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verofleur · 4 months ago

Text

A Swan's Embrace

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pairing : five hargreeves x fem!reader

wc : 13.7k+

warnings : takes place a bit after season three (only mentioned like twice), mentions and descriptions of death / violence, uses of the term “yn”, and a few alterations to the original plot of the show

synopsis : they had lost each other once before, only to find themselves face to face again. perhaps it was fate’s way of giving them another chance to be together — or maybe just another form of torture. only time could tell.

a/n ⦂ the ending of this one made it worthy to finish writing. apologies for any mistakes ofc and the few alterations, though i hope you guys enjoy !! requests are still open btw + series coming soon, so pls look forward to that. tons of love — n <𝟹 ‎ ‎ ‎

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“I guess you're not that bad to have around..” he said, his eyes fixed straight ahead. She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. His words were genuine.

Have you ever experienced that moment at the end of the day, when you lie in bed beneath a dark, unadorned ceiling? The silence becomes noticeable, pressing in from all sides, as your mind spins in a chaotic whirl of thoughts, lacking any clear direction.

Gradually, the weight of the facade you’ve so carefully constructed begins to lift. This facade was your armor, your second nature, designed to shield you from the world’s relentless demands and its indifferent inhabitants. Alone in the quiet, you let it all fall away, exposing the raw vulnerability beneath.

In that fragile stillness, a single question reverberates endlessly in your mind, like the persistent drip of a leaky faucet : How did it come to this?

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She knew precisely how she had ended up here. Slowly beginning to lose all hope of change and the ability to move forward as she once had. It was her choice to tread the path of denial rather than face the harsh truth head-on. Now, that decision tormented her with unyielding self-doubt, growing more insistent with every step she took down that road.

It was simple, really. Tragic, yet undeniably simple.

Amidst the haze of pain and the fortress of walls she had meticulously built, there was a time when Yn radiated genuine happiness. Her laughter was unrestrained, her smiles effortless, and she embraced each day with a heart wide open, finding beauty even in the most fleeting moments. That was before the weight of her choices began to press down on her, before denial became her refuge.

Recruited at just sixteen, Yn was thrust into the clandestine world of the Commission, an organization dedicated to safeguarding the Earth’s timeline. This recruitment was no ordinary decision; it carried a weight so profound that it would forever change the trajectory of her life.

Her role was that of a time correction assassin. As an agent of fate, she was charged with maintaining the delicate balance of history by removing those who threatened its continuity. It sounded insane when put into words, but she never dwelled on it, nor on the life that had soon slipped into a dim memory. The cases eventually consumed her, demanding she forsake her morals and take lives merely because their names appeared on a piece of paper or in a file.

Though the nature of her work was undeniably gruesome, those within the Commission who knew her well would offer remarkably consistent descriptions when asked about her character.

She was like a warm, sunny day after months of cold, freezing nights, effortlessly bringing smiles to those around her. Her positive spirit seemed like an eternal spring, her presence making others feel at ease. Her laughter was infectious, her comfort genuine, and her eyes sparkled with an innocent mischief, a curiosity about the world that remained untouched by the harsh realities she would later encounter.

Even as a child, she had a remarkable ability to find beauty in the mundane. While others were captivated by grand adventures and heroic tales, she delighted in the simplicity of a blooming flower or the rhythmic patter of rain against her window. This innate sense of wonder, though it set her apart, also made her endearing. Friends sought her out for comfort and advice, drawn to her sunnier, more hopeful perspective.

The Commission was the last place anyone would have expected her to end up, especially in the correction division. It wasn’t truly her choice; the job was thrust upon her. Yet, she accepted it with the same quiet grace that had once marked her approach to every simple joy.

Now in her early twenties, she had grown into her role with a remarkable blend of skill and subtlety, surpassing expectations without ever seeking recognition. Her approach was neither overzealous nor indifferent; she performed each task with great efficiency, provided support when needed, and stepped into leadership when called upon. She wouldn’t describe those decisions as mere obedience. She just had a keen sense of doing what felt morally right for her or those around her.

As good as she was, some would argue that one of her weaknesses lay in her tendency to let emotions guide her over logic.

