Daydreamer

the unruly white hair of satoru contained for the time being, the canvas of his face lies bare below you—exposing the intense, uncovered brilliance of his eyes directly to your concentrated gaze.

satoru's brief respite lasts all of a heartbeat before you lean over him again, guiding the kohl pencil back into the narrow space between your faces.

free hand cupping the side of his face, your thumb settles just above his eyelid to draw the skin taut.

you narrow your focus to the delicate shape of satoru’s eye and instruct him softly. “look up for me,”

satoru swallows, throat bobbing—finding himself unable to escape the warmth of your breath against his cheek, or the way you're settled down on him.

"you're real close," he murmurs, voice dropping a fraction of its usual volume.

“satoru,” you say, practical—breath fanning across his cheekbone—“ceiling.”

his lids tuck back as he complies, bringing his waterline into view. as the tip of the eye pencil nears, the air between your faces tightens with a faint, phantom buzz—gone again as quickly as it came on.

you bring down the sharp point of the pencil, tracing the inner rim of his eye with a steady glide. before it can set, the pad of your ring finger sweeps a gentle stroke across his outer corner—the warm friction of your skin dragging over the folding flesh, blending out the harshness until the mix of wax and oil melts seamlessly into the lines of his eyes.

the pitch-black pigment brings a sharp, devastating frame against his white lashes, making the impossible blue of his eyes pop with a dangerous, high-contrast brilliance.

“there,” you lean away, the absence of your warmth leaving a brief vacuum for satoru, filled only by the uneven exhale he finally lets slip.

and god, does he look incredible.

the look transforms his snowy gaze from a playful nuisance to something high-fashion and devastatingly striking. for a split second, you behold him, pride vibrating in your throat.

satoru’s fresh, dark-rimmed gaze tracks your expression, catching the quiet weight of your stare. he tries for a smirk, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes—he's still too grounded, still trapped completely beneath you.

“what?” he asks, tone still a little lower than usual—a tentative edge cutting through his haughtiness. “am i stunning? did you make me too pretty to look at?”

“shut up,” you sigh, already reaching into the makeup bag beside to swap for a clear lash and brow gel. “i’m not done yet. look at me normally.”

he watches as you unscrew the cap, pump the spoolie. you pull out the handle, setting the rest of the vial down on the ground.

satoru feels the weight of you slowly falling forward towards his chest again.

he opens his mouth—then shuts it. your palm settles flush with his chest, falling and rising synchronously with him while you guide the bristles through the arch of his brows in steady strokes.

you recline, scanning the evenness of your line work. satoru is left suspended in the sudden quiet of the space between you.

“hm.. tilt your head up.”

the words are still hanging in the air when your fingers clamp firmly beneath the sharp underside of his jaw. the steadfastness of the grip is picked up by zero out of his six eyes—the rest of the world simply ceases to exist. any lingering thoughts, the room, his own breath—all of it vanishes, replaced entirely by the suffocating awareness of your hand anchoring him in place.

you hold his chin, sliding your knees a fraction of an inch closer and sweeping the remainder of the gel.

to satoru, the distance might as well not exist. with his head slanted up at such a helpless position, he is entirely pinned by the heat of your thighs framing him, the faint, stable rhythm of your breathing, and the agonizingly slow glide of the brush. he can't think. he can't pull away—completely caught in the orbit of your focus. his mind reduces down to counting the seconds by the friction of your skin against his jaw.

only when you are completely content with the end result do your fingers release the sharp bone near his throat. satoru holds back a tight hiss at the loss, the phantom pressure of your thumb still lingering like a brand against his skin.

he takes a slow, deliberate breath, letting his chest rise fully against your lap to stabilize his rhythm. it’s a humbling realization—that satoru has to consciously force his heart to stop hammering over something as trivial as a plastic wand—his system is overloaded by the simple, high-frequency friction of your bare skin and the micro-movements of your hands bypassing his space.

the syllable dies in his throat as satoru parts his lips to say something—anything to break the quiet before it swallows him. but your shadow is already falling over him again, swapping the wand for a wide, plush brush.

“close your eyes,” you lean into his space once more. a brief resistance flashes in his eyes before he complies, shutting his charcoal marked lids.

bristles hovering millimeters away from his cheek, your hand stalls. spreading high across the curve of satoru’s cheekbones is a faint but unmistakable, pre-existing pink—a genuine flush, blooming right through his pale skin, serving as a perfect, organic guide.

after a momentary, practical calculation you tilt your head, tapping the wooden handle against the back of your wrist. a small cloud of excess powder disperses into the thick air—satoru’s body having already done half the work for you.

satoru finally catches the soft, feather-light drag of the synthetic hair on his face—the sweeping caress dawdling agonizingly slow on the high points of his cheeks.

without his sight, the rhythm of your movements feels dangerously deliberate. satoru feels his body on the brink of succumbing, wanting to mindlessly seep into the deeply smooth, sensitive pull of the dense, rounded fluff on his midface.

the velvet-soft texture bridges the middle of satoru’s nose with a trail of friction that makes his nerves fizz, sweeping across, leaving him nearly breathless—skin pulsing and buzzing under an all-enveloping current. the fallout of powder scatters, settling along the slope of his nose and dusting down toward his cupid's bow in microscopic clumps.

you lean instinctively, parting your lips, then a staggered sequence of moving air—soft and warm—skims satoru’s cheekbones like a shockwave.

the first blow lands across the bridge of his nose, sparking something in his brain and drifting down over the dip of his cupid's bow, the puffs chasing the stray powder.

and with it, the last of rational thoughts in his mind.

satoru could map out for something tangible—like the solid feel of a cosmetic tool—but the total sensory ambush of the decentralized, shifting airflow coming out of your lips, he hadn’t planned for.

visionless and unfocused, satoru’s entire system completely misfires. the living atmosphere of you, raw and encompassing, washes over his bare skin without a single buffer to anchor it.

his fingers twitch at his sides, dragging uselessly against the fabric of the carpet as his lungs struggle to pull in a normal breath.

“you can look at me.”

for a disorienting second, satoru tries to distinguish if his body started to drift off the floor, or if his mind has just floated that far away from his own skin.

his lids flutter, eyes blinking open to meet yours with a heavy, dazed intensity.

you hold his gaze for a second, brows knitting as your attention shifts. leaning back in, you rest the pad of your thumb under his bottom lip and pointer finger finding the side of his cheek, stabilizing his head while you inspect the deep, vivid rose-toned glow blooming across his skin, bleeding out way past where the brush had traced.

“did i give you blush blindness?..”

satoru can barely process the heavy, practical focus in your eyes, internally still ringing from the phantom heat of your breath. he tries to reel it in, but his thoughts only scatter further under the solid, unyielding weight of your body, fingers and gaze.

tilting his head just a fraction left, then right, you think out loud, eyes tracing the crimson flush with as you genuinely wonder how it got so heavy-handed.

“i’m sure i tried to apply even less than i planned, though..”

satoru feels his loud, snapping back energy dissipate entirely, tensing hard as you shift his face. your face is entirely too close, your grip a warm pressure under his bottom lip.

he needs to break out of it.

the boiling over temperature of his own body heat screams at him to break it, do something, anything to shatter this encapsulating moment before he completely loses his grip on reality.

“okay, well. here we are. lips now.”

the quiet click of the unscrewed cap resonates loudly in satoru’s ears, his out-of-it gaze of stumbling onto the way you hold and twist the small plastic tube of your clear lipgloss.

next he watches your torso tilt forward over him—mind wheeling as he notices the hem of your shirt riding up in natural motion and exposing the skin around the curve of your waist.

“you know, you’ve been really quiet.” you press your palm, cupping his cheek with your free hand. “unusually quiet.”

needy and desperate on two opposite ends—satoru wracks his brain, scrambling to find some familiar footing, a way to shatter the intoxicating feeling of your hands on him—form a response, any, deflect, tease, reclaim his birth-given right to be annoying.

instead, he swallows, parted-mouth against your grip—mind a chaotic, short-circuiting mess as the tip of the wand presses against his lower lip.

“juh’ bwein’ a good canvah.”

the near unintelligible mumble melts in an uncoordinated slur as his lips awkwardly try to move against your hold.

“shh,” you shush, smiling at his idiocy as your breath ghosts his, meeting in the middle with a hot vapor. “not if you try to talk now.”

the slick, plump pad glides against his bottom lip, applying a chill coat in comparison to his burning—scorching skin. chest tight, the icy contrast against his overheated mouth combined with torturous nearness of your face paralyzes satoru.

he feels damp heat of your lungs against his mouth; see every individual eyelash, and worst of all the total, unbothered dedication in your eyes as you trace his lips—entirely in control of his space, completely consuming his oxygen and not even trembling.

he needs to break this.

brain grasping at straws while his body cooks, satoru searches for a way out of his predicament.

he needs to channel the unyielding streak of the strongest, bubble it over to the surface, shatter your focus. if he lets you continue peering at him with that calm, clinical authority for one more second, satoru fears it’ll be the end of him, completely breaking.

driven by that sheer, desperate impulse, he deliberately darts his tongue out—a slow, damp stripe right across the lower curve of his lip, tasting the familiar artificial sweetness and instantly smudging your careful handiwork.

“really, satoru,” you huff, the clear note of irritation in your tone triggering a faint, lazy trace of a smirk that attempts to pull at the corner of his mouth. “is this good canvas behavior?”

“wanted t’see what it tasted like.” satoru remarks with a light shrug—face half-smug, mind half-gone.

“you know how it tastes.” you reply, flat and resolute.

satoru blinks, taking in your retort.

his brain fills with the vivid, tactile memory of the feverish mouth of yours against his in a dizzying montage of shared kisses, finding himself in moments where he'd pulled you against him and tasted that exact flavor right off your lips.

he tries holding back the craving, his willpower nearly giving in to kiss your finger as it wipes off the dampness off his spot off his lips, preparing to reapply the shine to where he licked it off.

satoru’s longing is instantly hijacked, however, as your body gives in to exhale and naturally vent your frustration.

“unbelievable.”

already drowning in overwhelming want while predisposed to thoughts of past make-outs thanks to you, satoru’s half-smirk is choked out with the specific motion of your slump—the one where your hips subtly lift off his lap for a mere second, only to slide right back down, shifting while you reapply the gloss—causing an inevitable twitch in his lap. the sequence prompts a literal muscle-memory alarm, a sudden, heavy ache expanding between his thighs that his spine goes dead rigid trying to ignore.

his chest heaves with a shallow, uneven rhythm as he fights a losing battle against his own skin.

a fraction of an inch, it’s how much you slide your knees forward. you steady your hand, ready for the final layer of shine and in the abrupt, total lack of space, you feel him—the unmistakable, heavy heat of satoru pressed right against your core, growing more firm by the second.

you freeze, a knot catching in your throat—heart slams against your ribs in a shuddering breath, escaping before you can trap it.

you don’t pull away from the position. silence is somehow the loudest thing in the room as satoru’s eyes befall on your form, visibly affected—chest rising too fast, lips parting on a breath you forgot to take, hips still, pressed against him like you’re part of him.

satoru doesn’t look away, straining to keep normal while the remainder of his autonomy drains from his frame, chest heaving with a shallow, uneven rhythm, fighting a losing battle against his own biology. his tense fingers curl hard into the carpet and go bloodless as a dark, breathless heat sparks in his eyes, caught.

“hard...” he lets out, breathy, breaking off into a low and rough register. he swallows, throat bobbing. “...to keep it together.”

it’s the final straw.

Before you could protest, he rose, pulling you up with him as if you weighed nothing. In one smooth motion he swept you into his arms, carrying you back inside the main house. The servants bowed and vanished around corners. they had long grown used to their lord’s open affection.

...

the elders were already gathered. You moved to serve tea, old habit, but Satoru’s hand caught yours.

“Sit” he said simply, guiding you to the cushion beside his own.

The elders’ eyes widened when he asked them to pour thier own tea. One elder, an old man with a face like weathered stone, cleared his throat.

“You should not be idle, daughter” Elder Haruto intoned, sipping his tea while his gaze flicked disapprovingly to the way Satoru lounged nearby, one hand resting possessively on your knee. “The floors must be polished. The lord’s footwear cleaned and set properly. A wife’s hands are never still, child or no.”

“Her hands will rest when I say they rest.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If the floors need polishing, the servants will handle it. As for my geta—” He glanced at the wooden sandals by the door, the ones you had never been allowed to touch, even before you were pregnant, “—I never let her near them. Why would I start now?”

