head. "You thought wrong."

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Az—"

But Azriel was already turning away. "I’m checking on her," he said, leaving no room for argument.

Just before he stepped out of the room, he paused, glancing back at them. His gaze softened, sincerity threading through his words. "Congratulations, brother. Truly, I mean it." And then he walked out.

The hall was quiet, save for the distant murmurs of celebration behind him. But his focus was already elsewhere. His shadows stretched ahead, slipping under doors and down corridors, searching for you, drawn to your pain as much as he was.

And when he reached your door, hesitating only for a second before knocking softly. No answer

Azriel knocked again, harder this time, his patience fraying. Still no answer. A sinking feeling clawed at his chest, and before he could second-guess himself, he pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

Panic shot through him like ice. His shadows darted ahead, swirling through the space, searching, desperate. The room was eerily still, untouched, but then—then, his eyes caught the faintest flicker of movement. A sliver of light from the slightly ajar bathroom door.

Azriel crossed the room in a heartbeat, the door creaking as he pushed it open.

His breath caught.

Glass shimmered across the tiled floor, jagged pieces reflecting the dim light. And there, in the too-cold water of the bathtub, you sat curled into yourself, your arms wrapped tight around your body.

His heart pounded against his ribs. The sight of you, so small, so utterly broken—knocked the breath from his lungs and almost brought him to his knees.

"Love," his voice cracked, raw with emotion as he moved closer, careful of the glass beneath his boots. You didn’t respond. You only stared blankly ahead, as if you weren’t even fully here, as if you had been dragged somewhere unreachable.

Azriel crouched beside the tub, his hands hovering above the water, unsure if you’d let him touch you. "You're freezing," he whispered, his voice thick with something dangerously close to desperation.

Still, you didn’t move.

Azriel doesn’t hesitate. He pulls off his boots, stepping into the tub without a second thought, the cold water soaking through his clothes as he settles across from you. He doesn’t care. Not about the chill, not about the discomfort—only about you.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches, thick with things unsaid, until his voice finally breaks through.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his hands finding your arms, rubbing slow, steady circles in a desperate attempt to warm you. His touch is gentle, grounding. “Please.”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to where the water ripples between you. “I didn’t—” Your voice falters, but you force yourself to continue. “I am happy for Feyre. If that’s why you’re here.” You lift your eyes to meet his, searching, hoping he understands. “I just… I just couldn't be in there.”

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting his head, trying to catch your gaze. “I’m here for you. And you never have to explain what you feel to me, not now, not ever.” His voice is firm, unwavering. “I’m always on your side, no matter what.”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay.

Azriel watches you for a beat before exhaling through his nose, as if making a decision. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching for a towel. He wraps it around your trembling body, his movements careful, deliberate. The warmth seeps into your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in his touch, the steady way he holds you as he helps you up.

He doesn’t say a word as he dries you off, dresses you in one of your softer nightgowns, then guides you to the bed. Only after cleaning up the shattered glass does he return, standing beside you, his eyes still searching, still worried.

He’s about to say something when you shake your head, cutting him off.

"I'll be fine, Az," you say, forcing a small, fragile smile. You don’t want him to stay. You don’t want him to see how bad your nights have become.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His gaze lingers on you, as if debating whether or not to push.

"Don't do that," Azriel says, his jaw clenching. "Don't push me away."

He wanted—needed—to be here with you. He knew the mental toll tonight had taken on you.

You stay quiet. "I just can't do this right now," you exhale, the lie slipping easily from your lips. "I just need to be by myself."

Azriel steps forward, kneeling in front of you. You try your hardest to look anywhere but at him, to escape the vulnerability in his eyes, because you know one look is all it would take for you to give in.

His fingers brush against your cheek, tilting your face towards him, his touch impossibly gentle..

"I'm scared." His voice wavers.

Your breath catches. "What?"

Azriel takes a shuddering breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

"I'm scared that if I walk out that door, something's going to happen." His voice is barely above a whisper now, raw with emotion. "And I—" He exhales shakily. "I just can't leave you."

You look into his eyes, and for a moment, it feels like the world is standing still. There’s so much pain in his gaze, so much fear—for you, for what might happen if he leaves. The vulnerability that’s always been hidden beneath his tough exterior is laid bare, and you realize that this isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about him, too.

You feel the weight of everything pressing on your chest, the guilt, the sadness, the exhaustion and yet, there’s something else, something unexpected: relief. He’s here. He wants to be here.

You blink, swallowing the knot in your throat.

"Az... I..." The words feel so small, so insignificant in the face of what you both are going through. But you know you can’t push him away anymore.

The silence between you stretches, and then, before you can stop yourself, you reach out, pulling him closer. His breath hitches as he leans into you, the tension in his body melting the second your arms encircle him.

For a moment, he’s still, unsure. Then he lets out a long, quiet sigh, as if he’s been holding his breath for hours.

"Please," he whispers against your hair, his voice broken. "Just tonight. Let me be here."

And you do. You let go of the part of you that wanted to push him away, the part that convinced you you didn’t deserve this. You let him hold you, feel his warmth, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

Because, at the end of the day, you both needed this. You needed him, just as much as he needed you.

**************************************************

Azriel didn’t sleep the entire night. He held you through every shuddering breath, every restless toss and turn, as if letting go would mean losing you completely. He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed to hold you, to remind himself that you were still here. That he could still do something.

Now, with the first light creeping through the curtains, he watches your brow furrow in sleep. Without thinking, he leans down and presses a soft kiss against your forehead, smoothing away the tension, just like you always did for him.

A small part of him wants to stay like this, wants to pretend that last night meant things were getting better. But he knows better.

So he moves carefully, slipping out of bed, intending to make you breakfast because deep down, he had a sickening feeling you hadn’t been eating.

But the moment he stands, something brushes against his leg.

Azriel stills, frowning as he kneels, reaching under the bed. His fingers close around something cold, and when he pulls it into the morning light, his stomach turns.