A defining moment of this flaw surfaced during a mission, taking place around the 50s. Her target, despite their grave crimes, displayed a tender affection for a pet cat. The gentle care with which the target nurtured the animal sparked a deep hesitation within her. Faced with the incongruity of violence against such innocence, she found herself unable to reconcile the act of killing with the peaceful presence of the pet, leading her to falter.

That moment of internal conflict led her to establish a stringent personal rule: never to undertake missions involving pets. This rule became a steadfast principle, and fortunately, it remained intact.

Away from the demands of her official duties, she had a knack for building connections amidst the ever-shifting landscape of her workplace. Regardless of the constant influx of new faces and the roster's frequent changes, she managed to forge a tight-knit circle of colleagues. These were the individuals with whom she shared her breaks and quiet moments, creating a semblance of stability and camaraderie in an otherwise transient environment.

Among her closest allies was Dot, a crucial partner in their intricate web of operations. Dot's role was to track and identify threats that could disrupt the world's delicate balance. Their relationship went beyond mere professional interaction; it was a deep partnership built on mutual trust and understanding. Dot supplied Yn with essential intelligence and cutting-edge gadgets for her missions, but their connection was far more than just professional. They shared late-night conversations that explored the deeper meanings of their work, confided in each other amidst a world that demanded unwavering strength, and found solace in the occasional office gossip.

Even despite the demanding nature of her job, Yn was rarely alone. Her presence was a constant in the bustling corridors of the work place, whether she was engaged in solitary training, delving into cases, or simply enjoying a quiet meal while reading. She appeared content, immersed in her routines.

Or so she believed.

The term "once" now carries a heavy, poignant weight. What she had once cherished with all her heart had somehow transformed into a source of profound resentment, forever entwined with the reasons that led her to her fateful state.

“What’s this?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the cup of warm black coffee on his desk. His tone was calm, but his expression was all sharpness.

She glanced at him quickly, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Uh.. I noticed you were working late and skipped lunch. I thought you might need a little pick-me-up for the rest of the night ─ assuming you’re planning to stay longer, of course.” She offered him a small, hopeful smile to accompany her words.

It didn’t take long for Yn to catch wind of the news.

The air crackled with whispers ─ murmurs exchanged over lunch, fragments of conversation during idle moments, and the oddly gleeful chatter of the Handler, who brimmed with enthusiasm about a new recruit whose name she couldn’t quite recall. It all stirred the atmosphere within the place.

She wasn’t one to overlook the subtleties of office gossip. Gradually, she pieced together that the source of all this buzz was a newcomer. The people around her were not particularly skilled at keeping secrets; their careless murmurs and occasional slip-ups unveiled fragments of information about... him.

The rumors painted a captivating picture. He was said to be the sole survivor of a 2019 apocalypse, an event heralded as doomsday. Somehow, he had traveled forward in time, navigating a ravaged world alone for years. Whispers about a companion named Delores circulated, but these tales were quickly debunked ─ the man had arrived alone. Unfortunately, Yn had missed his arrival, having been on an extended mission at the time.

Upon her return, Dot could barely contain her excitement about the new recruit, who was already being hailed as a legend. The stories of his prowess were nothing short of remarkable, especially given his short time with the Commission. His skills had quickly surpassed those of several seasoned assassins, stirring both envy and admiration among his peers. Yn, however, found herself particularly captivated by his story, intrigued by the enigmatic figure who had endured so much.

The prospect of working alongside someone with such exceptional skills filled Yn with genuine excitement, a feeling that grew steadily when she learned that he had been assigned to her division.

On another late evening, Yn found herself enveloped in the soft glow of the office's dim light, listening intently to Dot’s animated recounting of the new recruit’s latest exploits. Dot’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she described the recruit’s recent mission, highlighting his exceptional ability to handle the demanding tasks set by the organization with remarkable skill and ease.

Yn’s thoughts wandered, picturing the trials he must have faced ─ bearing the solitary weight of being the last survivor and the immense strength needed to forge ahead alone. The notion of enduring such hardships, especially at a young age, evoked a profound sense of empathy within her.

But it wasn’t just his story that captivated her; it was the resilience woven into it.