“My lord… the lady is perfectly capable of light duties, tradi—”

“Tradition? now observing education for higher students is enough work for her.” Satoru cut in, voice pleasant yet edged with Infinity’s chill, “She worked herself to exhaustion at home before I wed her. I will not allow it now.” He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Besides… I like doing things for her.”

You stared at him again, long, unblinking.

The elder looked displeased, but said nothing more.

...

It happened on the third afternoon of his absence. The sky hung heavy with late spring clouds, and the air inside the main hall smelled of aged wood and incense. You were kneeling by the low table, arranging fresh white camellias and pine branches, when elder Haruto and two others entered without announcement.

“Daughter in law of the Gojo house” Haruto began, his voice like dry leaves scraping stone. His gaze flicked to your middle with clear disdain.

“Carrying the heir does not exempt you from your duties. It is a wife’s role to maintain the household’s dignity. Do not think your condition makes you special.”

Tradition bound you, as a non sorcerer brought into the clan through marriage, your place was one of service and quiet strength. Defiance against the elders could ripple through the entire household.

“But… my husband said—”

“His indulgence is temporary,” another elder cut in sharply. “The child is not yet born. Clean them, thoroughly.”

A servant boy hovered anxiously nearby, eyes wide with worry, but he dared not intervene.

...

The sliding shoji screens of the estate did not merely open, they rattled on their wooden tracks, vibrating with the sheer force of the cursed energy bleeding off Satoru as he stepped into the main pavilion.

The air in the compound always grew heavier when the clan head returned, but tonight, it felt suffocating. It tasted of ozone and impending lightning.

You were already asleep in the main room, exhausted from a day that had fractured your spirit far more than your body. Beneath the heavy, silk futon, your hand rested protectively over the slight swell of your belly, a few months along, still delicate, a fragile miracle you and Satoru had wept over in the privacy of your quarters.

Satoru shed his haori, his six eyes instantly cataloging the state of the house. He had been gone for three days on an emergency deployment in the north. Three days too long.

"Gojo sama."

A small, breathless voice broke the silence of the corridor. It was a servant boy whose family had served Satoru’s personal branch for generations. The boy was with some information.

Satoru paused.

"Tatsuya" he murmured, his voice deceptively low. "Why are you still up? And why does the courtyard smell like damp earth?"

Tatsuya swallowed hard, looking toward the closed doors of your bedroom before continuing. "While you were away... the council of elders called upon the lady."

Satoru’s posture didn't change, but the ambient temperature seemed to drop. "Did they?"

"They... they claimed she was becoming arrogant. They said a housewife of the Gojo clan must know her place, less she 'grow into her mind' and believe herself above the bloodline." Tatsuya’s voice hitched. "They dragged her to the northern wash-basin. They forced her to clean the clan’s formal geta and zori. With the well water."

The silence that followed was absolute. Not even the crickets in the garden dared to make a sound.

"They forced her?" Satoru repeated. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a collapsing star.

"She refused at first, reminding them of her condition," Tatsuya whispered, tears leaking onto the floorboards. "But Elder Ogi... he grabbed her arm. He forced her down to her knees on the stone path. She tripped. Her knee... her knee was scraped. She spent three hours in the cold, scrubbing their filth. She asked them to let her rest, but they told her she needed to be 'disciplined'."

Satoru didn't say another word, nor did he storm off. He simply vanished from the hallway, leaving behind a draft of freezing air.

In the dimly lit inner sanctuary of the estate, three of the clan’s oldest elders sat around a low table, sipping roasted green tea. They were discussing the upcoming seasonal rituals, completely self assured in their ancient, stagnant authority.

The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary didn't just open, they shattered inward, exploding into wooden splinters that embedded themselves into the priceless hanging scrolls on the walls.

The elders scrambled backward, but before they could even draw a breath to protest, Satoru was there.

He didn't use Limitless to crush them from afar. This required the brutal, visceral reality of his bare hands.

"What" he begins, voice deceptively soft, "in the name of all the ancestors, possessed you to order my pregnant wife to wash filth?"

"Satoru! What is the meaning of—"

Ogi, the eldest among them, didn't get to finish his sentence. Satoru lunged forward, his movement a blur of lethal grace. He grabbed Ogi’s right wrist and twisted.

A sickening, wet pop echoed through the room as the bones in Ogi's wrist shattered under Satoru's grip. The old man screamed, a high, reedy sound of pure agony, as Satoru slammed him face first onto the tatami mats.

"You touched her" Satoru whispered. The sound of his voice was worse than any shout. It was dead. Completely devoid of the playful sorcerer they thought they could manage.

Satoru brought his heavy, geta down directly onto Ogi’s outstretched hand, grinding his heel into the old man's knuckles. The sound of fracturing finger bones filled the room. Ogi choked on his own vomit, pinning himself to the floor under the immense, crushing weight of Satoru’s physical strength.

"Satoru! Step back! This is a violation of clan law! She is a woman! She must be disciplined to understand the weight of the Gojo name!" another elder shrieked, his hands shaking as he tried to form a cursed technique sign.

Satoru turned his head, his brilliant blue eyes glowing with a terrifying, unhinged light in the shadows. He had never been this angry in his entire life.

"Disciplined?" Satoru's voice rose, vibrating with a rage that made the very foundations of the estate groan. "You dynamic pieces of garbage. You dare talk about discipline to me? About my wife?"

He stepped off Ogi, leaving the old man weeping into the ruined tatami, and advanced on the second elder.

"I don't let her touch a single piece of anything when she is perfectly healthy" Satoru snarled, the raw emotion finally breaking through his terrifying calm.

"the servants wash my damn boots. I carry her across the courtyard when the gravel is too sharp. And you... you useless, disgusting, vile, rotting fossils... you dragged my pregnant woman out into the cold? To scrub your filth? Her knee bleeds because of your exclusive skill of not using a brain"

He grabbed the second elder by the front of his expensive silk kimono, lifting the grown man entirely off the ground with one hand.

"She is the future of this entire fucking world, and you risked her safety—you risked my child—because your fragile, pathetic egos were threatened by her existence?!" Satoru roared, his voice shaking the roof tiles.

"She will think she's the best of all? She is the best of all! She is mine! Which makes her untouchable to the likes of you!"

He threw the elder across the room, smashing him into a heavy wooden cabinet that collapsed under the impact.

"Satoru... the--the hierarchy... her place-" the third elder stammered, backing into the corner, clutching his prayer beads as if they could save him from a god.

“Her place?” The air crackled. “Her place is to be cherished. To be protected. I have torn apart special grade curses with less effort than it takes me to tolerate your outdated nonsense. You dare speak to my wife as if she is a common servant? As if the life she nurtures is insignificant?”

Satoru stood in the center of the ruined room, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving under his clothes. The sheer pressure of his cursed energy was cracking the plaster on the walls. He looked down at them with a disgust so profound it was sickening.

"Listen to me very carefully" Satoru said, his voice dropping back to a lethal, quiet hiss. "Tradition dies when it threatens what is mine."

 "I have never asked her to perform such tasks. Not once. Not before she carried my child, and certainly not now. Do you have any idea what pregnancy entails? The strain? The risk? My wife is not a servant. She is the heart of this clan. She carries the future."

His voice rises, never before this uncontrolled. "You forced her to kneel by a basin while I was away securing this clan's power? While she should be resting, being cared for? If any of you so much as suggest she lift a finger for menial labor again, I will personally ensure your retirement is... permanent. and I will remind you exactly why I am the clan head. Not because of bloodlines or dusty customs. Because I am the strongest. And I will not hesitate to make examples.”

He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing the final elder, deciding it was enough.

"Get out. All of you. Pack your robes, your tea sets, and your useless books, and fuck yourselves out of my estate before the sun rises. If I see a single one of your faces within the clan boundaries tomorrow morning, I won't just break your hands. I will erase your entire branches from the registry. Try me. See if the jujutsu authorities can stop me."

None of them doubted him. The strongest sorcerer in the world was standing before them, completely unhinged. They nodded frantically, Ogi clutching his ruined arm as they dragged themselves out of the room, terrified for their very lives, knowing the strongest's word was law, and his wrath absolute.

The slide of the shoji screen was a mere sigh in the quiet night, a soft friction of wood on wood. The moment Satoru crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, the terrifying, static heavy aura of his rage dissolved entirely, locked away behind the absolute precision of his control. He didn't want even a stray spark of his cursed energy to disrupt your sleep.

The room smelled of sweet tatami, dried lavender, and the faint, bitter tang of the medicinal salve Tatsuya had helped you apply.

Satoru shed his socks, his bare feet sinking into the woven mats as he approached the futon with agonizing care. He knelt beside you, the sheer size of his frame casting a protective shadow over your sleeping form. Without his blindfold, his six eyes tracked every rhythm of your breathing, noting the slight, tense line between your brows even in slumber.

You stirred, your senses waking up before your eyes did. The air in the room suddenly grew warmer, sweeter, thick with the distinct, dizzying scent of him.

"Satoru...?" you mumbled, your voice heavy and thick with sleep. You began to shift, your palms pressing into the futon to push yourself up, but a large, impossibly warm hand slid over your shoulder, gently anchoring you down.

"Shh... stay down, hime" he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against the quiet of the room. "Don't get up for me. Never get up for me."

He slid under the heavy silk duvet, but he didn't pull you into his arms just yet. Instead, he worked his way down to the foot of the futon. His touch was feather light as he peeled back the edge of the blanket, exposing your bare legs to the cool night air.

Your heart pinched, a sudden flush of anxiety warming your cheeks. You remembered the heavy, frozen stone of the northern wash basin, the harsh, disapproving glares of the elders, the way the coarse bristles of the brush had scraped against your skin. You had desperately wanted to hide it from him, to spare him the headache of clan politics when he already carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

But Satoru was already staring at your right knee. The neat, white bandage Tatsuya had carefully wrapped was stark against your skin.

A tiny, involuntary tremor ran through Satoru’s hands. The very fingers that had just shattered bones and ground old men's knuckles into dust were now trembling with a terrifying fragility as he slid his palms beneath your calf, lifting your leg just an inch to cradle it against his chest.

He leaned down, his silver hair spilling over your skin like silk. He didn't just look, he pressed his lips gently against the side of your knee, just beside the gauze, kissing the uninjured skin with a soft, lingering reverence. Then, his lips tracked a slow, agonizingly tender path up your thigh, his breath hot against your skin.

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his forehead resting against your thigh as his voice cracked, raw and bleeding with a guilt he couldn't hide. "I'm so sorry I left you alone. I'm so sorry I wasn't here, sweetness."

The sheer vulnerability in his tone made your throat tight. You reached down, your fingers weaving into the thick, ridiculously soft tufts of his white hair, gently tugging until he shifted upward. He crawled back up the length of your body, sliding his frame beneath the covers until he was flush against you.

"It's okay" you whispered, your thumb catching a stray tear that threatened to spill from the corner of his brilliant, crystalline eyes. "It's just a little scrape, Satoru. Truly. They... they just wanted me to learn the household duties. They said it was tradition for the women of the house. I just didn't want to cause trouble for you."

Satoru let out a ragged, shaky breath that stuttered against your collarbone. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his nose scenting your skin, inhaling you as if he were a starving man. His lips pressed a frantic, hot sequence of kisses along your jaw, up to your cheek, and finally against your lips, a soft, bruising, desperate kiss that tasted of a possessiveness so deep it bordered on worship.

His large hands slid down your back, molding your spine to his chest, before one palm found its permanent home, flat and warm against the slight, delicate swell of your belly. His fingers splayed wide over your abdomen, a protective shield of flesh and boundless power.

"You don't have duties to anyone but yourself" Satoru swore against your lips, his chest heaving as his heart thudded rapidly, a frantic, wild rhythm against your own ribs. He pulled you so close you could barely tell where your body ended and his began. "You are the lady of this house. My lady. You don't bow to anyone, you don't clean for anyone, and you don't break yourself for their rotting ideas of tradition."

He kissed the crown of your head, his hand on your stomach gently rubbing in tiny, soothing circles, his thumb caressing the soft fabric of your sleepwear.

"Let them talk. Let them rot" he whispered, his voice turning dark for a fraction of a second before softening as he pressed another kiss to your eyelid. "You just stay safe. Stay soft and warm right here. Let me handle the rest. Please, hime... just stay safe for me."

You smiled softly in the dark, your senses clouded by his immense, radiating warmth and the intoxicating rhythm of his breathing. You let your eyes close, completely melting into him, entirely unaware of the bloodied, broken elders currently packing their things in the dead of night, fleeing the estate in absolute terror.