A bottle.

His pulse pounds in his ears as he glances back under the bed. More of them. Hidden away.

A sharp breath hisses through his teeth. He doesn’t even realize he’s gripping the bottle too tightly until his knuckles ache.

Behind him, you stir.

A groan leaves your lips as you wake, head throbbing, the remnants of nightmares clinging to you like a second skin. You blink blearily, still expecting to be alone, only to find Azriel sitting rigidly at the edge of the bed, his back turned to you, shoulders tense.

Something was wrong.

“Az?” Your voice is still rough with sleep, but there’s something else now, an undercurrent of dread curling through your ribs.

He doesn’t answer right away.

When he finally turns to face you, his jaw is clenched so tight it looked painful. He held your gaze for a long, unreadable moment before he spoke.

“I think you need to talk to Madja.”

Your stomach drops.

“What?” you force out,

Azriel exhales sharply, the sound barely controlled. “I’m worried about you.”

You shake your head immediately. “Az, I’m fine.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything, it hardens. “You think drinking yourself to oblivion every night is fine?”

The room tilts slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw the bottles,” he says quietly, but there’s an edge to his voice now, something restrained, like a thread pulled too tight. “Under your bed.”

Your breath stutters, and something like shame claws at your throat. But you shove it down, sitting up straighter. “It’s not—It’s not like that.”

Azriel looks at you, his hazel eyes dark and unwavering. “Then what is it like?”

You hate that he’s seeing this. Hate that he’s looking at you like that-like he’s trying to put together the pieces of something broken.

“I don’t need to talk to Madja,” you say, your voice sharper now, defensive. “I’ve been doing fine.”

“No,” Azriel says, shaking his head. “You haven’t.”

 “You don’t get to decide that.” You grit your teeth

“I’m not deciding anything,” he says, the frustration bleeding into his voice. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you drowning.”

Your nails dig into your palms. “I don’t need your help.”

Azriel exhales, slow and measured, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “That’s bullshit.”

You glare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Why are you even here, Az? What, you want to play hero? Fix me?”

His jaw tightens. “I want you to stop pretending you’re okay when you’re not.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“No,” he says, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You didn’t.” He looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression flickers, something raw, something almost pleading. “But I can’t just sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”

Something in your chest twists violently.

“Then don’t,” you say, your voice cold. “I’ve been fine without you for a while now.”

The words are out before you can stop them, sharp and cold and final.

Azriel stills. His fingers flex at his sides, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak for a long moment. And then, finally, he exhales through his nose and pushes to his feet.

A muscle jumps in his jaw as he looks down at you, his face unreadable. “Fine.” It shouldn’t sting, but it does.

He steps back, shadows curling at his heels as he heads for the door. But just before he reaches it, he pauses. Doesn’t look back.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, voice quiet but firm. “About always being here for you. We made a vow to each other and I intend on keeping it”

And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. And you’re left alone.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

You stare at the door, heart still pounding, fingers curled into the sheets like they’re the only thing anchoring you.

He’s gone.

You should feel relieved. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? To keep him at a distance, to stop him from seeing the parts of you that were fraying at the edges. To protect him from the mess you’ve become.

But all you feel is hollow.

Your eyes flicker to the bottle still clutched in your hand. You don’t even remember grabbing it, but there it is—cool and solid against your palm, the last thing tethering you to reality.

You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply, willing the tremor in your hands to stop.

Azriel saw. He knew. And now, there was no taking it back. You should’ve known better than to think you could hide this from him.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at the wall, your mind racing in circles. Minutes? Hours? The light outside shifts, and eventually, you drag yourself out of bed, feeling like you’re moving through water.

You pace the room once. Twice. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too full.

You needed air.

Your feet carry you towards the balcony before you can think twice about it, and before you know it, you’re outside, the cool morning air biting at your skin. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the chill, but it does nothing for the ache inside your ribs.

Azriel’s scent lingers in your room. The ghost of him still clings to the space he left behind.

And gods, you wanted to chase after him.

You wanted to run to him, tell him you didn’t mean it, that you didn't want him to go.

But you don’t.

Instead, you sink down onto the floor, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes as the weight of everything crashes over you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but eventually, exhaustion wins.

And when you finally drag yourself back inside, the only thing left is the gnawing, empty quiet.

*************************************************

Azriel didn’t know his heart could break more than it already had, until today.

Your words echoed in his mind, each one a confirmation of how much he had failed you. The weight of it was unbearable, suffocating. By the time he made it back to his room, his stomach twisted violently, and the first thing he did was stumble into the bathroom and throw up.

The realization hit him like a blade to the gut, you had drowned your sorrows in bottles instead of him. And the bitterness that followed was something he couldn’t shake.

Azriel gripped the edges of the sink, his knuckles white as he tried to steady himself. His reflection stared back at him, hollow-eyed, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Shadows curled around his shoulders, restless, feeding off the storm raging inside him.

You had chosen the bottle over him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply through his nose. It shouldn’t matter..it wasn’t about him. This was about you, about the pain you carried, the weight you refused to share. And yet, the thought of you suffering alone, of you pushing him away when all he wanted was to help, made something inside him splinter.

He had known you were hurting, but seeing it up close, seeing the bottles stashed beneath your bed, the way you flinched at his concern made it real in a way he wasn’t prepared for. And it killed him.

His hands trembled as he turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, hoping it would wash away the sick feeling in his gut. But it didn’t. Nothing would.

Because no matter how much he wanted to be the one to help you, you didn’t want his help.

And that hurt more than anything.

***************************************************

You weren't speaking to anyone in the house. The silence had become suffocating, a constant companion that pressed against you, reminding you of everything you couldn’t escape. Most days, you found yourself hiding away with Clotho, retreating to the library as a sanctuary from the chaos swirling inside your mind.