She understood the relentless pressure of being thrust into a world that demanded more than one’s limits. Her own early days of recruitment had been fraught with the weight of preserving the timeline and the emotional toll of her work, as she struggled to adapt to a new reality. She could relate to his struggles, at least in part, and that kinship only deepened her small fascination.

"You don’t really mean that; you’re just stressed out," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly but remaining steady. "... I’ll give you some space for now. Just talk to me when you’re ready." As she walked toward the office door, her footsteps were almost hesitant.

"Yn, wait—" he began with a sigh, but his words were cut off as she gently closed the door behind her.

His name was Five, she discovered.

He was the same age as her, and yet despite working in the same expansive facility, she had not fully encountered him. He had been with the Commission for a month by now, but the large corridors and relentless demands of her duties had kept her from making more than fleeting glimpses of him. She’d seen his office and caught glimpses of him in passing, but her curiosity remained only partially satisfied.

Five. The name itself was enigmatic and intriguing. It seemed almost too simple for someone with a history as extraordinary as his. His reputation for exceptional combat skills, unparalleled intellect in solving cases, and the rare ability to time travel by himself unaided by the Commission only deepened her curiosity about him.

What was he like beyond the cold efficiency of his work? What was his true self like?

Yn knew he was special, gifted with extraordinary abilities ─ a truth she was familiar with. When she first joined the Commission, she had heard tales of children born under extraordinary circumstances, each endowed with powers that defied the ordinary. Back then, those stories felt like a myth. However, discovering that Five was one of these uniquely gifted individuals had rekindled her interest and dispelled her previous skepticism, transforming legend into a living reality.

Her curiosity was only piqued once more when she was summoned to the Handler’s office one evening. Dot, her voice filled with barely contained excitement, had informed Yn earlier in the day that her presence was required in the main office. Although Yn was uncertain about the reason for the summons, she couldn’t help but speculate that it might involve the mysterious, yet well-known Five.

The walk to the Handler’s office was brisk, punctuated by brief exchanges of pleasantries with her colleagues. Yn’s customary bright smile elicited warm responses as she passed by, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors. Dot’s excitement was almost contagious, and Yn found herself feeling a twinge of anticipation as they approached the grand office.

Her relationship with the Handler was complex and multifaceted. Known for her favoritism toward select recruits, the Handler had a particular affinity for Yn. She often summoned her to the office for impromptu discussions, assigned her missions that seemed specially crafted for her skills, and frequently chose her for key roles within the division. Their relationship was characterized by a blend of mentorship and preferential treatment, creating a dynamic that was both supportive and marked by a distinct favoritism.

While they got along well enough, Yn couldn’t help but sense an undercurrent of unease beneath the Handler’s polished exterior. In spite of the pivotal role she played within the organization, she felt a persistent unease about the Handler’s motivations. And although her leadership was undeniably effective, contributing to the division’s smooth operation, Yn harbored suspicions that her decisions were often driven by self-serving motives rather than purely strategic or organizational interests.

Though, she refrained from voicing her concerns, well aware of the severe consequences faced by those who questioned the Handler. The atmosphere surrounding her office seemed to always be thick with an unspoken tension, leaving Yn with an internal shiver whenever she thought too deeply about it.

Arriving at the grand, imposing door of the Handler’s office, Dot knocked three times with practiced precision. Yn straightened her posture, drawing in a steadying breath to calm her nerves.

“Come in,” the Handler’s voice resonated from within, smooth and authoritative.

Yn pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the richly adorned office. Antique furniture and curious artifacts lined the room, each piece meticulously arranged. Behind a large mahogany desk sat the older woman, her sharp eyes gleaming as she regarded the two recruits. A delicate cup of tea rested in her right hand, steam curling up in soft tendrils.

“Yn, Dot..” she greeted, her voice carrying a subtle note of welcome as she set down the porcelain cup. “Please, have a seat.”

Yn and Dot settled into the plush chairs facing the desk. The Handler’s gaze lingered on Yn, a glimmer of something unspoken in her eyes. “Yn,” she began, her tone carrying a subtle hint of eccentricity. “I’ve summoned you here for a special small assignment, one that’s uniquely suited to your skills.”