You didn't need to know. As Satoru tightened his arms around you, pulling the duvet up to your chins and burying his face back into your hair, he held you like you were the only piece of reality that mattered in the universe.

Sylus is no fool. He knows the ins and outs of everything he pursues. He has not earned his reputation by being an idle man or by being a man whose words ring louder than his actions. No, his actions precede his words, and his voice — mysterious to many, heard mostly by those whose breaths are at his mercy — runs similarly to blood from a wound: painful, smooth, horrifying.

Sylus is no fool because he knows the consequences of being one.

But to you, he has become a fool over and over again.

His lips trace the line of your neck, begging to understand the feeling that utterly consumes him. Your skin feels like home as his hands roam, enamored by the sensations of finally belonging somewhere. Somewhere lovely, safe, happy.

Your lips are tasty, he thinks as he kisses them. As he swallows your whimpers like they’re his to claim.

His?

“Beautiful,” Sylus murmurs on your cheek, love lacing the rasp of it. He is utterly hypnotized, created into a fool by the love that you fill in him, but dear him. He does not care, not when this is lovely, safe, happy.

The bed is too restricting of a place to love you. The sounds you utter are otherworldly as he continues to love you like you deserve, and quite frankly, he does not have a plan. Only his desire to love you, to let the forsaken feeling consume you as much as it does to him, is the itinerary on this night.

The leader of Onychinus with no plan? What a dream.

And oh, how dreamy he felt that night.

“Pretty… beloved-” Words are not enough, and for Sylus whose lips touch your skin like they cannot physically be pried away, not even gentle kisses are enough to satiate the feeling that burns beneath his chest. He likes the way you beg for his touch, the way you reassure him that yes, you like this very much. That yes, this night could only be as magical as it is because he is the man you’re loving.

An angel, he thinks over and over again as you reach the Heavens you have fallen from. My angel.

A fiend, falling in love with an angel? What a dream.

But he kisses you when you land back in his arms, when your breaths tangle in the air that retains the scent of such a lovely night. No part of you is left out when he loves you.

Is it a crime to love someone so angelic?

a/n: I love writing for this man sm

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are so, so appreciated, but if you leave a comment detailing your thoughts on this fic, you'll have a special place in my heart <3

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Darkness consumes you in this dimly lit hospital room, unrelenting in its torture yet merciful in its embrace. Blink once and the light doesn’t come. Blink twice and your face is covered with tears. Blink three times and laughter from the past comes back as vividly as though you had just lived it.

Blink however many times you want: the pain never fully leaves. The memories never truly level up to the happiness in your family’s faces or the breezes back home. Linkon City never feels like home.

“Nurse!” the patient on the bed practically screams, although you must be hearing things considering how much your head seems to hurt. But pain waits for nobody, so you let professionalism take over.

You drain his catheter without complaints, even when that’s all he utters. You give him water, tuning out the harshness in which he asks for it. You ask him if he needs any more assistance without dwelling on the fact that he asks — no, begs — for family members to come visit him.

You and your patient are not so different after all.

“I’m sorry sir. My colleagues and I have contacted your immediate family members, and none of them have responded.” The tears are hard to hide now. “I will try to contact them as soon as-”

“Not even my son?”

You put on your best smile, but oh, the tears burn. “I’m sorry. He didn’t leave a response, but I-I will call him back soon-”

“Don’t,” he interrupts again, but irritation is not the emotion burning your heart at the moment. “He won’t answer.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will-”

“He hates me, Nurse.”

A single teardrop escapes you as your patient falls apart with nobody to hold him. His cries are pleading, and you know exactly what he’s begging for. You know how it feels to receive no answers even as your voice grows hoarse from asking somebody — anybody — for longing to stop hurting so much.

But just because you’ve endured these nights alone doesn’t mean someone else has to.

You hug your patient from your side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he welcomes the newfound comfort. His tears coat your scrubs, years and years of anger and anguish pouring down your clothing, but you don’t mind at all. “Shh, it’s okay. I understand.”

“M-my son…” he wails. Words turn to painful whispers, and eventually they collapse into little sobs that you catch in your arms. It’s difficult to contain your own tears, but you’re his pillar, his family.

Pillars don’t cry when they hold somebody up.

His sobs eventually subside, the hospital room becoming a haven for your thoughts. Your thoughts of family, of home, of the exhaustion you feel but cannot admit to anybody. Your last conversation with your parents, their eyes shining with glee at seeing their child alongside the bliss of being unaware of your suffering. Your last trip home, the feel of broken roads and the sounds of playful children and the atmosphere there.

Your exhaustion, which returns you to reality.

“Do you need any more assistance, sir?” you ask, but he waves his hand to signal you to leave, his head turned away from you. You quickly eye his condition — first his EKG, then his waste bag, then his IV bags — before excusing yourself out of the room. While it is in your conscience to reach out and carry the burden of grief for him, sometimes all you can do is make sure he’s alive as he fights it alone.

Even before the door shuts behind you, you think of a plan to keep your emotions intact. You’re going to buy a drink from the vending machine and focus on the fact that you’d spent too much on a small can of unnutritious liquid. You’re going to drink it to fuel the stomach you haven’t fed since your shift started, which was hours ago. You’re going to keep going because you have a family depending on your every move.

But when the door clicks shut, a shadow falls in your periphery. Loud boots echo in your direction and a familiar voice joins in, making you freeze. “Let’s go home.”

You look up, the simple movement too painful at the moment, and the first thing that meets your gaze is Sylus’s smile. It’s a small one, something missed by those who do not know him, but it’s persistent against the wave of tears threatening to wash over your eyes. His mention of home makes emotions stir within you, the mixture too confusing to decipher.

“I-I still have seven hours until my shift is over. I can’t leave.”

His smile doesn’t widen, but his eyes do as if intrigue has filled them. “I’ve excused you, and your fellow coworkers and charge nurse have allowed you to go home.”

You tilt your head, unsure whether to be impressed or argumentative. Nonetheless, he continues, saying, “There is nothing stopping you from resting.”

Yes, there is, you want to argue. You don’t understand.

But this fruit vendor with a mysterious source of income that keeps him afloat wipes a tear you didn’t even notice had fallen. He understands more than anyone does, has seen more than anyone has, and has stayed longer than you thought he would.

“Let’s go home,” he repeats, and this time, his tone suggests no room for argument.

You don’t have the energy to fight, and even if you did, the odds are all in Sylus’s favor. After finishing up charting and saying goodbye to your charge nurse, the strong breeze meets you as you leave.

The drive is quiet. Even as your scrubs evidently stain his leather seats, Sylus doesn’t say a word of complaint.

During this time of night, the only lights you’d see are the white lights of the hospital. The only sounds you’d hear are beeps of machines, and in dire circumstances, commands for resuscitation. The only people you’d think of are your patients, hoping they can hold on for another night and many more nights after.

But tonight, the lights come from Sylus’s eyes, the sounds are the soft songs he’s humming aloud, and the only person on your mind is the man driving you home.

Home.

What is home? Is it the apartment you currently reside in, even though the emptiness of the space is more suffocating than comforting? Is it the hospital you’re always working for, taking care of other people’s family members to distract yourself from the fact that you can’t do the same with your own? Is it the place you grew up in, the one you left behind to pursue a life beyond what it could give you?

Is it in Sylus’s embrace, the one he gives you as your thoughts drag you to a place unattainable to anyone?

“Shh,” he gently whispers, soothing your shoulders as your head falls onto his. The red light shines above, and if your eyes weren’t blurry from tears, you would’ve noticed that the car is past the designated traffic line. “Fall asleep if that’s what your body is asking for.”

“I don’t-” you begin, but you feel the exhaustion that has culminated from years of pretending everything is fine, and it settles its weight in your bones, making you blink to stay awake.

“You were saying?”

Before sleep consumes you, you find the energy to slap his arm. However, you don’t have the energy to admit that it made you laugh.

The drive is quiet, only riddled by the heartbeats of lovers with too much to say.

“We’re home.”

Sylus’s arm is around you, rubbing your shoulder as consciousness creeps up on you once more. The solace of sleep was too short, like it usually is, but the warmth that accompanies it makes up for that flaw. The warmth of your beloved makes waking up feel worth it.

“Mmm… how long was I out?”

“Not too long,” he whispers into your unruly hair. “You could go back to sleep if you want to. I’ll be here for you.”

“N-no.” Shaking your head, you grab your bags to get ready to head out, to stop bothering him even more than you already have. “Thank you, Sylus. I-I’ll go home.”

But he takes your hand, pulling you towards him.

“What-” you begin, but the feel of his lips against yours interrupts you. Kissing Sylus is something you’ve done countless times, but the butterflies flutter every single time.

“You’re not telling me everything, my love,” he says afterwards, breathless yet beautiful. “And I would be okay with it if it wasn’t hurting you.”

You catch his lips to replace the words you refuse to say aloud.

“Don’t dodge the elephant in the room.” He cups your face in his hands, catching every tear that falls from your eyes that refuse to hide any longer. “Tell me what’s hurting you.”

For a moment you chase his lips again. The softness in which they compliment yours is enough to quiet the raging thoughts in your head. But those raging thoughts win today, and you cannot hold them back.

“Everything.” You swallow the lump in your throat that prohibits you from saying more. “I… I’m tired, Sylus. So tired of everything.”

Sylus doesn’t say anything, prompting you to continue.

“M-my family. I miss them so much, and even when all my efforts are for them, I wish I could just go home to see them again.” Endless nights at the hospital appear in your mind, the times you saw your family in the patients you assist. There’s a reward in giving, but sometimes you wish you could be selfish enough to choose what rewards you receive in this godforsaken life.

“I can bring you home,” he says, and the certainty in his tone makes tears run down your face once more.

“N-no. They need me to stay here.”

“But you want to visit them.”

It’s the first time somebody has acknowledged what you wanted.

Regardless of the pang in your heart, you shake your head. “I can’t feed my family and myself if I choose my own desires over what needs to be done.”

“But you won’t be able to keep working if you’re burned out, right?”

The roughness in which you grit your teeth softens through the gentle caresses of his thumbs as they catch every teardrop that falls. You hate that he’s right, hate that you’ve broken down in front of somebody who has already gone through great lengths to keep you upright. You hate feeling like a burden.

“They need me,” you repeat again with the hopes that Sylus can grasp the weight of the responsibility, that it’s not as simple as he makes it sound. “I need to work so they can live comfortably. I can’t stop.”

No matter how much I want to.

“I can’t.” you murmur, pained and utterly hopeless.

You’ve never seen him so broken. The reds of his eyes are full of blues, desperation blowing his pupils wide. A thousand words hide behind them, but they settle in his hands that warm your face.

“I can give you everything you want, beloved. Everything. All you have to do is ask.”

A kiss lands on your forehead, the place where questions reside and answers are begged for. You wonder how a mere fruit vendor could give you the world, but the warmth of his understanding is more than what you have ever asked of him.

“I don’t want to ask for anything-”

“Please,” he whispers, sounding achingly similar to the pleas you’ve uttered to whatever higher power would listen. “Let yourself rest. Let me give you what you want, my love.”

The breeze of Linkon City’s nights make the trees sway, and the persuasion in your lover’s tone does the same to your determination. You have no energy to put up the walls set up by responsibility, so you let yourself fall into his arms instead.

Your intentions and questions sit idly by, waiting for a better time to reveal themselves. On this night and in the nights you’ll spend here in Linkon, Sylus’s embrace is the home you always want to come back to.

a/n: Thank you to everyone who has had to leave their home to pursue dreams bigger than what it could give them. I'm proud of you all, and on the days you don't feel appreciated, my existence is proof that you are.

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are so, so appreciated, but if you leave a comment detailing your thoughts on this fic, you'll have a special place in my heart <3

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You lived in a small apartment in a quiet corner of Setagaya, Tokyo. The kind of place where the streets grew soft at night and streetlights looked like distant stars.

Your condition had always been there. Skin-to-skin contact brought sharp pain, swelling, and sometimes worse. Doctors never found a real cure. So you learned to live inside an invisible wall. Gloves on your hands. Long sleeves. Careful steps. No hugs. No handshakes. No casual brushes against the world.

Most days you stayed inside during the busy hours. But every evening, you walked to Hoshi no Hon, a tiny old bookstore tucked in a narrow alley. The shop smelled of paper, ink, and faint lavender from the dried flowers hanging near the window. It only opened in the late afternoon until midnight. Perfect for someone who preferred the gentler light of streetlamps and moon glow.