Feyre’s bump was unmistakable now, a joyful sign of life that only amplified the ache you carried. She’d tried to reach out, tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be around her. You couldn’t bear to cast a shadow over her happiness, and if you did, you knew how it would end: with you comforting her, reassuring her that none of this was her fault. That she had nothing to feel guilty for.

Cassian had made attempts, trying to coax even the faintest smile from you with his jokes. But Nesta saw it, the hollow look in your eyes, the way your lips never quite formed a smile. No matter how hard you tried, the façade wouldn’t stick. You couldn’t pretend anymore.

And Azriel… you and him were locked in your usual dance of silence, each passing day feeling heavier than the last. The weight of what had been left unsaid between you was unbearable, and the thought of trying to fix it seemed almost impossible.

You hadn’t touched a drink since that last argument, your longest streak in a while. You couldn’t even bring yourself to admit it to him, not after how things had ended. Not when you weren’t even sure if anything could ever be the same again.

They had all noticed how much worse you were getting. Yet, no one knew how to fix it

The house was eerily quiet when you returned from another long day with Clotho. Too quiet.

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as you stepped inside.

Then you saw them...sitting in the living room, waiting for you. Concern was written all over their faces. Your eyes landed on Azriel, standing in the far corner, his jaw clenched tight, shadows curling at his feet.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n and Azriel's relationship is filled with tension and unspoken feelings, leaving both of them struggling to confront the distance growing between them.

TW!!: emotional turmoil, angst, drinking!!

Sorry that this took long, school has been beating my a**.

Authors Note: It's gonna go downhill from here and she's going to be really struggling like emotionally and physically before she starts healing. I hope you guys enjoy!!

************************************************************

Mor and Feyre had spent the past few days gently coaxing you out of bed, urging you to get some fresh air, to take even the smallest step forward. Today, for the first time, you gave in. Not for them, but because you could admit, if only to yourself, that the walls of your room had begun to close in on you, making you feel suffocated.

The crisp air greets you as you step into the garden, filling your lungs with something that almost feels like relief. Almost. The sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground, but the warmth barely touches you.

Mor and Feyre walk beside you, their voices light and hopeful as they try to pull you into conversation.They talk about everything and nothing, weaving words in the air between you, trying to anchor you back to the present. But it was like listening through water.. muffled and  distant. You nod at the right moments, but you don’t really hear them. Your mind drifts, weightless and detached.

“Have either of you seen Azriel?”

The words slipped from your lips before you even realized you’d spoken them, your voice breaking the rhythm of their conversation. It was the first thing you’d said to them all day, and it caught them off guard. Their exchange of glances was subtle, but not subtle enough.

Feyre was the first to respond. “He’s attending to some court matters right now,” she said carefully, her tone soft but uncertain. “But he’ll be back soon.”

The hesitation in her voice wasn’t lost on you. The words hung in the air, heavy and unsatisfying. They didn’t sound like the truth. Not entirely. And the bitterness it left in your mouth was indescribable.

Your chest tightened, frustration mingling with the ache already there. “I’ll be going back to my room,” you said abruptly, your voice strained. The pity in their glances, the gentle coddling,it was unbearable. Every attempt they made to help only seemed to remind you of how broken you felt.

You make your way inside, the walls of the house pressing in on you as the weight in your chest grows heavier. You don’t think, you just move, your feet carrying you toward Rhys’s extensive wine collection. You knew this was the last thing you needed, but at this moment, reason didn’t matter. You needed an escape, even if only for a little while.

The room is silent, the dim glow of candlelight casting long shadows against the walls. The air is thick with the scent of aged oak and spiced wine as you step closer to the towering shelf where the bottles are kept. Your fingers tremble as you reach out, the cool glass smooth beneath your touch. The bottle is heavy in your grasp, and as you tilt it slightly, the quiet slosh of liquid inside fills the space, sending a shiver down your spine.

A lump rises in your throat. The sound should bring you comfort, should promise relief. But instead, it fills you with dread.

Still, you don’t put it back. You can’t.

You carry the bottle to your room, each step heavy as if the weight of the moment is pressing down on your chest. Once inside, you sit down against your bed, the cool bottle in your hand a fleeting comfort. The first sip is sharp, bitter, but you don’t care. It’s something, a fleeting numbness to give your mind a break.

Time seems to slip away from you as you drink, each sip taking you further from the reality of your grief and you find yourself lying on the floor, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The same ceiling that had been your quiet companion over the last few days, offering no answers, only silence. 

The pain doesn’t go away, but it dulls, just enough to allow you a breath, a fleeting moment of rest. You know, deep down, that Azriel would be heartbroken if he found you like this. He would want to fix it, to ease your sorrow, but you couldn’t bear to face him like this. Not when you felt so broken.

But tonight, thankfully, he didn't come. The silence of the room, the emptiness of the space, is almost a relief in some strange way. You’re alone with your grief, your sadness, the hollow ache in your chest.

And so you let the tears come, hot and raw, pouring down your face as you grieve. Grief for the son you lost, for the future that would never be. 

*******************************************************

Azriel had been racking his mind for days, throwing himself into work to avoid the crushing weight of his failure. If he couldn't ease your pain, if he couldn't reach you, then at the very least, he could do this. He could hunt down the ones responsible and make them suffer. He owed you that much.

His spies had been working relentlessly under his command, tracking down every lead, every whisper in the shadows. He hadn't given himself a moment of rest, hadn’t stopped for even a second, not until he was sure that everyone involved in the attack would feel the same agony that had rooted itself deep in his chest. His training had become more brutal, more punishing so much that even Cassian and Rhys had started to worry. But none of that mattered. Pain was a welcome distraction.

He sat in his office now, his fingers pressed against his temples, exhaustion threatening to consume him. His shadows swirled around him, whispering fragments of information. The others lingered outside your door, unwilling to leave you alone for even a moment. They had been watching over you constantly, silent guardians in the absence of the one who should have been at your side.

A knock at the door broke through his thoughts. Rhys and Cassian stepped inside, their expressions grim.