“As you may have heard...” the Handler began, her tone carrying a hint of intrigue, “we have a new recruit ─ Five Hargreeves. He’s been making quite an impression, and I believe he would benefit from working closely with someone of your… experience. I need you to keep a close eye on him.” Her words were wrapped in an enigmatic quality, her gaze locked intently on Yn.

Yn's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Oh.. well, then I'd be glad to assist," she replied, a small smile spreading across her face. Her assumption had been correct, though the task of 'keeping an eye on him' did feel somewhat peculiar.

The Handler’s expression softened into a rare smile, and she let out a soft chuckle. “I knew I could count on you. He shall join you on your next mission, which is only a few days away. You’ll receive the details in due time. Consider it an.. opportunity to assess his skills and see how well he integrates into our operations.” She raised her cup to her lips, taking a deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving the young woman infront of her.

Yn nodded, a flicker of excitement in her eyes that she quickly masked with composure. Her hands rested neatly in her lap. “Understood. I’ll ensure a thorough evaluation and report once we return.”

“Good,” the Handler said, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “That will be all for now. You both may go.” She made a dismissive gesture with a slight flick of her wrist, her gaze drifting toward one of the grand windows that framed her office. “And Dot, don’t forget that report I asked for… two weeks ago,” she added, a small glimmer of annoyance in her voice.

“Y-Yes, ma’am! I’ll make sure to deliver it tomorrow morning,” Dot said, rising abruptly from the lounge chair, a smile spreading across her face.

With a small, anticipatory smile, Yn and Dot exited the office. As they walked back through the corridors, Dot’s enthusiasm bubbled over. “Looks like you’ll finally get to meet him, bestie! I’m thrilled for you,” she said, her excitement evident as she adjusted her glasses.

Yn chuckled, her mind buzzing with possibilities. Despite her own swirling thoughts, Dot’s excitement was a welcome comfort. “I guess so, Dot,” she replied, sharing in her friend’s infectious energy.

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparation. Yn immersed herself in the mission details, meticulously reviewing every aspect to ensure nothing was overlooked. A blend of anticipation and anxiety simmered within her. This mission was pivotal not just for its success but also for gaining insight into Five, whom she had yet to fully understand.

Finally, when the day had arrived, she found herself back in the Handler’s office, this time with Five beside her. He wore the standard Commission uniform with an effortless grace. His calm demeanor and composed expression were a striking contrast to her own slightly fluttering nerves. He exuded sophistication, his presence a blend of confidence that was both intimidating and captivating.

“Five,” the Handler began, her voice smooth and authoritative, “meet Yn. The woman I mentioned before. She will be your partner for this mission ─ and potentially beyond.” As she spoke, she continued to shuffle through papers on her desk with practiced efficiency.

Five turned to the Handler, his expression a mixture of surprise and resolve. “I don’t need a partner—”

“Ah, well, that’s a shame, isn’t it?” The Handler cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand, before fixing her gaze on both of them. “Yn, Five has demonstrated exceptional skills thus far. I expect you two to work together seamlessly, understand?”

Yn exchanged a glance with Five, her posture straightening as she offered a small, reassuring smile. “Of course. We’ll do our best.”

Five rolled his eyes discreetly, his annoyance barely concealed beneath a facade of composure. The Handler observed their interaction with a tight-lipped smile, her gaze unwavering.

“Good,” she said, her tone leaving no room for error. “Your target is a high-profile individual. Unfortunately, the last two recruits I sent were unsuccessful. Precision and coordination are paramount. You both are the best we have, and I expect nothing less than perfection.”

With a practiced motion, she stood, retrieving a briefcase from beside her desk. Her eyes briefly met theirs, a silent reminder of the gravity of their task.

“Do not disappoint me,” the Handler said with a stern finality, her expression hardening before she quickly replaced it with her usual preppy smile. She handed Five the briefcase with a practiced grace.

Yn nodded, her gaze shifting to Five. He appeared slightly tense, his expression a blend of irritation and resignation, but he offered a curt nod in response. The Handler’s words lingered in the air, a weight of expectation pressing down on them.

As they exited the Handler’s office and began walking down the corridor, Yn turned to Five with a bright, enthusiastic smile. “So, this is exciting, isn’t it? Our first mission together! I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I’m Yn, though I’m pretty sure she mentioned that already. Just wanted to make sure you knew...” she added softly, her smile warm and genuine.