You worked the evening shift alone most nights. The owner, an old woman who asked no questions, let you wear your thin black gloves while you arranged books and helped the few customers who wandered in. You sold fairy tales, poetry, old maps of forgotten places, and stories about people who touched the stars.

That was your world. Despite not being able to touch it, it was still beautiful and safe.

One rainy evening in early autumn, the bell above the door chimed softly. You looked up from stacking a pile of illustrated books and saw him.

Tall. Bright white hair. Black blindfold. A long dark coat still dotted with raindrops. He looked like he had stepped out of one of the fantasy books on the shelf.

“Evening,” he said with an easy smile. “Heard this place has the best collection of old star legends. Mind if I look around?”

His voice was light and warm, like nothing could ever bother him. You nodded and gestured to the back corner with a gloved hand.

“Go ahead. The astronomy and folklore section is over there.”

He moved slowly through the narrow aisles, but he kept space between you. Not too close. Not too far. Most people didn’t notice how carefully you positioned yourself. He did. Or at least, he acted like he did.

You watched him from behind the counter as he pulled books out, flipped through pages, and sometimes hummed softly to himself. He stayed for almost an hour. When he finally brought three books to the counter, he didn’t reach out to hand them over. He placed them gently on the wooden surface and stepped back.

“These look good,” he said. “Especially the one about the midnight sun. Kinda poetic, right? A sun that never sets… but only for a little while.”

You rang him up quietly, heart beating a little faster than usual. His presence felt different. Not scary. Just… new.

Before leaving, he paused at the door. “Nice shop. Peaceful. I might come back.”

You gave a small nod. “You’re welcome anytime.”

He smiled again, bright even under the blindfold, and stepped out into the rainy night.

You stood behind the counter for a long time after he left, staring at the spot where he had stood. For the first time in years, the quiet bookshop felt a little less empty.

A few evenings later, the bell chimed again just after the rain started.

You were rearranging a shelf of old fairy tales when Satoru Gojo stepped inside. This time he wasn’t wearing a blindfold. His eyes were a clear, striking blue like the sky right before sunrise. They seemed to catch every bit of warm light from the paper lanterns hanging above the counter.

“Back again,” he said with a casual grin. “Missed the smell of old books. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d recommend something new.”

You felt a small flutter in your chest but kept your voice steady. “Welcome back. Looking for more star stories?”

“Something like that.” He wandered the narrow aisles slowly, hands in his coat pockets. He never came too close to you. He stayed on the other side of the shelves or left plenty of space when he moved. It felt natural with him, not forced.

You returned to dusting the counter with your gloved hands, stealing quiet glances. He pulled out a book about northern lights, flipped through it, then put it back. Every few minutes he’d make a soft comment.

“This one says the midnight sun makes people fall in love because time feels endless. Think that’s true?”

You smiled a little behind the counter. “Maybe for people who can stay out in the light.”

He looked over at you, those bright eyes gentle. “And for people who only come out at night?”

The question hung softly in the air. You didn’t answer. He didn’t push.

Instead he brought two books to the counter and placed them down carefully, stepping back so you could scan them. No reaching over. No accidental brushes. He paid, then lingered near the door.

“Quiet night,” he said, looking out at the wet street. “Want me to walk you partway home when you close? I’ll keep my distance. Promise.”

You hesitated. No one had ever offered that before. Most people stayed far away once they noticed your gloves and careful movements. But something about him felt safe.

“… Okay,” you said quietly. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

He waited outside under the awning while you locked up. The rain had softened into a light drizzle. Streetlights glowed on the wet pavement like scattered stars. You walked on the left side of the narrow alley, he stayed on the right, with comfortable space between you.

Neither of you spoke much at first. Then he started talking about silly things like how the konbini near here had the best melon bread at night, how he once tried to count all the lanterns in Setagaya and gave up after two hundred.

You found yourself answering more than usual. Small things. How you liked the way the shop smelled after rain. How some books felt warm even though they were old.

At the corner where your street began, he stopped.

“This far enough?” he asked.

You nodded. “Thank you.”

He gave you that bright smile again. “See you soon, bookstore keeper.”

As you walked the rest of the way home alone, gloves still on, arms wrapped around yourself, the night felt a little softer. You caught yourself wondering when he would come back.

For the first time in a long time, you were looking forward to the next evening shift.

Over the next two weeks, Satoru became a regular part of the quiet evenings at Hoshi no Hon.

He usually arrived sometime after eight, shaking rain or autumn leaves from his white hair before stepping inside. The bell chimed like a soft welcome now. He never crowded the small shop. He moved between the shelves like he was browsing a dream, sometimes reading passages out loud in his light, playful voice.

You stayed behind the counter most of the time, gloved hands organizing receipts or wiping dust that wasn’t really there. But you talked more. The conversations felt easy, like turning pages in a favorite book.

One night, he found an old children’s book about a girl who could only touch the world through mirrors. He brought it to the counter and leaned against the wall a respectful distance away.

“This one’s kind of sad,” he said, blue eyes scanning the colorful illustrations. “She watches everyone else hold hands and hug, but she can only see it. Never feel it. Think she ever finds a way around it?”

You looked down at the book, chest tightening. “Maybe she learns that watching is enough.”

Satoru was quiet for a moment. “Doesn’t sound enough to me.”

The shop was empty except for the two of you. Soft lantern light glowed between the shelves. Outside, a light wind rustled the alley trees. You didn’t know what to say, so you simply nodded.

He started bringing small things. A warm canned coffee he placed on the far end of the counter. A pretty bookmark with pressed flowers he slid across the wood with the edge of the book. Little gifts that never required him to get too close. You kept every one.

On a quieter night, when only a few customers had come and gone, he sat on the old wooden stool near the window while you rearranged a display of poetry books. The space between you stayed gentle and steady.

“You ever wonder what it would be like?” he asked suddenly. “If the world didn’t have so many walls.”

You paused, fingers brushing the spine of a book. “All the time. But wondering doesn’t change anything.”

He turned those bright blue eyes toward you. There was no pity in them, just quiet understanding. “Maybe it doesn’t have to change everything. Just… one small thing.”

Your heart did a strange little flip. You looked away, focusing on straightening the books. “What about you? You seem like someone who can touch anything he wants.”

Satoru gave a small laugh, but it sounded a little distant. “Looks can be tricky. Sometimes the strongest walls are the ones no one else can see.”

He didn’t explain more, and you didn’t ask. The silence that followed felt comfortable, like a shared secret.

Before closing time, he helped you carry a small box of new arrivals to the back shelf. Still keeping perfect distance, never once letting your hands or arms come near. When the box was placed down, your fingers almost brushed the air where his had been. For a second, the almost-touch hung between you like a held breath.

Neither of you mentioned it.

At the door that night, he waited while you locked up. The street was quiet, glowing under the soft amber lights.

“Walk you to the corner again?” he offered.

You nodded. Side by side, with that familiar safe space between you, you walked down the quiet alley. He told you a silly story about trying to catch fireflies as a kid and failing spectacularly. You laughed softly for the first time in years.

When you reached the usual corner, he stopped and gave you that bright, warm smile.

“See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Tomorrow.”

You walked the rest of the way home with a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest. The gloves on your hands felt heavier than usual. For the first time, the invisible wall around you didn’t feel quite as unbreakable.

The evenings grew cooler as autumn settled deeper into Tokyo. Leaves turned gold and red along the alley outside Hoshi no Hon, and the shop felt even cozier with the soft glow of the lanterns.

Satoru came almost every night now. Sometimes early, sometimes just before closing. He always entered with that same easy smile, white hair slightly messy from the wind, blue eyes bright under the warm light.

One quieter Thursday, only a handful of customers had passed through. You were placing a new shipment of poetry books on the front table when he arrived carrying two warm cans of sweet milk tea. He set one down on the far side of the counter for you.

“Thought you might like this,” he said. “It’s the kind with extra honey.”

You thanked him softly and took it with your gloved hands. The warmth seeped through the fabric. For a moment, you imagined what it would feel like without the gloves. You pushed the thought away.

That night the shop stayed empty after nine. Satoru sat on his usual stool by the window while you worked. He read out loud from a thin book of short stories. It was the funny ones about spirits who fell in love with humans. His voice was relaxed, playful, filling the small space like gentle music.

You listened as you dusted shelves, smiling at the silly parts. Every so often he would glance over at you, checking if you were still enjoying it.

When you finished your tasks, you sat on the low chair behind the counter. The distance between you was the same as always but somehow it felt smaller tonight.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after closing the book.

You nodded.

“Why this shop? Why the night shift?”

You looked down at your gloves. “It’s peaceful. People come here looking for stories, not conversations. And… I like being around beautiful things I can still be near.”

He was quiet for a while, watching the lanterns sway lightly.

“I get that,” he said finally. “Being close to things without really touching them.”

You met his eyes. Those clear blue eyes held no judgment, only a kind of soft understanding that made your chest ache in a new way.

He stood up slowly and walked to the poetry shelf. “Come here for a second. I want to show you something.”

You hesitated but stepped out from behind the counter. He pointed to a high shelf without reaching for you.

“That one. The blue cover. Read the first line for me?”

You carefully pulled the book down. Your gloved fingers brushed the edge of the shelf where his hand had been moments before. A tiny spark of almost-touch passed between you again.

You opened the book and read softly:

“Even the moon longs for the sea it can never hold.”

Satoru smiled, but it was quieter than usual. “Yeah… that one.”

You put the book back. For a few seconds you stood closer than normal, the air between you feeling warm and alive. Neither of you moved to close the gap. You both just stayed there, letting the moment breathe.

Later, when it was time to close, he waited outside as always. The alley was lit by soft streetlamps and a few glowing vending machines. You walked side by side with the usual space between you. Tonight he told you about a festival he once saw in Kyoto where thousands of lanterns floated down a river.

“It looked like the stars had fallen into the water,” he said.

You tried to picture it. “I’ve never been to anything like that.”

“Maybe one day,” he replied gently.

At your usual corner, he stopped and turned to you. The night wind moved his white hair.

“I like these walks,” he said. “And the shop. And talking to you.”

Your heart beats faster. “I like them too.”

He gave you that bright smile again, the one that made the night feel less lonely. “Goodnight then. Sleep well.”

You walked home the rest of the way alone, clutching the empty milk tea can like a small treasure. Inside your quiet apartment, you sat by the window for a long time, still wearing your gloves, staring at the distant city lights.

The wall around you felt thinner tonight. Not gone, but thinner.

And for the first time, that scared you a little.

The days passed gently, one quiet evening melting into the next. Satoru’s visits became the brightest part of your nights at Hoshi no Hon. He no longer waited for the bell to announce him. You started recognizing the rhythm of his footsteps on the alley stones before he even reached the door.

One Tuesday night, the shop was wrapped in a soft hush. Only the occasional rustle of pages and the low hum of the heater broke the silence. You were sorting a box of new arrivals when Satoru arrived carrying two warm sweet potatoes wrapped in foil. He set yours on the counter’s far edge like always.

“Found these at the stall down the street,” he said, blue eyes sparkling. “They’re extra sweet tonight. Figured we could share the quiet with something warm.”

You thanked him and ate slowly behind the counter, the sweetness spreading through you. He sat on his stool by the window, peeling his own potato and watching the leaves drift outside. Every now and then he would read a funny line from whatever book he picked up, making you smile behind your glove-covered hand.

Later, when the shop emptied completely, he stood up and wandered over to the fairy tale section. “Hey, come look at this one with me.”

You stepped out carefully, keeping the usual space. He pointed to an old illustrated book about a lonely snow spirit who could never be touched without melting.

“Reminds me of something,” he murmured, voice softer than usual. “Always watching the warm world but staying frozen on the outside.”

You stared at the delicate drawings of the spirit reaching out, hands fading into snowflakes. Your throat felt tight. “Some stories don’t have happy endings.”

Satoru turned his head toward you. His eyes were gentle, searching. “Maybe they just haven’t reached the ending yet.”

You stood there longer than usual, the air between your bodies feeling charged and alive. Your gloved fingers rested on the edge of the shelf. His hand was only a small distance away. For a heartbeat, you both lingered in that almost-space. Close enough to feel the warmth, far enough to stay safe. Neither of you moved to close it.

Eventually you stepped back first, heart racing. “I should finish closing soon.”

He nodded without complaint and helped you carry the empty box to the storage corner, always careful, always respectful. When you locked the front door, he was waiting under the soft glow of the streetlamp.