“We found some of them,” Rhys said, his voice measured but tight with unspoken fury. He, too, had been searching. He knew Azriel needed this, and he had sworn to do whatever it took to help his brother find justice or at the very least, vengeance.

Azriel lifted his gaze, the dark circles under his eyes making the icy intensity of them even more striking. “How many?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

“We got two,” Rhys admitted. “But they refuse to give up their leader.”

Azriel stood, his grip tightening around Truth-Teller, the blade he had taken from you in fear that you might turn it on yourself. His shadows pulsed around him, eager for violence.

“Leave them to me,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He strode toward the door, but Cassian stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“What do you plan to do, Az?” Cassian asked, his tone cautious but firm.

Azriel’s patience was thin. His nerves were frayed, his restraint all but gone. He met Cassian’s gaze with a cold, unyielding stare. “Whatever it takes.”

Before either of them could stop him, Azriel winnowed straight to the dungeon

The moment he entered, the stench of sweat, blood, and despair clung to him like a second skin. The air was thick with fear, the kind that seeped into the bones and settled there. It was familiar. He welcomed it.

Azriel stepped into the first cell, silent as death itself. The prisoner hadn't noticed him yet, too lost in his own misery to sense the shadows curling around the room, dimming the already faint torchlight.

The man was slumped against the wall, shackles biting into his wrists, his breathing ragged. He hadn’t noticed Azriel yet, not until the door creaked shut behind him. The sound made the man jolt, his head snapping up, his eyes darting frantically around the cell.

Azriel didn’t speak at first. He simply stood in the darkness, letting the silence stretch, letting the man feel the weight of his presence. Fear was a weapon, and Azriel wielded it with deadly precision.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward, into the dim light. His face was expressionless, his Siphons glowing faintly, his wings casting monstrous shadows against the walls.

Slowly, Azriel emerged from the shadows, Truth-Teller glinting in his hand.

The man looked up, and froze.

Azriel tilted his head, his voice quiet, almost gentle.

“Shall we begin?”

********************************************************

You wake up to the dim morning light filtering through the curtains, your head pounding slightly from last night’s activity. Blinking, you shift under the covers and freeze when you see Azriel sitting in the chair across from your bed.

Your heart stutters, a wave of relief washing over you before something sharper cuts through it..uncertainty. You’re thankful you had the sense to shove the empty bottle under your bed before falling asleep. He hadn’t been visiting as much lately, and now that he was here, you couldn’t help the selfish thought that slithered into your mind. Had he found someone else to be there for him? Someone who could give him what you couldn’t?

The idea alone makes your stomach twist, your heart drop.

You stare at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, his face unreadable, his hazel eyes dark with something you can’t quite place.

Your gaze drifts over him, his unkempt hair, the deep shadows under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. He looked exhausted. You swallow past the lump in your throat, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “You look like hell.”

Azriel huffs a breath, something like a laugh, but not quite. “So do you.”

A shadow of a smile ghosts your face. Azriel watches you, his gaze unwavering, searching. He always had this way of looking at you, like he saw too much, like he could peel back every layer until there was nothing left to hide. It used to bring you comfort. Now, it only makes you feel exposed.

You force yourself to hold his stare. “Where were you?”

He hesitates. Just for a second. But it’s enough.

“Court handlings,” he finally says, voice careful, measured.

A lie.

You know it immediately, the way his eyes flicker, the way his fingers tighten slightly against his thigh. The realization sends a sharp sting through your chest.

Why was he lying?

Your mind spirals before you can stop it. Had he truly  found someone else? 

You nod slowly, forcing yourself to swallow the bitterness rising in your throat. “Right.”

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Then you turn away, shifting beneath the covers. “I’m going back to bed.”

Something flashes across his face, hurt, maybe, or frustration. He doesn’t answer.

Azriel steps forward, but you pull back, suddenly exhausted. “Just go,” you murmur, rubbing a hand over your face. “If you won’t tell me the truth, then just… go.”

For a moment, you think he might fight it. That he might stay. But then his shadows shift, and without another word, he’s gone.

And for the first time since Azriel walked into your room, you wish he hadn’t come at all.

********************************************************

You step into the library and finally exhale, the weight on your chest easing just enough to let you breathe. This place had always been your refuge, long before Azriel..before everything. Here, the silence wasn’t suffocating; it was soothing. The books, the worn scent of parchment and ink, the soft glow of the faelights, it all wrapped around you like an old friend, welcoming you home.

It was the first time you had ventured out in a while, and yet, you hadn’t been able to ask Azriel or anyone else for help. You couldn’t bear the pity in their eyes, the lingering stares, the questions no one dared to ask but that burned in the air between you. 

The tension with Azriel had become unbearable. He was always away on missions, always finding something to occupy himself while you remained here stuck, drowning in grief that everyone else seemed to have moved past. The only thing that stayed, the only thing that didn’t judge you, were the bottles hidden beneath your bed.

"Get it together," you whisper to yourself, trying to push away the lump that was threatening to rise in your throat. But it was hard, everything felt so raw.

You make your way to the front desk, and the moment Clotho sees you, she moves with quiet urgency, wrapping her arms around you in a hug. That meant she had heard.

You freeze for just a second before slowly relaxing into the embrace. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at your lips. Clotho,like every priestess in this library was wary of physical touch. They had all endured horrors that made something as simple as a hug feel foreign, even unsafe. And yet, Clotho had always welcomed you, always made you feel like you belonged.

She had been the first to open her arms to you when your family had let you go.

You let yourself sink into the warmth of it, the quiet comfort. Just for a moment.

"I'm fine," you murmur as you pull back, but Clotho only gives you a stern look, the kind that says you don’t have to lie to her, that she knows the truth even if you don’t say it.

She cups your cheeks gently, her touch light but grounding, then presses a soft kiss to your forehead, just like she always did when you were younger. The simple gesture undoes something inside you, and you swallow hard against the sting behind your eyes.