Five responded with a small scoff and a slight shake of his head, his eyes scanning the hallway ahead. One hand rested in his pocket, while the other gripped the handle of the briefcase with a tightness that betrayed his irritation.

Unfazed, she pressed on with her attempt at conversation. “I’ve been with The Commission for a while now,” she began, her voice light and conversational. “It’s a bit crazy, isn’t it? All the time travel and missions. I find it intriguing… well, except for all the killing and such. But what can you do, right?” She chuckled softly, her hands clasped behind her back as they walked in step through the corridor.

Turning to him with a curious look, she asked, “So, how are you finding it here so far?”

Five’s gaze remained forward, his demeanor reflecting clear irritation. “…It’s fine,” he mumbled, his tone flat and almost monotone. This was the last thing he needed, he thought.

They soon arrived at the armory, where the clatter of weapons and the hum of machinery filled the air. Yn began selecting her gear, her fingers moving with practiced ease over various items. She glanced at Five, hoping to bridge the gap between them.

“I’ve heard you can time travel without the equipment,” she said, her tone warm with genuine curiosity. “That’s pretty amazing. If you don’t mind me asking, how does it work exactly?” She continued to scan the array of weapons, her eyes lingering on a sleek butterfly knife and a sturdy pistol.

Five’s gaze shifted to her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s complicated,” he replied curtly, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

She chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m sure it is. But I’d love to hear more about it sometime. Maybe we can chat after the mis—” She began, picking up her chosen weapons and absently flicking the knife open and closed.

“Can we just focus on the mission?” Five cut in, his voice edged with impatience. He turned to her, a small frown creasing his brow as he met her gaze.

Yn stopped twirling the knife, her smile fading as she shifted her focus. “Right, sorry,” she said softly, her tone apologetic. She carefully stowed the knife and pistol in their respective places on her waistband.

Five shook his head with a dismissive sigh, his attention now fully absorbed in the assortment of weapons and gadgets before them. Yn sighed inwardly but kept her expression upbeat. Determined to break through his stoic exterior, she resolved to be patient and persistent, even if it took time.

“I’d be more than glad to help,” she said, her posture straight and her tone resolute as she made her offer. The conviction in her voice took him by surprise, though he quickly masked his astonishment. “But why?” he asked, his voice tinged with hesitation and doubt. They weren’t even entirely close, and this gesture seemed unexpected.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? To save your family... leave this place behind,” she replied, her gaze steady and understanding. “If that’s your end goal, then I’d rather support you than stand in your way. I can see how much it means to you... even if you don't wanna admit it.” She concluded with a small, knowing smile, her eyes reflecting genuine empathy as she observed him.

The mission unfolded smoothly, a testament to the skill of its participants. Five outlined the plan with precise clarity, and Yn listened attentively, recognizing the thoughtfulness behind his strategy. She trusted his judgment implicitly, and it was clear she was right to do so.

Their operation proceeded as planned until an unexpected ambush forced them into combat. Yn typically dreaded these moments, but with Five’s expertise, the violence was manageable. The scene, grim and chaotic ─ blood spilled, the harsh clatter of her butterfly knife against flesh, Five’s grunts of exertion ─ was grim by any standard, but they remained focused, undisturbed by the carnage around them.

Even though their interactions were limited, Yn observed him closely. Amid the chaos, she noticed his fighting style ─ a unique rhythm, almost elegant in its precision. Despite the violence, Five fought with a fluid grace, seemingly detached from the brutality. He used his powers sparingly, only twice to bridge gaps between enemies, but his movements were so adept, he hardly appeared to struggle.

For anyone else, his detached demeanor might be unsettling. But for Yn, it sparked a flicker of admiration. His calm mastery, his ability to make violence seem almost like an art form. It seemed almost captivating.

As the last adversary had fallen and the tension began to ebb, she let out a deep breath, her face streaked with a few smudges of blood. She glanced at Five, her voice gentle yet laced with a note of relief. “Well, that went well, didn’t it?” she said softly, hoping for some acknowledgment.