“Walk?” he asked simply.

You nodded.

The alley felt narrower tonight, the lanterns swaying above like tiny floating moons. You walked on your side, he on his. The space between you had become its own familiar shape.

He told you about a dream he had the night before: flying above Tokyo with no one able to reach him, no matter how hard he tried to get closer. You listened quietly, then shared a small piece of your own.

“Sometimes I dream I’m in the middle of a crowd… and everyone is holding hands in a circle. But I’m just standing there, watching.”

Satoru slowed his steps. “Does it make you sad when you wake up?”

“Every time.”

He looked at you then, really looked, his bright blue eyes catching the light. “I hate that for you.”

The honesty in his voice made your eyes sting. You blinked quickly and kept walking.

At the usual corner, he stopped. The wind tugged at his white hair. For a moment he seemed like he wanted to say more, but he only smiled that warm, easy smile.

“Tomorrow again?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” you answered.

You walked the rest of the way home alone, the sweet potato wrapper still warm in your coat pocket. Inside your quiet apartment, you sat on the edge of your bed and slowly peeled off your gloves. Your hands looked pale and untouched, almost unreal.

You stared at them for a long time, imagining what it might feel like if someone held them. If he held them.

The thought both warmed and terrified you.

The wall around your life was still there. But every night with Satoru, it felt like a single brick was loosening.

The next evening, Satoru arrived earlier than usual, his white hair glowing under the lantern light like fresh snow. He didn’t browse the shelves. Instead, he walked straight to the counter, blue eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

“There’s a small lantern festival tonight by the river in Arakawa,” he said, voice warm with excitement. “Not the big crowded one. Just a quiet gathering where people write wishes and let them float. I thought… maybe we could go. Together. I’ll keep my distance the whole time. I promise.”

Your heart jumped. You rarely left the safety of the shop at night. But the way he looked at you made it hard to say no.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Let me close early.”

The walk to the river took twenty minutes. Cool autumn wind brushed your cheeks as you moved through quieter streets. Satoru stayed on your right, two steps of space between you, hands in his pockets. Streetlamps and passing cars painted soft streaks of light across his face. He told stories the whole way. The silly ones about cursed spirits scared of cats, and how he once accidentally turned a vending machine into a fountain. You laughed more than you had in years.

When you reached the riverbank, the scene took your breath away.

Dozens of glowing paper lanterns drifted slowly on the dark water like fallen stars. People stood along the edge in small groups, writing wishes on thin strips of paper before folding them into the lanterns. Soft music played from somewhere nearby. The air smelled of river mist, roasted chestnuts, and faint incense.

Satoru bought two lanterns and two markers. He placed yours on a wooden bench with enough space, then sat on the far end.

“Write whatever you want,” he said gently. “No one has to see it.”

You stared at the blank paper. Your gloved fingers felt clumsy. After a moment, you wrote:

Just once… to feel warm without fear.

You folded it carefully and placed the lantern on the water’s edge using a long stick the organizers provided. Satoru did the same on his side. His lantern joined yours, both glowing side by side as the current carried them slowly downstream.

For a while you stood watching the lights float away. The space between you felt electric. When a sudden breeze made you shiver, Satoru stepped a little closer. Still not touching, but close enough that you could feel his warmth cutting through the night air.

“Beautiful, right?” he murmured.

You nodded, eyes stinging. “I’ve never seen anything like this up close.”

He turned toward you. The lantern light painted gold across his face and made his blue eyes look almost glowing. “I’m glad I got to show you.”

A couple nearby laughed as they hugged, their lantern already far down the river. You looked away quickly, but Satoru noticed.

He reached out, not toward you, but toward the space beside you and let his fingers hover in the air near your gloved hand. So close. Almost there.

“I wish I could…” He stopped himself, letting the words fade.

Your chest ached. You wanted it too. More than anything.

Instead, you turned your hand palm-up on the bench. He did the same a few inches away. No contact. Just two hands reaching toward each other under the drifting lantern lights. The almost-touch felt heavier and sweeter than any real one you’d ever had.

You stayed like that until most of the lanterns had floated far away, tiny golden specks disappearing into the night.

On the walk back, the silence felt full. At your usual corner, Satoru stopped and faced you fully.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” he said, voice low. “I don’t want this to just be shop talks and short walks anymore. I like being around you. A lot.”

Your throat tightened. “I like being around you too, Satoru.”

He smiled, soft and real. For a second he looked like he might step forward. But he stayed where he was, eyes never leaving yours.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” you answered.

You walked home with the memory of glowing lanterns burned behind your eyes and the ghost of his almost-touch still warming your palm.

That night, lying in bed without your gloves for once, you pressed your bare hand to your cheek and wondered how much longer you could keep living like this. Always reaching, never holding.

The wall was cracking faster now.

The next evening at Hoshi no Hon felt different. The lanterns from the river still glowed faintly in your memory, and the air in the shop seemed warmer, heavier with everything unsaid.

Satoru arrived a little after eight, white hair slightly damp from a passing drizzle. He didn’t pick up a book right away. Instead, he placed two cups of hot chocolate on the counter. One for you on the far side and leaned against the wall across from you.

“I had fun last night,” he said softly. “More than I’ve had in a long time.”

“Me too,” you replied, gloved fingers wrapping around the warm cup.

He watched you for a moment, those bright blue eyes gentle but serious. The playful smile faded into something quieter.

“I need to tell you something,” he started. “I’ve known for a while now… about your condition.”

Your breath caught. The cup suddenly felt too heavy in your hands.

Satoru continued carefully, never stepping closer. “I noticed the gloves. The way you move. How you always keep space like it’s life or death. And… I have a way of seeing things most people can’t. I didn’t want to assume, but after the first few nights I was sure. Skin-to-skin hurts you. Badly.”

You stared down at the counter, cheeks burning. “You knew this whole time?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft, almost sad. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to feel exposed. I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me. But I also didn’t want to keep pretending I didn’t understand why you live behind this careful wall.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. No one had ever said it out loud so kindly. Most people either pitied you or slowly drifted away once they found out.

“I’ve had it since I was little,” you whispered. “Doctors don’t know why. Touching anyone… it feels like fire under my skin. Swelling, pain, sometimes worse. So I just… stopped trying.”

Satoru listened without interrupting, his expression steady and warm.

“I’m sorry you’ve carried that alone,” he said. “It must be exhausting. Watching everyone else touch so freely while you stay on the outside.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly with your sleeve.

“I liked that you treated me normally,” you admitted. “Even after you knew.”

“Because you are normal to me,” he replied simply. “Just someone who deserves to feel safe. And… I get it more than you might think.”

You looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

He gave a small, bittersweet smile. “I have my own kind of wall. Something that keeps everything at a distance. I can be around people, but real closeness has always been… complicated for me too.”

The shop felt smaller, the lantern light softer. For the first time, the space between you didn’t feel like just your burden. It felt shared.

Satoru slid a small folded paper across the counter with the edge of a book. “I wrote something for you. You don’t have to read it now.”

You picked it up carefully. Inside, in neat handwriting, were the words:

Even walls can have windows. I like looking through yours.

You held the note tightly, heart aching in the best and worst ways.

“Does knowing change anything for you?” you asked quietly.

“Only that I want to stay even more,” he answered. “If you’ll let me.”

The rest of the night passed in gentle conversation. He read poetry out loud again, voice light and warm, while you worked. When closing time came, he walked you home as usual, keeping that careful, respectful distance. But tonight the silence felt full of new understanding.

At the corner, he stopped and turned to you.

“I’m really glad you let me in a little,” he said. “We’ll keep going at your pace. No pressure. Ever.”

You nodded, smiling through the quiet tears you couldn’t quite hide.

“Goodnight, Satoru.”

“Goodnight.”

As you walked the last stretch home, the note from him safe in your pocket, something inside your chest shifted. The wall you had lived behind for so long finally had a name. And for the first time, you didn’t feel completely alone on your side of it.

Two nights later, the shop was quiet again. Only the soft ticking of the old wall clock and the occasional rustle of pages filled the air. You were behind the counter organizing a new stack of poetry books when Satoru arrived. He carried two warm chestnut pastries this time and set yours down with his usual careful distance.

But tonight he seemed a little different. Restless, like he had been thinking about something important.

After you ate in comfortable silence, he spoke.

“I want to show you something,” he said gently. “If you’re okay with it. It might help you understand what I meant the other night… about my own wall.”

You nodded, curious and a little nervous.

Satoru stepped out from behind the shelf he usually leaned against. He walked toward you slowly, stopping much closer than he ever had before. Only about an arm’s length away. Your body tensed on instinct.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I won’t touch you. I can’t right now, even if I wanted to.”

He raised his hand toward you, palm facing forward. You watched, wide-eyed, as a faint shimmer appeared in the air like heat rising from summer pavement, but softer, almost invisible. A single dried leaf from the floor floated up and hovered between his hand and your chest, never quite reaching you. It spun gently, suspended in that invisible barrier.

“This is my Infinity,” he explained quietly. “It keeps everything at a distance. Nothing can touch me unless I allow it. Curses, people, raindrops… everything stays just out of reach.”

You stared at the shimmering space. He took one more small step forward. The barrier stayed between you, but now he was close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body heat radiating through it. Close enough to see the tiny flecks of lighter blue in his eyes. Close enough that if there was no Infinity, your gloved hand would have brushed his coat.

Your breath caught.

“I’ve been keeping this on around you since the beginning,” he said. “Not because I’m scared of you… but because I wanted you to feel safe. I can be this close without triggering your condition. No skin. No pain.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. You lifted your gloved hand slowly. He didn’t move. You pressed your fingers forward until they met the invisible barrier. It felt strangely warm and solid, like pressing against the surface of still water. Your fingertips stopped right there, millimeters from his chest.

For the first time in your life, someone was standing so close… and you weren’t afraid.

Satoru’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve spent my whole life keeping the world away. You’ve spent yours keeping the world from hurting you. Funny how we found each other, huh?”

You kept your hand there, feeling the gentle hum of his Infinity. The almost-touch made your heart ache with a deep, sweet pain. You could almost imagine the real thing… the warmth of his coat, the steady beat of his heart.

“I wish…” Your voice broke. You couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know,” he said softly. His blue eyes were full of the same longing you felt. “I wish too.”

He stayed like that for a long minute, letting you feel the barrier, letting you be close in this strange new way. Then he slowly stepped back, the shimmer fading as he gave you space again.

The shop felt different after that. The air between you now carried a new kind of electricity, it was hope mixed with heartbreak.

When it was time to close, he walked you home as usual. But tonight he stayed a little closer than before, his Infinity humming faintly so you could feel the safe warmth beside you.

At the corner he stopped, eyes gentle under the streetlight.

“We’ll find our own kind of closeness,” he promised. “Even if it’s only like this for now.”

You nodded, clutching the memory of that invisible warmth against your fingers all the way home.

The wall was still there.

But now you knew there was someone on the other side, reaching back.

The nights after Satoru showed you his Infinity changed everything.

He still came to Hoshi no Hon every evening, but now the space between you felt alive instead of empty. He no longer kept himself across the room. With Infinity active, he could stand right beside you while you worked.

One quiet Wednesday, you were reaching for a high shelf when he stepped up behind you. “Need help?” he asked softly.

Before you could answer, he moved closer. The warm shimmer of his Infinity pressed gently against your back like a protective cocoon. It wasn’t skin, but it was the closest thing to being held you had ever felt. You leaned back slowly until your shoulders rested against that invisible barrier. His body heat passed through it, steady and comforting.

You stayed like that for a long moment, his Infinity wrapped around you from behind while you both reached for the book together. No pain. No fear. Just warmth.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured near your ear. “I’ve been waiting for someone I could get this close to.”

From then on, closeness became your new language.

Some nights he would lock his arm with yours as you walked home. His Infinity hummed softly between your coat and his, letting you feel the solid pressure of his arm against yours. You could lean into him without worry. The first time you did it, your steps faltered from the overwhelming feeling. He just smiled and adjusted his pace to match yours perfectly.

“You’re shaking,” he said gently.

“It’s just… I’ve never walked like this with anyone.”

Satoru’s voice grew quieter. “Then we’ll do it every night until it feels normal.”

Another evening, after a slow day at the shop, he asked if you wanted a hug. You froze at first, old fear rising quickly. But he waited patiently, blue eyes kind and understanding.

“Only if you want,” he said. “Infinity stays on. No contact. Just me holding you.”