Clotho doesn’t let go of you just yet. Instead, she gently takes your hand and guides you toward a stack of books waiting to be shelved. There’s no explanation, no request, just quiet understanding.

This is what you used to do when you were younger. Back then, when your mind felt too heavy, when the weight of the world pressed down on your chest, Clotho would set you to work organizing the shelves. It helped then. She must have known it would help now, too.

You take the books without a word and begin placing them where they belong, running your fingers over the spines, breathing in the scent of parchment and ink. Slowly, steadily, your thoughts stop spiraling. Your mind quiets. The task grounding you in a way nothing else has in weeks.

By the time you place the last book on the shelf, you realize how much time has passed. The library’s fae lights are dimmer now, the soft glow of evening settling in. It’s dinnertime,so with a soft goodbye, you promise Clotho that you’ll return soon. She doesn’t press, only pats your hand before you step out of the library and into the cool evening time.

The walk to the House of Wind is longer than you remember. Or maybe it just feels that way because of the overwhelming pressure you felt.

When you step inside, the warmth of the house greets you, along with the scent of freshly cooked food. And the first person you see is Elain.

You and Elain had never really been close. It wasn’t animosity, it was more of an unspoken unease. Her ability, the things she knew without ever saying, made you feel exposed in a way you weren’t ready to confront.

She’s standing near the staircase, her soft, golden-brown hair catching the light from the chandeliers.She smiles warmly when she spots you, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “You’re just in time for dinner,” she says, her voice gentle.

You try to return her smile, though it feels strained. “I’m just going to change,” you murmur, not quite meeting her gaze.

You make your way to your room and slowly change into something more comfortable.This would be the first time in weeks that you were eating with everyone instead of taking your meals in solitude. The thought makes your stomach twist with unease, but you remind yourself that this was a step, one you had to take if you ever wanted to feel like yourself again.

As you slip into your clothes, your gaze catches on the mirror. For a moment, you hesitate, but then you force yourself to look.

The reflection staring back at you feels like a stranger. Your eyes, once bright and full of life, now seemed hollow, empty. Dark circles cling stubbornly beneath them, the proof of many sleepless nights. Your skin looked pale, your shoulders slouched under the weight of invisible burdens.

Your hand moves instinctively to your stomach, and the moment your fingers graze it, you flinch. The touch sends a wave of emotions crashing over you..grief, shame, self-consciousness all swirling into a tight knot in your chest.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the wave of emotions back down before they can consume you. Not now. Not tonight.

Instead, you take a slow, deliberate breath and drop your hand, straightening your posture. You smooth out the fabric of your shirt, forcing yourself to focus on the present, on the simple act of walking out that door and sitting at the table with the others.

You make your way into the dining room, and immediately, the quiet buzz of conversation dies down. The inner circle is seated around the table—Feyre, Rhys,Nesta, Mor, Amren, Cassian, Lucien, Varian and Azriel, his presence heavy in the air. They all seem surprised to see you, but your eyes stay locked on Azriel. He hadn’t come to see you, hadn’t spoken to you since… since everything started falling apart. And that silence between you was suffocating. It felt like the room was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen, waiting for you to move, to say something.

Feyre’s voice breaks the tension. “Y/n?” It’s soft, but you can hear the underlying nerves. Her gaze flickered between you and Azriel, but no one knew how to approach the subject. The weight of their concern pressed on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, to even look at him.

You sit down, your heart heavy in your chest. You’re seated in front of Azriel, but your eyes are firmly fixed on the table, unwilling to meet his gaze. Cassian nudges you lightly with a grin, trying to ease the tension, and you offer him a small, strained smile. It’s the best you can do. You hate how distant you’ve become, how cold you feel even with them all around. You just don’t know how to fix it, how to get past this wall that’s built itself between you and everyone else.

The food appears on the table, but you can barely bring yourself to care. The hunger in your stomach is drowned out, and you struggle to find any appeal in the meal before you. You can feel the ache in your bones, the emptiness pulling you under, and the thought of drinking, of losing yourself in something that would numb the pain, rises to the surface. It’s getting harder to fight it. You don’t want to fall back into old habits, but everything feels so overwhelming.

“I have an announcement to make,” Feyre suddenly stands, her voice trembling with excitement and a hint of nervousness. You glance at Rhys, his face full of pride and warmth, and you know this is something they’ve been waiting for, something important. You brace yourself, though, not knowing what kind of announcement could break the tension in the air.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n grapples with overwhelming grief and emotional turmoil.

TW!!: miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, emotional turmoil

Pls don't read if these things trigger you. Thank you guys for reading!!

*******************************************************

Azriel’s heart sinks as he realizes what’s happening. “No, no,” he whispers, his voice breaking. The shadows around him swirl in panic, mirroring the storm raging inside him.

"Rhys," Azriel says desperately, dropping his mental shields, his voice frantic and uneven. "Get Madja. Now. Something’s wrong with Y/N."

"On it," Rhys replies immediately, his tone sharp and firm. But it offers little comfort as Azriel turns his gaze back to you.

“We need to get you to Madja,” he says urgently, his hand moving to your stomach again, fear tightening his grip.

Without hesitation, Azriel lifts you into his arms and takes off, running as fast as he can toward the House of Wind. The wind whipping through his hair and stinging his eyes, but his only focus was on you.The way your body trembled, the way your breath was too shallow, too weak. You were in a state of shock, your mind reeling in denial and confusion..

By the time he reached the House of wind, Madja was already waiting, Rhys and Cassian close behind, their worry palpable.

“What’s happening?” Rhys demands, his eyes darting between you and Azriel.

 “She’s in pain. There was blood. She just-” He exhales sharply, trying to steady himself, but the terror gripping his chest makes it near impossible.

Madja wastes no time. “Put her down. Now.” Her sharp gaze sweeps over you before she turns to the others. "I need everyone out. Except Azriel”.