You nodded, heart pounding.

He opened his arms. You stepped into them carefully. The moment his Infinity surrounded you, it felt like being wrapped in warm, invisible silk. His arms gently closed around your body. You pressed your face against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing through the barrier. His chin rested lightly on top of your head.

For the first time in your life, you were being hugged.

Tears slipped down your cheeks and soaked into his jacket. Satoru held you tighter, one hand slowly rubbing your back through Infinity.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “As close as you need. For as long as you want.”

You stayed in his arms for a long time inside the quiet bookshop, the lanterns casting soft golden light over both of you. When you finally pulled back, his eyes looked a little brighter than usual, like he was holding back his own emotions.

After that, hugs became part of your evenings too. Sometimes quick and playful when you locked up the shop. Sometimes long and silent when the loneliness felt too heavy. He never got tired of giving them. You never got tired of receiving them.

One night on the walk home, you slipped your gloved hand into his. His Infinity made it feel almost real. For the first time, you felt the solid warmth, his fingers gently laced with yours. You swung your joined hands a little as you walked, and for the first time you heard Satoru laugh with pure happiness.

“You’re smiling so much tonight,” he teased.

“Because I’m holding someone’s hand,” you answered softly.

He squeezed your hand through the barrier. “Good. I plan on keeping it that way.”

As the days passed, your relationship grew warmer and deeper. You talked about everything like your favorite stories, his strange adventures, the dreams you both gave up on long ago. He made you laugh. You made him soften. The invisible walls you both carried felt less like prisons and more like doors that were finally opening.

But every night when you took off your gloves in your quiet apartment, you stared at your bare hands and felt the ache return.

Because no matter how close Infinity let you get… it still wasn't a real touch.

And you were starting to want the real thing more than you had ever wanted anything in your life.

The weeks that followed felt like something out of the fairy tales you sold in the shop.

Satoru became a constant in your evenings. He would arrive with warm drinks or small snacks, always placing them where you could reach them easily. The shop had never felt so alive. He helped you shelve books while keeping Infinity on, standing so close that his presence wrapped around you like a second coat. Sometimes he would rest his chin on your shoulder through the barrier while you worked, humming quietly.

One particularly cold night, after closing, he pulled you into one of his hugs right there on the empty street. His arms circled you fully, Infinity humming warmly against your back and sides. You buried your face in his chest and breathed him in. The clean scent mixed with the faint trace of rain and something sweet like mochi.

“You’re getting better at these,” he teased softly, rubbing slow circles on your back.

“I’m getting greedy for them,” you admitted, voice muffled against him.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through the barrier. “Good. Be greedy. I like it.”

You walked home like that. His arm locked firmly with yours, Infinity making it feel almost like real skin. Your gloved hand stayed laced with his the entire way. Every few steps he would swing your joined hands playfully, making you laugh despite the growing ache in your chest.

At your usual corner, he didn’t let go right away. Instead, he turned to face you fully, still holding your hand.

“Can I walk you all the way to your door tonight?” he asked. His blue eyes were softer under the streetlight. “I’ll stay outside. No pressure.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding.

The walk to your apartment building felt intimate. When you reached the entrance, he leaned against the wall a respectful distance away while you unlocked the door. You turned back to him, heart pounding.

“Do you want to come up?” you asked quietly. “Just for a bit. You can keep Infinity on.”

Satoru’s smile was gentle. “Only if you’re comfortable.”

You led him upstairs. Your small apartment was simple. There were books everywhere, soft lighting, a window overlooking the quiet street. He looked around with genuine interest, never stepping too close unless invited.

You sat on the couch. He sat on the other end. After a moment, you patted the space beside you. He moved closer, Infinity shimmering faintly as he put an arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him completely, letting the warm barrier hold you.

For nearly an hour you stayed like that. Just talking about nothing and everything. He told you silly stories from his missions. You read him a short passage from one of your favorite poetry books. At one point he pulled you into his lap through Infinity, arms wrapped securely around your waist, chin on your shoulder.

It felt so safe. So close.

Yet when his fingers hovered near your bare wrist (you had taken your gloves off once inside), the ache hit you harder than ever. You could feel the heat from his skin, but never the actual touch.

Satoru noticed your silence.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispered.

You swallowed. “How nice this is… but how much I still want more. Real more.”

He held you a little tighter, Infinity pressing warmly against you. “I know. I think about it too. What it would be like to actually hold your hand. Feel your hair. Kiss your forehead.”

Your eyes stung. You turned in his lap and pressed your forehead against the invisible barrier right where his chest was.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you confessed in a tiny voice.

Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head through Infinity. “And I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as much as I want to kiss you.”

The air felt thick with longing. You stayed curled against him for a long time, letting the almost-hugs and almost-touches fill the spaces words couldn’t reach.

When he finally left that night, he pressed a lingering, gentle kiss to the air just above your gloved hand at the doorway.

“Dream of me,” he said with a soft smile.

You closed the door and slid down to the floor, heart full and breaking at the same time.

This was more than you had ever hoped for.

But deep down, a quiet voice kept whispering that “almost” would never be enough forever.

The following weeks blurred into a gentle rhythm that felt almost like real life.

Satoru came to the shop every single evening without fail. Some nights he helped customers find books just to make you laugh at his dramatic recommendations. Other nights the shop stayed empty, and he spent hours with you. Sitting close on the old couch in the back corner, his Infinity wrapped around you like a constant, living embrace.

One night, after closing, he didn’t walk you straight home. Instead, he took you to a quiet rooftop garden nearby that overlooked the city lights. The air was crisp and cold, but he pulled you against his chest the moment you arrived, arms locked securely around you through Infinity.

“Look,” he whispered, resting his chin on your head. “All those lights… and I only want to look at you.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warm despite the chill. You turned in his arms and pressed as close as the barrier allowed, your gloved hands resting on his chest. The invisible force felt stronger tonight, warmer, like he was pouring more of himself into keeping you safe and near.

You stayed there for over an hour, talking about everything and nothing. He told you about the stars he could name, and you read to him from a tiny book of love poems you had slipped into your coat. Every few minutes he would tighten his hold, hugging you like he was afraid the wind might steal you away.

When you finally got back to your apartment, he asked again if he could come up. This time you didn’t hesitate.

Inside, you took your gloves off. Satoru kept Infinity active as always. He sat on your couch and opened his arms. You crawled into his lap without a word, curling against him completely. His arms enveloped you. You could feel the steady beat of his heart through the barrier.

For a long time, neither of you spoke.

Then you whispered, “Sometimes I forget it’s not real.”

Satoru’s hand stroked slowly down your back. “It feels real to me,” he said quietly. “Holding you like this… it’s the closest I’ve ever been to anyone.”

You lifted your head. Your faces were so close that if Infinity wasn’t there, your noses would have brushed. His blue eyes were darker in the low light of your apartment, full of something deep and aching.

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he murmured, voice rough. “It’s driving me crazy.”

Your breath hitched. You leaned forward until your lips hovered just above his. The Infinity stopped you. The space was warm, solid, and heartbreakingly frustrating. You stayed there, sharing the same breath, eyes locked.

“One day,” you whispered against the barrier.

“One day,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours through the invisible space.

That night he stayed longer than usual. You fell asleep in his arms on the couch, wrapped in his Infinity and the steady rhythm of his breathing. When you woke up near midnight, he was still there, watching you with the softest expression you had ever seen on his face.

“You drool when you sleep,” he teased gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face without actually touching it.

You laughed and hid your face in his chest. “Stay a little longer?”

“Always.”

But as the weeks went on, something small started to shift inside you.

You found yourself more tired than usual after long days. Your skin felt more sensitive even with the gloves on. Some mornings your hands trembled when you put the gloves on. You brushed it off as nothing. Maybe it was just the cold weather, just the overwhelming emotions of falling in love for the first time.

Satoru noticed you seemed quieter one evening. He pulled you into a long hug right in the middle of the shop, rocking you gently side to side.

“You okay?” he asked against your hair.

You nodded, squeezing him tighter through Infinity. “Just happy. Sometimes it feels too much… in a good way.”

He believed you. He held you until closing time, then walked you home with your arm locked in his, swinging your joined hands like always.

At your door, he gave you the longest hug yet. Lifting you slightly off the ground, Infinity humming warmly around your whole body. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, never wanting to let go.

When he finally set you down, he kissed the air right above your forehead.

“Sleep well, my girl,” he said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You watched him leave from your window, heart full to bursting.

This was enough. It had to be enough.

But deep in your chest, something quiet and frightening was beginning to stir. A tiredness that no amount of warmth seemed to fix.

The next few weeks passed too quickly, like pages torn from a book you weren’t ready to finish.

At first it was small things. You got tired faster. Your hands shook when you tried to shelve books. The gloves felt tighter, like your skin was burning even without touch. You hid it from Satoru as best you could, smiling when he pulled you into his warm Infinity hugs, laughing when he lifted you off the ground and spun you gently in the empty shop.

But he noticed.

One night you nearly fainted while closing the register. Satoru caught you instantly with Infinity, holding you upright against his chest.

“You’re pale,” he said, voice tight with worry. “What’s going on?”

You tried to brush it off. “Just tired. Winter’s coming.”

He didn’t believe you.

Three days later, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Your whole body ached. Red patches appeared on your arms even under the gloves. The old pain you had lived with your whole life was getting stronger, spreading deeper. You went to the specialist alone in the morning.

The doctor’s face was grim when he delivered the news.

“The condition has progressed. Rapidly. Your immune system is attacking everything now, not just contact. We… we don’t have much time. Weeks, maybe. I’m so sorry.”

You walked out of the clinic numb. The city lights blurred around you. When Satoru showed up at the shop that evening, you were sitting on the floor behind the counter, gloves off, staring at your trembling hands.

He knew the moment he saw you.

“No,” he whispered, dropping to his knees a short distance away. Infinity shimmered as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms through the barrier. “Tell me it’s not—”

You cried into his chest, fists clutching his jacket. “It’s getting worse, Satoru. They said… weeks.”

The sound that left him was broken. He held you tighter than ever, Infinity humming desperately around your fragile body as if it could shield you from death itself. He rocked you for hours in the quiet shop, whispering over and over, “I’m here. I’m here. I won’t let you go.”

That night he stayed in your apartment until morning, curled around you on the bed with Infinity on. You slept in his arms, but your breathing was shallow. He didn’t sleep at all.

The next days were cruel in their sweetness.

Satoru barely left your side. He closed the shop with you for the last time. He carried you when you couldn’t walk far. Every hug lasted longer. Every almost-kiss felt heavier. You held his hand through Infinity constantly, fingers laced as tightly as the barrier allowed.

One cold evening on your rooftop, he held you from behind, arms wrapped around your waist, chin on your shoulder.

“I would give anything,” he said, voice cracking. “My power. My life. Just to touch you once. Really touch you.”

You turned in his arms, tears freezing on your cheeks. “I wanted a whole lifetime with you. Not just this.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

The sadness between you grew heavier every day. You were fading. He could see it. The light in your eyes was dimming, but you still smiled for him. Still asked him to hug you. Still told him you loved him through the invisible wall that had become your whole world.

On the fourteenth night since the doctor’s visit, you could barely stand.

Satoru carried you home in his arms, Infinity glowing softly around your weakening body. He laid you on your bed and crawled in beside you, holding you as close as he possibly could.

You looked up at him, eyes tired but full of love.

“Satoru… I don’t think I have much longer.”

He pressed his forehead to yours through the barrier, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Don’t say that,” he begged. “Please.”

But you both knew the truth.

The lantern light in your apartment flickered lower, casting long, sad shadows across the room where two people had finally found each other. Only for the world to take one of them away.

The days after the diagnosis blurred into a painful countdown.

You stopped working at the bookshop entirely. Satoru took over the keys and kept it closed, saying the place should stay quiet now that its best part was leaving. He moved into your small apartment without asking, sleeping on the couch or curled around you in bed with Infinity always on. He barely left your side.

Each morning you woke up weaker. Simple things like lifting a teacup became difficult. The red patches on your skin had spread to your neck and face. Even the softest fabric hurts now.

But Satoru never treated you like you were dying.

He carried you to the window every evening so you could watch the sunset paint the Tokyo sky in soft oranges and pinks. He held you in his lap for hours, arms wrapped tightly around your frail body, Infinity humming with steady warmth. Sometimes he read to you from your favorite books, voice cracking when he reached the happy parts.

One afternoon, when the pain was especially bad, you cried in his arms for nearly an hour.