Azriel gently lays you on the bed, brushing damp hair from your face. His touch is tender, his hands trembling slightly as he grips yours. “I’m here, love,” he murmurs, his voice soft yet resolute. “You’re not alone.”

Madja crouches beside you, her experienced hands moving quickly over your body, assessing, analyzing. Then she looks up, her face grave.

“You’re in early labor, Y/N,” she says, her voice urgent. “And you need to start pushing. Now.”

The words crash over you like a tidal wave. Your chest tightens, panic flaring in your veins.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head, denial wrapping around you like a vice. Your body feels too weak, too broken. “I-I can’t.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightens. “You can,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “You have to. You’re stronger than you know.”

Tears spill freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “It hurts..I can’t-”

Azriel leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I know, love,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I know. But you have to push.”

A sob rips through you, but you nod weakly, drawing in a ragged breath before forcing all your strength into one final push.

And then relief. But the room was silent.

You wait, gasping, heart pounding, but the sound that should follow—the sound of your baby’s first cry never comes.

Madja doesn’t speak right away, her focus entirely on the unmoving infant in her hands. She taps his back, firm but gentle. Nothing.

“No,” you whisper, your vision blurring with fresh tears. “No, no—”

Azriel is frozen beside you, his entire body rigid with shock. The shadows around him stutter, unsure, lost.

Madja tries again, rubbing the baby’s back, willing him to move, to breathe, to live.

But the silence is deafening.

Finally, she looks up, her expression something you don’t want to name. Something you refuse to accept.

She doesn’t have to say anything. You know.

A strangled sob tears from your throat as you reach for him. “My baby.”

Madja hesitates only a moment before gently placing him in your arms. His tiny body is still warm, impossibly small against your chest. You cradle him, a raw, guttural wail escaping you.

Azriel wraps himself around you, his arms holding you together even as you shatter completely. His own tears fall freely now, his breath uneven, his hands trembling as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Azriel,” you sob, your voice desperate, broken. “Help. Please.”

He holds you tighter, his whole body shaking, his wings curling protectively around you as if he can somehow shield you from the unbearable weight of this loss.

Madja steps forward, hesitant. “Y/N…” she says softly, her voice thick with sorrow. “You have to let go.”

But you can’t.

You clutch your baby closer, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, willing him to wake up, to cry, to do something. But there’s only silence. Only stillness.

Azriel's grip on you tightens, his heart breaking as he watches you unravel. He doesn’t tell you to let go. He doesn’t rush you. He just holds you through it, taking your pain into himself, as if by sheer will alone, he can carry it for you.

But when your arms finally loosen, when the last of your strength ebbs away, Madja gently takes the baby from you.

And the moment his small weight leaves your arms, you collapse against Azriel, your entire body shaking with grief so consuming it feels like drowning.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

Madja steps back, giving you both space to grieve.

The silence that followed was unbearable, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs and Azriel’s whispered reassurances as the world seemed to crumble around you.

*******************************************************The next day, you wake up with a heavy heart, the pain so overwhelming that you had passed out. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, a strange numbness settling over you like a suffocating fog. Your eyes wander the room until they land on Azriel, asleep in the chair, his face contorted with worry even in his dreams. His brows are furrowed, a sight you were always so used to smoothing away with a gentle touch.

You lay there in bed, the weight of your loss pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. All you wanted in that moment was to hold your son, to feel his warmth in your arms, to hear his tiny cries filling the silence that now seemed unbearable.

Slowly, you push yourself up, careful not to wake Azriel, and make your way to the windowsill. Fresh tears spill down your face as you climb onto it, the cool night air biting at your skin. The city stretches out before you, but it feels so distant. The thought of ending it all whispers through your mind, soft and enticing. It would be so simple, so painless. Just an escape from this unrelenting agony.

You close your eyes, letting the wind whip against your face, and for a fleeting moment, the idea feels like a release.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes flutter open, and you turn to see Azriel standing there, his body tense, his golden eyes wide with fear. He’s careful as he takes a step forward, his hand reaching out as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

Azriel could never put into words the terror that gripped him in that moment. Waking up to his shadows in a frenzy, only to see you perched on the edge, it was a sight he knew would haunt him forever.

His voice is rough with desperation. “What are you doing?”

Tears stream freely down your face as you whisper his name, your voice hoarse, broken. “Azriel… I should have died instead of him. I—I can’t live without my baby.”

Azriel feels something inside him shatter at your words. The raw, aching agony in your voice slices through him like a blade, leaving him bleeding and helpless. He has faced war, endured centuries of pain, but nothing, nothing could compare to the feeling of watching the person he loves teetering on the edge of despair.

Azriel’s breath shudders as he takes another slow step forward, his hands trembling at his sides. His wings twitch as if ready to propel him forward at the slightest sign that you might fall. His voice, usually so controlled, is laced with pure, unfiltered desperation.

“Please,” he whispers. “Come down, love. Just—just take my hand.”

You shake your head, your entire body wracked with silent sobs. “How can you even look at me? You should despise me, he was meant to be alive” you croak, your voice barely audible over the wind. “We had all those plans for our family. And now—” Your voice cracks, and you let out a choked sob. “Now there's nothing.”

“There is something,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “There’s me.”

Your eyes snap to his, and for the first time, he sees the true depth of your pain. It’s a black hole, swallowing everything in its path, pulling you further and further away from him.

Azriel takes another step forward, so close now that he could touch you if he reached out. “I know it hurts,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I know this pain feels like it’ll never leave. But if you go,if you let this grief take you…I’ll lose you too.”

He shakes his head, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “And I can’t, Y/N. I won’t survive that. I need you.”

Tears stream down your face as you stare at him, at the way his body trembles with the effort of holding himself together. Your lips part, but no words come.

Azriel moves then, ever so slowly, reaching out his scarred hand. “Take my hand,” he pleads, his voice raw. “Please, love. Let me hold you.”

For a long, agonizing moment, you don’t move. Then, with a broken sob, you let go..not of life, but of the ledge.

Azriel moves faster than a breath, his arms locking around you, pulling you off the windowsill and against his chest. He stumbles back onto the floor with you in his grasp, his wings flaring to keep his balance.

And then you’re both on the ground, tangled together, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that it’s as if he’s trying to hold you together with his own strength.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into your hair, rocking you gently as you sob into his chest. “I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go.”

You clutch onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. And maybe, just maybe, he is.

The next day, a soft knock echoes through your room. You don’t respond. The door creaks open, and you hear the quiet footsteps of Rhys and Feyre entering. You don’t look at them. Your gaze stays fixed on the ceiling, the emptiness in your chest mirrored by the blankness of your stare.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre’s voice is gentle, barely above a whisper, as though she’s afraid to break the fragile silence.

You don’t answer immediately, your throat dry, your heart heavy. Finally, your voice comes, flat and devoid of emotion. “Like my son just died.”

The words hang in the air, sharp and jagged. Feyre flinches at the raw honesty, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Normally, you might have softened your response, tried to cushion the blow. But today? Today, you didn’t care. Today, you had a pass.

Rhys shifts uncomfortably, his usual confidence gone. He stands quietly, his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight as if he’s holding back his emotions at seeing you so broken.

Feyre takes a step closer, her face filled with anguish, but she doesn’t push. She doesn’t tell you it will be okay. She doesn’t try to offer empty platitudes. Instead, she kneels by your bedside, her hand resting lightly on yours.

“We’re here,” she says softly, her voice breaking just enough to reveal her pain. “For whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. 

After a long, heavy silence, they seem to understand that words won’t reach you right now. They exchange a quiet glance with azriel before leaving to attend to court matters, Not long after, Azriel approaches you. His presence is familiar, grounding in a way that should comfort you, but it only makes the ache in your chest deepen.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks gently.

You shake your head.

“Love, you have to eat something,” he presses, his voice thick with concern. “You haven’t had anything since…” His voice trails off, as if saying the words will make them more real.

You finally turn your head to look at him. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usually sharp features dulled by grief and sleepless nights. The sight makes your heart clench with guilt. He was breaking too.

“Soup,” you whisper.

Instantly, the House prepares it, a warm bowl appearing on the nightstand. Without hesitation, Azriel takes it and settles beside you, spoon in hand. He feeds you in quiet patience, his free hand brushing against yours between bites, as if reassuring himself that you’re still here.

When you’re finally full, you murmur, “You should get some sleep, Az.”

His brows furrow. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been up here with me this whole time.” Your voice is weak, but insistent. “You need to eat too.”

Azriel exhales, his jaw tightening like he wants to argue, but the exhaustion weighing down his body betrays him. He reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “I’ll eat,” he promises softly. “But I’m not leaving you.”

A week had passed, but nothing had really changed. The pain hadn’t dulled, and neither had the emptiness inside of you. It felt like the world was moving on, but you were stuck, frozen in time, haunted by the grief that weighed down your every step.

You had lost weight. The energy it took to even get out of bed some mornings was overwhelming. Most days, you were distant, a part of you dissociating from the reality around you. It was like you were watching everything from behind glass, everyone’s worried faces, their desperate attempts to help, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but the void that was slowly swallowing you.

There were days when you couldn’t even look at Azriel. When his eyes would meet yours, you’d look away, guilt gnawing at your insides. You didn’t deserve his love, his devotion. Not when you had failed him in the most unimaginable way. He deserved happiness, and you had robbed him of it.

Azriel noticed. Of course, he noticed. He was always there, sitting by your side, his presence unwavering, but even he couldn’t reach you anymore. The words he whispered to you, the soft touch of his hand, they didn’t seem to matter. His eyes, once filled with love, now carried a sorrow of their own. 

He had tried to coax you out of the silence, to talk, to share your pain, but you wouldn’t let him in. It was like there was a barrier you had built, an impenetrable wall that refused to break. He didn’t know what to do anymore.

******************************************************

Azriel quietly slipped out of the room, careful not to disturb you. You had finally fallen into a restless sleep, though he knew it would be a long while before the weight of grief would allow you the peace of a true rest. His heart ached as he watched you, wishing there was more he could do to take the pain away. But for now, all he could do was give you space, even if it felt like everything was falling apart around him.

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen, his steps heavy, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. The hunger gnawing at his stomach barely registered, his appetite long gone in the wake of everything that had happened. But he knew he needed to eat, if only to keep himself moving, keep himself strong. Even though he could barely muster the energy to lift a fork, he forced himself to sit down and try.

As he stared at the food in front of him, Cassian walked in, his usual energetic presence subdued. The concern in his eyes was impossible to miss as he took a seat across from Azriel.

"You okay, brother?" Cassian asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Azriel looks up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, though he hides it behind a mask. He offers a small, tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Cassian doesn’t buy it, of course. He studies his brother’s face, sensing the unspoken pain and the weight Azriel is carrying. “You’ve been up there all day with her. How is she really doing?”

Azriel’s gaze drifts down to the empty plate in front of him. His fingers absently trace the edges of the porcelain. “"I don't know," he admits quietly, the words more fragile than he intended. “I feel like I’m failing her," he says, his voice barely audible. "She’s hurting, and I can’t fix it. I can’t fix this... any of this."”

Cassian’s expression softens.. "You’re not failing her. You’re with her, Az. That’s what matters. She needs you here, now. And when she’s ready, you’ll be there to help her heal. But you’ve got to take care of yourself too."

Azriel’s jaw tightens. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just feel like I’m losing her Cass,”he finally admits, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I don’t know how to help her through this. And it scares me.”

“I know you can’t. But sometimes... just being with someone is enough. That's all you can do right now.” Cassian’s voice is quiet but firm, understanding the depth of Azriel’s emotions. “You’re not alone in this, you know. We’re all here for you both.”

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: There's an attack on Velaris and you and Azriel are struggling to reconnect after sudden events that leave the both of you broken beyond repair.