“I’m scared, Satoru,” you whispered. “Not of dying… but of leaving this. Leaving you.”

His hold tightened, forehead pressed to yours through the invisible barrier. “Then don’t leave me. Stay. Fight it. Please.” His voice broke completely. “I finally found someone I can hold… and I still can’t really touch you. It’s not fair.”

You reached up with trembling fingers and traced the air along his jaw. “You’ve given me more than I ever thought I’d have. Real hugs. Someone’s hand in mine. Someone who sees me.”

He kissed the space above your lips again and again, Infinity warm against your skin. “I love you,” he said fiercely. “I love you so much it hurts. I would burn the whole world if it could save you.”

You smiled weakly, cupping his face through the barrier. “I love you too. My midnight sun.”

That night your fever spiked. Satoru stayed awake, pressing cold cloths to your forehead and holding you through every shiver. When the pain made you whimper, he rocked you gently and sang an old lullaby in a broken voice.

By morning, you could barely sit up.

Satoru helped you bathe with Infinity keeping the water from truly touching your skin the wrong way. He dressed you in your softest sweater and carried you to the bed again. Then he climbed in beside you and pulled you against his chest, legs tangled with yours through the barrier.

“I don’t want you to remember me like this,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “Sick and fading.”

“I’ll remember you laughing in the bookshop,” he replied, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Smiling when I brought you warm milk tea. Holding my hand on the way home. That’s who you are to me.”

You were quiet for a long time, listening to his heartbeat.

“Satoru… when it gets worse… I have one last wish.”

He swallowed hard. “Anything.”

You looked up at him with tired but determined eyes.

“I want to feel you. Really feel you. Just once.”

His breath hitched. Fear and longing warred across his beautiful face.

But he didn’t say no.

He only held you tighter as the sun began to set again, another day slipping away.

The lanterns in your heart were burning low now, flickering sadly in the growing dark.

The small apartment in Setagaya felt smaller every day, as if the walls were slowly closing in to match the shrinking time you had left. Sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains in the mornings, and the city outside continued its noisy life. The trains rumbling, people laughing, cars honking while yours quietly unraveled.

Satoru rarely left your side now. He had canceled everything. The world outside could burn for all he cared. He carried you from the bed to the couch, from the couch to the window, always with Infinity humming softly around your fragile body like a gentle shield. But even that couldn’t stop the pain that now lived constantly under your skin.

You spent most of the day curled against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. Your breathing had grown shallower, and simple movements left you exhausted. The red patches on your skin had turned darker, spreading across your arms, neck, and cheeks. Every breath hurt a little more than the last.

That afternoon, Satoru helped you sit up against a pile of pillows. He brought over the old photo album you kept. With mostly pictures of the bookshop, a few of the lantern festival, and one blurry selfie he had insisted on taking of the two of you on the rooftop, faces pressed close with Infinity between you.

“Remember this night?” he asked, voice soft as he turned the pages for you. His blue eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. “You laughed so hard when I tried to name all the constellations and got half of them wrong.”

You smiled weakly, tracing the edge of the photo with a trembling finger. “You said Orion was a flying noodle. I still think about that when I look at the sky.”

He let out a watery chuckle and pressed his forehead to yours through the barrier. “I’d tell you a thousand more stupid jokes if it meant hearing you laugh again.”

You stayed like that for hours. Satoru recounted every memory in detail. The first time he walked into Hoshi no Hon, the way your gloved hands shook when he offered you that first warm milk tea, the night at the river when your lanterns floated away together. He spoke like he was trying to keep you anchored here with words alone.

As evening fell, the pain sharpened. You winced and curled tighter into him. Satoru immediately adjusted, pulling the blanket higher and rocking you gently.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered, lips brushing the air above your hair. “Anything. Medicine? Water? Just say it.”

You shook your head slowly. “Just you. Closer.”

He turned off the lights except for the small lantern on the bedside table, the one you had kept from the festival. Its soft golden glow filled the room like a dying star. Then he lay down fully with you, pulling your body on top of his. Infinity surrounded you completely, warm and solid. Your legs tangled with his, your head rested over his heart, and his arms locked around your back like he could physically hold you to this world.

“I love you,” you whispered against his chest. “I wish we had more time. I wish I could have grown old annoying you.”

Satoru’s breath hitched. His hand stroked slowly up and down your spine. “You already annoy me in the best way. Stealing all my hoodies. Making me read poetry when I just want to kiss your face. Making me fall so damn hard I don’t know how I’ll stand back up when…”

He couldn’t finish. His shoulders started shaking. You felt hot tears landing on your hair even through Infinity.

“Don’t cry,” you begged softly, though your own eyes were wet. “Not yet.”

“I can’t help it,” he choked out. “You’re my person. My only person. I waited my whole life to hold someone like this and now… now I’m losing you.”

You lifted your head with great effort. Your faces were inches apart. You stared into those beautiful blue eyes that had become your whole sky.

“Satoru… my last wish. I told you before. I want to feel you. Really feel you. No Infinity. Just once. Even if it kills me faster.”

He went very still. Pain and terror flashed across his face. “I can’t. It’ll hurt you. It could end everything right now.”

You cupped his cheek through the barrier, smiling sadly. “I’m already ending, my love. Let me have this one thing. Please. I’ve never felt anyone’s skin. Never been kissed. Never been truly held. I want it from you.”

Satoru closed his eyes tightly, tears slipping free. For a long time he just held you, breathing hard, fighting an internal war. The lantern light flickered across his tear-streaked face.

Finally, in a broken whisper, he said, “Okay. But not tonight. Give me one more day with you like this. One more day where I don’t have to watch you suffer because of me. Tomorrow… if you still want it… I’ll turn it off.”

You nodded, too tired to speak anymore. You nestled back against him, listening to his heartbeat. It was strong, steady, and breaking.

The night stretched on. Satoru didn’t sleep. He kept talking to you in soft murmurs. Promising silly things like bringing you back every new book that arrived at the shop, swearing he’d keep Hoshi no Hon open in your memory, telling you how he’d find you in the next life and hold you from the very first second.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, clinging to his warmth.

Outside, the city kept moving. Inside your quiet room, time felt like it was slowing down, stretching each precious second into something infinite and painful.

You had never been happier.

And you had never been more heartbroken.

The next day came too soon.

You were so weak that Satoru had to carry you everywhere. Your body felt like glass about to shatter, but your mind was clearer than it had been in days. You had made your decision. You wanted this more than anything.

Satoru didn’t speak much that morning. His eyes were hollow from crying and sleepless nights, but he moved with gentle purpose. He helped you dress in the soft cream sweater you loved and wrapped you in his warmest coat. Then he lifted you carefully in his arms.

“I prepared something,” he said quietly against your hair. “For your last wish.”

He took you to the river in Arakawa. The same river where you had released lanterns together weeks ago. But this time, the place was empty. No crowds. No strangers. He had used every connection he had to close off a quiet stretch of water just for the two of you. A small wooden boat waited at the edge, decorated with paper lanterns that glowed softly even in the daylight.

Satoru stepped into the boat with you still in his arms and gently laid you down on thick blankets he had prepared. He sat behind you, pulling your back against his chest. The boat drifted slowly away from the shore as the sun began to set, painting the sky in deep golds and purples.

“I asked some people to help,” he whispered. “They’ll release the lanterns from the bank on my signal. I wanted it to feel like that first night… but just ours.”

Tears already slipped down your cheeks. “Satoru… you did all this for me?”

“I’d do anything.” His voice cracked. “I’d give the whole world to make this perfect for you.”

As the boat floated gently in the middle of the calm river, the first lanterns began drifting from the shore. Dozens of them. Then hundreds. Golden lights filled the dark water like a river of stars flowing around you. The soft glow reflected in Satoru’s blue eyes as he held you close.

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, watching the beautiful scene. The lanterns drifted closer, surrounding the boat in a sea of warm light. It looked like the midnight sun had finally come for you. The view was soft, impossible, and heartbreakingly brief.

Satoru’s arms tightened around your waist. You could feel him trembling.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “If I turn it off… it’s going to hurt. I don’t know if I can watch you in pain because of me.”

You turned your head just enough to look at him. Your hand reached up weakly to touch the air near his face.

“I’m sure,” you breathed. “I want to feel you, Satoru. Just once. Please.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, tears falling freely now. Then, with a shaky breath, he did it.

The familiar warm shimmer of Infinity vanished.

For the first time, there was nothing between you.

Satoru pulled you into a real hug. His arms wrapped around your body with no barrier. You felt his warmth instantly. Real skin, real heat, the solid beat of his heart against your back. His hands trembled as they pressed against you, one sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

The pain hit you like fire spreading under your skin. It burned everywhere his body touched yours, sharp and vicious. But you didn’t pull away. You turned in his arms with the last of your strength and buried your face in his neck, clinging to him.

“It hurts…” you gasped, voice breaking. “But don’t let go. Please don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” he sobbed, holding you even tighter. His tears fell onto your skin. “God, you feel so warm. So real. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You stayed locked together in the middle of the glowing river, surrounded by hundreds of floating lanterns. His hands roamed gently over your back, your arms, your hair. Desperate to feel everything he had been denied. You pressed your lips to his neck, then his jaw, then finally found his mouth in a fragile, tear-soaked kiss.

It was clumsy and desperate and perfect. Your first kiss. His fingers cupped your face as he kissed you back with everything he had. Everything between you was filled with love, grief, longing, and heartbreak. The pain in your body grew worse, spreading like liquid fire, but you kissed him deeper, pouring every unsaid word into it.

When you finally broke apart, gasping, you looked up at him with fading eyes.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For giving me this. For loving me like this. I love you, Satoru. More than anything.”

He was crying openly now, rocking you gently in his arms as the lanterns drifted around the boat like living stars.

“Don’t leave me,” he begged, voice shattered. “Please stay. I can’t do this without you.”

You smiled softly, one last time, as the pain and exhaustion pulled you under. Your hand stayed pressed against his cheek, feeling the wetness of his tears on your bare skin.

“I’ll find you again,” you breathed. “In the next life… we’ll touch from the very beginning.”

Your eyes slowly closed. Your breathing grew shallower, then quieter, until it stopped completely in his arms.

Satoru held you tight against his chest as the lanterns continued floating past. The boat drifted alone on the dark water, surrounded by golden light.

He didn’t let go.

Even long after your body had gone still, he kept holding you, face buried in your hair, whispering broken promises and love declarations into the quiet night.

The midnight sun had come and gone.

And Satoru Gojo was left alone in the dark with nothing but glowing lanterns and the ghost of your warmth still fading from his arms.

The boat drifted silently on the dark river long after your last breath had left your body.

Satoru didn’t move.

He kept holding you exactly as he had in those final moments. His arms locked tightly around your still form, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressed against your back as if he could somehow push life back into you. Your head rested against his chest, face peaceful for the first time in weeks. The pain that had twisted your features was gone. Only quiet remained.

The lanterns continued floating around the boat like indifferent stars, their golden light reflecting off the water and across your pale skin. Some brushed gently against the sides of the boat before drifting onward. Satoru watched them with empty blue eyes, tears falling steadily onto your hair.

He didn’t sob. Not anymore. The sound had died somewhere inside him, replaced by a hollow silence heavier than any curse he had ever faced.

“I’m still here,” he whispered brokenly, pressing his lips to your forehead. No Infinity. No barrier. Just skin against skin. “I’m still holding you. Feel that? I’m not letting go.”

The river current carried you both slowly downstream. The lanterns began to thin out, their lights growing smaller and farther away until they looked like dying embers. Eventually, even those disappeared into the night.

Satoru stayed there for hours.

He talked to you the entire time. Soft, rambling words filled with all the things he never got to say while you were still breathing.

“I was going to ask you to move in with me properly. Not just me crashing at your place… but a real home. Somewhere with big windows so you could read during the day without going outside. I was going to fill it with books. Thousands of them.”

His voice cracked.

“I was going to take you to see the real midnight sun one day. We’d go somewhere far north where the sun never sets in summer. I’d hold your hand the whole time. No gloves. No Infinity. Just us.”

A shaky breath left him.

“I love you. I love you so much it’s killing me. You were the only person who ever made me feel like the strongest didn’t have to mean the loneliest.”

The sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn. The lanterns were all gone now. Only the cold, gray morning remained.

Satoru finally looked down at your face. He brushed a strand of hair from your cheek with trembling fingers, feeling the coolness of your skin. The reality of it crashed over him again, you were gone. Really gone.