Warnings: miscarriage, angst, drinking and suicidal thoughts!!

Word count:  1.3K

Note: I've been debating posting this but I hope you all like it.

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You’re at home when you feel a sudden shake in the Earth. You're at home alone because your mate had some work to do and even though he had trouble leaving you this late into your pregnancy, you had assured him that you were going to be okay. How cruel faith was. You  run to the nearest window and see people scrambling to get to safety. Velaris was under attack.

Your door busts open and you pick up Truthteller ready to defend yourself. “Y/n?” Azriel shouts frantically. “Azriel?” you call out panicked from your room. He rushes into the bedroom and the first thing you notice is the blood on his hand and he looked like he was about to throw up. 

“Are you alright?” He asks immediately, looking you up and down looking for injuries. You nod, placing both hands on his cheeks. “Are you?” Your gaze flickers back to the blood staining his hands.

 “I'm fine love, it's not mine” he reassures you. “Is everyone okay?” you ask worried about the others and azriel lets out a tired sigh, his fingers stroking your stomach. He didn't want to add to your already rising anxiety. “Everyones fine, we just need to get to the house of wind, Rhys and Cassian are on the front lines right now but it's going to be okay”.

You sigh and look at him “how are we gonna get there az, i can't fly or winnow when i'm pregnant” azriel rubs a hand over his face. He had completely forgotten that you can't winnow and he didn't want to risk that. “We’ll just have to run or something, i'll try to keep up” you add, attempting a weak smile, though the thought of running when you could barely make it through the house without losing your breath felt impossible.

He wanted to protest because the thought of putting you in discomfort was gnawing at him. “Az we need to go now” you say looking outside and seeing more people screaming and running. He grabs your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “No matter what you stay behind me and if there's any sign of trouble I want you to run okay?” he says and you open your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

As you both make your way out, Azriels grip on your hand is tight as he leads you through the streets keeping you close to him. He had his other hand guiding your eyes away from the dead bodies that littered the ground. Azriel’s presence is the only thing keeping you grounded, his calm strength a fragile thread in the chaos.

You turn into a street and five men start approaching you. “If it isn't the shadowsinger and his little mate” the one leading sneers and the others chuckle darkly, their eyes glinting with malice. Azriel immediately pulls you closer to his side, his wings flaring slightly as his body shields you protectively. His posture is tense, his shadows coiled, but he knows he can’t act rashly, not with your life and the baby’s on the line.

 “Remember what i said, if this goes south, i want you to run. immediately” he orders, his voice low enough for only you to hear. You glance up at him, your heart hammering in your chest. His jaw is set, his hazel eyes sharp and focused, but beneath the steely exterior, you can sense his worry.

The lapdogs charge for azriel and you do everything you can to not freak out. Azriel moves with lethal grace, his shadows moving frantically. They seem to move in sync with his every move, attacking with a precision only Azriel is capable of. A few shadows detach, staying close to you, their presence a small comfort in the chaos. But even with his unmatched skill, the men are surprisingly skilled too, their movements sharp and coordinated. This was not an easy fight.

You feel someone's hand clamp on your mouth suddenly as you get dragged away. The last thing you hear is azriel screaming your name. You bite down hard on your captor’s hand. He roars in pain, releasing you just enough for you to twist out of his grasp, stumbling forward, barely catching yourself. 

You start running when you're dragged back by your hair “Let me go” you struggle against him and you feel a cold blade press against your throat making you freeze.

He leans in close, his voice low and cold “Not so tough now, are you?” his breath hot against your ear. “What do you want?” you spit, your voice steady despite the blade biting into your skin

His smirk widens “Oh aren't you tough” he mocks the dagger pressing harder against your skin. “What do you think I want, little girl?” you hiss “I am no girl” and you watch in disgust as he laughs “No, you're not, you're a pregnant girl, which makes you more valuable to me” your heart drops and the urge to protect burns so deep in your body. Not just yourself, but the life growing inside you.

He has no time to react as you take Truthteller and stab it in his neck with all the strength you can muster. He gasps and struggles for air, he tries to say something, but instead coughs up a lungful of blood before falling to the ground .His cries of pain turn into gurgled whimpers, and then silence. The only sound left is your labored breathing as you kneel over his lifeless body.

You fall to the ground exhausted as you stare at the blood all over you. Your entire body shakes as adrenaline courses through your veins. You begin to feel weak and lightheaded

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Azriel runs through the bodies he had just discarded, his eyes desperately searching for any sign of you. His heart pounding in his chest as he calls out your name, his voice getting more frantic. He should have been with you, he should have been there for you. If anything happened to you, he was never going to forgive himself–

He finally sees you. You were kneeling on the ground, your hands on your stomach, and your face was hauntingly pale. He rushes over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you. His eyes taking in your exhausted form and the exhaustion on your face.

You look up at azriel and the relief you felt was overwhelming. He wraps you in his arms. His face buried in your hair, his body shaking with a mixture of fear and relief. And then he began to cry. “I was so scared” his grip on you was tightening as he held you.

He took a shaky breath, “I should've been here” he whispered. “I should have been here to protect you”.  You gently place your hands on his cheeks, lifting his face to meet your gaze. “ it wasn't your fault”, you say softly, your voice firm “And besides, it looks like i did pretty  good on my own” you tease looking at the dead body beside you. 

He chuckles softly, “yeah you did good love”. He looks down at you again looking for injuries. Az are you and y/n okay? We just got rid of the attackers, where are you? Rhys voice booms in his ear. Yh we’re fine, on our way.

 Azriel stands up “Rhys is waiting for us, you ready?” he asks as he helps you stand up, but before you can answer, a sharp pain radiates through your stomach, stealing your breath. You clutch at Azriel’s arm, your face twisting in pain. “Something’s wrong” you say to azriel and his eyes widen as your hand flies to your stomach. “Y/n? what's wrong” his voice laces with worry.