A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat. He pulled you even closer, burying his face in your neck as violent sobs finally broke free. His shoulders shook. His hands clutched your sweater like a lifeline.

“Why did you have to leave?” he cried. “We were supposed to have more time. Even a little more… I would’ve taken anything. Just a few more nights holding you. Just a few more mornings waking up to your voice.”

The boat eventually bumped gently against the riverbank. Satoru didn’t notice at first. When he finally did, he lifted your limp body into his arms and stepped onto the shore. He carried you all the way back through the quiet streets of Tokyo as the city woke up around him. People stared. No one dared approach the man with white hair and devastated eyes carrying a girl like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Back in your small apartment, he laid you gently on the bed. He climbed in beside you and pulled the blankets over both of you. Infinity stayed off. He pressed his bare skin against yours. Forehead to forehead, chest to chest, legs tangled together trying to memorize every detail before the world took even this away.

“I’ll keep the shop open,” he whispered against your cold lips. “I’ll read to the customers the way you used to. I’ll put your favorite books in the window. And every night… I’ll light a lantern for you.”

He stayed there all day, holding your body as it grew colder. The sun moved across the room. The lantern from the festival still sat on the bedside table, unlit.

When evening came again, Satoru finally stood. He kissed your forehead one last time, long and lingering, then covered you with the blanket.

“I’ll find you again,” he said, voice hoarse but steady. “In the next life, I won’t have Infinity. You won’t have your condition. We’ll touch from the first second we meet. I promise.”

He left the apartment quietly, closing the door behind him like he was sealing away a dream.

Outside, Tokyo continued its endless rhythm. But for Satoru Gojo, the world had gone dark.

The strongest sorcerer walked the streets alone that night, hands in his pockets, Infinity back on out of old habit. Yet every time the barrier shimmered around him, he felt nothing but emptiness.

Because the one person who had made the distance worth crossing was gone.

And no amount of power could bring back the warmth he had finally felt… only to lose forever.

In this life, the world was soft and ordinary.

You had been managing Hoshi no Hon for almost two years. A small, charming secondhand bookstore tucked in the peaceful streets of Yanaka. The shop had creaky wooden floors, tall shelves filled with old stories, and delicate paper lanterns that glowed warmly even on cloudy days. You moved through your days freely, no gloves, no pain, no fear of touch. You hugged customers goodbye, high-fived children who found their favorite books, and lived a gentle life surrounded by stories.

Yet sometimes, in the quiet moments after closing, a strange melancholy would settle in your chest. A feeling that something, or someone, important was still missing. You couldn’t explain it, so you buried it beneath new book arrivals and fresh cups of tea.

Until he started visiting.

The first time was a rainy October evening. The bell above the door chimed softly as a tall man with snow-white hair stepped inside, brushing raindrops from his black coat. When his striking blue eyes met yours across the counter, the air in the shop seemed to shift.

“Evening,” he said with a casual yet warm smile. “Mind if I look around for a bit?”

“Not at all,” you replied, returning the smile. “Take your time.”

He stayed longer than most customers. He wandered through the aisles, especially lingering in the poetry and folklore sections. Every so often, you caught him glancing toward the counter where you were working. There was something gentle but intense in his gaze.

He came back three days later.

Then again four days after that.

His name was Satoru. He quickly became a regular. He always arrived in the late afternoon, often carrying warm drinks. Milk tea with extra honey for you, black coffee for himself. He would set yours on the far side of the counter with a soft, “Thought this might help with the cold,” before disappearing between the shelves.

At first, your conversations stayed light and playful.

“You always point me toward the sad stories,” he teased one day while holding up a thin poetry book. “Trying to ruin my mood?”

You laughed softly. “Only the beautifully sad ones. They’re the ones worth remembering.”

He smiled at that, but his blue eyes held a depth that made your heart beat a little faster.

As the weeks passed, Satoru began staying longer. He helped you carry heavy boxes of new arrivals without being asked. He sat on the old wooden stool by the window and read children’s books aloud in dramatic voices just to make you laugh. On slower days, when the shop was nearly empty, the two of you would talk for hours about favorite books, silly dreams, and the quiet beauty of Yanaka’s old streets.

He never rushed anything. But he always lingered.

One cold evening in late November, you were about to close the shop when he appeared at the door just before you turned the lock.

“Forgot something?” you asked, heart skipping.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping inside. The lanterns overhead cast a golden glow across his face. “I think I did.”

Snow had begun to fall gently outside. Satoru stood close, closer than usual, looking at you with an emotion you couldn’t quite name but felt deep in your chest.

“I keep coming back here,” he murmured. “Even when I try to go somewhere else… I always end up at your shop.”

Your breath caught. The same unexplainable pull had been drawing you to him too.

“Satoru…”

He gently reached out and took your hand. His palm was warm against yours. For a long moment, you both stood there in the softly lit bookshop, fingers intertwined, snow falling silently beyond the windows.

“I don’t know why,” he whispered, “but being near you feels like coming home.”

You squeezed his hand, eyes stinging with tears you didn’t fully understand.

“Stay a little longer tonight?” you asked softly.

He nodded.

That night, he walked you home through the snow-covered streets, your hands staying linked the entire way.

You decided to go to the Sumida River lantern festival alone.

The shop had been quiet that day, and something inside you longed for light and warmth. You wrapped yourself in a thick scarf and made your way through the cold night, drawn by the distant glow you could already see in the sky. Thousands of paper lanterns floated on the dark water and lined the riverbank, creating a breathtaking sea of golden light.

You walked along the edge of the river, breath visible in the cold air, feeling strangely emotional even before writing on your lantern. You wrote a simple wish:

Let me stop feeling so lost.

Carefully, you set the lantern on the water and watched it drift away. The beauty of it made your eyes sting with tears.

And then you saw him.

A tall figure standing further down the bank, white hair catching the lantern light like fresh snow. Satoru. He was watching his own lantern float away, hands in his coat pockets, looking strangely lonely among the crowd.

Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t told him you were coming tonight.

As if sensing your gaze, he turned his head and froze when he saw you. For a long moment, the entire festival seemed to fade into the background. Only the two of you remained, standing among hundreds of glowing lanterns.

You walked toward each other slowly, almost hesitantly, until you were only a few steps apart.

“You’re here…” you whispered.

“So are you,” he replied, voice soft with disbelief. His blue eyes shimmered with reflected golden light.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You both turned to watch your lanterns drifting side by side on the current, slowly joining the thousands of others. The sight made your chest ache with a feeling too big for this lifetime.

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

Satoru stepped closer. “Why are you crying?” he asked gently, though his own eyes looked glassy.

“I don’t know,” you breathed. “Being here… seeing you… it feels like I’ve done this before. Like I’ve waited forever just to stand here and watch these lanterns with you.”

Satoru’s breath hitched. He reached out and took both of your hands in his, holding them tightly.

“I’ve finally found you,” he whispered, voice breaking with raw emotion. “All this time… I kept going to your shop because something inside me knew. Every time I left, it hurt. Like I was walking away from where I belonged.”

You let out a shaky sob and stepped into his arms. He wrapped you up completely, holding you against his chest as if he would never let go again. His heart was pounding wildly against your cheek.

“I’ve finally found you too,” you cried softly into his coat. “I didn’t even know I was looking… but it was always you.”

Satoru buried his face in your hair, his arms trembling around you. “No more distance. No more lonely nights wondering why something was missing. I’ve waited so long for this… for you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. The lanterns glowed all around you, painting his face in warm gold. Without another word, he leaned down and kissed you. Deep, desperate, and full of every unsaid feeling you had both carried.

When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“I love you,” he said fiercely. “I think I’ve loved you for longer than this life can explain.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, smiling through your tears. “Stay with me?”

“Always.”

You stayed wrapped in each other’s arms long into the night, surrounded by drifting lanterns and falling snow. Two souls who had crossed an impossible distance finally stood together with nothing between them.

This time, the lanterns didn’t mark an ending.

They marked the beginning of everything you had both been waiting for.

You let out a tired groan as you begin to sit up, rubbing your sleepy eyes. “Hmm, morning Zayne… do you want me to make breakfast… or are you running late for work again?”

Zayne couldn’t help but let his face furrow in confusion as he sees you begin to fall asleep while sitting up. “Hey, stay awake.” He begins snapping his fingers near your ears, causing you to flinch. “Who are you?”

“Dr. Zayne playing games in the morning? Or do you need to be sadly reminded that I’m your wife.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance as you turn your head towards the voice and blink your eyes open.

The man in front of you… was not Zayne. Not your Zayne at least.

His hair seemed longer, just down to his neck. There was stubble forming around his face, indicating he needed a shave soon. Then there were his eyes… those green hazel eyes you’ve fallen for seemed so tired and dark.

“… you’re not Dr. Zayne.”

“No… I’m not.”

Astra couldn’t help but kick his feet while watching both Dawnbreaker and you have your first meeting.

It was the perfect timeline! There was no MC in this time so there were no distractions!

He watches you (his daughter) interact with a different variation of his devotee. Both of you were discussing the situation you were now in and how to get you back home.

Astra couldn’t help but chuckle at the plan. You both will try to get you back to your home and in the process Dawnbreaker will fall in love with you and you with him and when it’s time to go home, you’ll choose to stay with him and it’s happily ever after from there! His child will finally be loved!

“You say your Dr. Zayne’s wife… but all I’ve ever seen in my dreams are him and… MC together. As a couple. How come I’ve never seen you before until now? I wasn’t even aware Dr Zayne was married.”

“Yes um… yeah…”

Excuse thy fucking pardon?????

Did… did Astra hear that correctly? Dawnbreaker has Zayne’s dreams and most of them are with MC? Fuck that means Dawnbreaker has a thing for MC! And she’s not even present in this world!

He just sent you towards heartbreak!

No no, this can still work! He can work with this! You’re stuck in this time and you have to rely on Dawnbreaker for survival. Even Astra will make sure you won’t turn into one of those horrible Wanderers roaming around. Nope, his baby girl deserves better. (Who said that?)

While you were new to this world, you began to slowly understand the new environment you were dropped in on. It was like a futuristic apocalyptic era. Wanders were the norm, and apparently people could turn into them.

When you asked what Zayne did for a living, he would just stare at you before looking away and resuming what he was doing. Did it hurt knowing this Zayne was also cold towards you? Extremely. But that didn’t deter you one bit.

He allowed you to roam around the small apartment he was living in, letting you get accustomed to the new surroundings you’ll be staying in for the time being. As you continued to take in your new environment, you began to compare this Zayne to your own Zayne.

How similar yet very different one another. New World Zayne spoke of MC earlier, maybe she’s in this world too? But when you asked about her, Zayne straight up said she doesn’t exist.

That actually made you quite sad. Sure you know your Zayne had true romantic feelings for MC. You knew his smile and his time were always reserved for her, but you could never hate her, no. She did absolutely nothing but exist, and it was your Zayne who was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

You glanced over towards Zayne who was stiffly sitting in the couch watching an old soap opera. A medical soap opera at that. A small giggle escapes from you, as you quickly cover your mouth and turn your head away, already feeling the piercing stare of hazel eyes on you.

Zayne however didn’t find this whole situation funny. A woman who was in his bed sleeping, claiming to be Dr Zayne’s wife… she couldn’t be lying due to the fact on knowing about the Doctor, aka the other him. Yet how she arrived here didn’t make sense to him, plus the fact she could easily identify how he wasn’t her Zayne was what shocked him. Then again, he didn’t put much effort into his appearance like the Doctor.

He glanced over at you as you carefully walk around his apartment, eventually he finds you’ve stopped by the window and sees the potted Jasmine he has there. You bent down to get a better look at it, eventually you slowly lifted your hand up to touch one of the drooping petals.

“When was the last time you’ve watered them?” You suddenly ask. Before Zayne was gonna answer you start feeling around in the soil. “Ah, recently… though why does it feel slimy?”

“The water system isn’t all that great. Most of the water I drink is from filtered bottles I buy at the convenience store.”

Zayne watched as you quickly turn your head to face him, a frown etched into your face.

“Zayne… how bad is it out there?”

He did not answer, and you were too scared to find out why.

Astra went back to looking at Dr Zayne as he went about his business like usual, not bothering or questioning where your whereabouts were. The god couldn’t help but rub his hands together like a mischievous fly getting ready for a meal.

And that meal was a pure sweet slow burn angst with a happy ending. If not, he can wait another few centuries to start over again.

After all, Daddy Astra wants to make sure you finally have the love you deserve.

———————