Five, however, remained absorbed in his task, grunting softly as he wrested the briefcase from one of the unconscious assailants. The briefcase’s presence was a slight puzzle to Yn ─ she had no idea how it had ended up in the hands of their opponents, but Five's careful handling suggested he intended to be more vigilant with it in the future.

With a look of expectation, he turned his gaze toward the woman as he prepared the case for their return. Recognizing his unspoken cue, she straightened her disheveled appearance, her smile unwavering despite the blood staining her face. She walked over to him, maintaining her composure.

Five observed her quietly, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. Both of them placed their hands on the briefcase, and with a synchronized effort, they were transported back to the Commission, leaving the battlefield behind.

They reappeared outside the briefcase room, the familiar yet unsettling sensation of the time jump still lingering in Yn's body. She took a few deep breaths, steadying herself. Though she had grown accustomed to these jumps, they still left her feeling disoriented sometimes. Beside her, Five exhaled quietly, seemingly unfazed, as he walked into the briefcase room to return the case. He discreetly glanced around at the other cases, taking note of their placements, before stepping back outside after a minute.

He paused briefly, surprised to see Yn still there, patiently waiting. She was wiping a few bloodstains from her clothes, humming softly to herself with a small, almost contented smile on her face.

Five let out a faint, quiet scoff, masking his curiosity with indifference. Without another word, he turned on his heel, heading toward the Handler's office. "Let's go," he ordered, his tone quiet but firm.

She snapped out of her thoughts, straightening her posture in surprise. She quickly fell into step beside him, her pace matching his as they made their way down the corridor.

The debriefing went swiftly. Both Yn and Five delivered their reports with precision, detailing the mission’s success. The Handler listened intently, her face lighting up with satisfaction at their feedback and accomplishments. She complimented them, her eyes glinting with a curious, almost predatory interest as she observed the two assassins.

When they were finally dismissed for the night, the Handler reminded Yn to submit her evaluation of Five the next morning. His face tightened into a faint scowl at the mention of the report, but he said nothing.

As the office doors closed behind them, the quiet hallway enveloped them, punctuated only by the faint hum of late-night activity within the building.

With a composed demeanor and a gentle smile, Yn turned to him. “At least that smoothly. I think we made a pretty good team." She paused for a moment, her gaze steady and sincere. “By the way, if you ever wanna talk or need anything, just know I’m here. I know adjusting can be tough—”

Without a word, Five continued walking, his back to her, making no move to acknowledge her offer. Her smile slighly faltered as she watched him retreat down the corridor. A sigh escaped her lips, her breath mingling with the cool air of the empty hallway.

“Well, goodnight then!” she called softly, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment. Despite her efforts to bridge the gap between them, it seemed Five preferred to remain distant. Yn stood alone for a moment longer, her eyes fixed on the shadowy figure of Five as he disappeared into the darkness, the corridor growing a bit colder in his absence. Maybe next time, she thought, holding on to a small glimmer of hope.

“I wonder what it’d be like to have your powers,” she mused with a chuckle, putting away a few files on her desk as she prepared to clock out for the night. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast gentle shadows around the room.

Five, leaning against a nearby wall with his hands in his pockets, stared at the ceiling. “They’re not that special,” he mumbled with a scoff.

She finished tidying her desk, casting a small, warm smile in his direction. “Well, I think they’re pretty cool, no matter what you say,” she said softly, her tone genuine.

His gaze shifted briefly toward her, his expression betraying a flicker of curiosity.

True to her word, the Handler had seen to it that, only two weeks after their initial mission, Yn and Five were officially assigned as partners. While they still occasionally undertook solo missions, more often than not, they found themselves side by side. Yn greeted the news with enthusiasm, though she couldn’t say the same for Five.

Life at the Commission soon settled into a monotonous rhythm for both Yn and Five, marked by a relentless cycle of missions and the increasingly predictable pattern of Yn’s attempts to break through Five’s stony exterior. She couldn’t fathom how a partnership could function without some semblance of camaraderie, so she took it upon herself to bridge that gap. Despite her persistent efforts, however, Five remained distant, his silence almost a rebuke to her cheerful attempts at friendship.

Some of her colleagues had cautioned her that trying to befriend him was a futile endeavor, pointing to his unyielding indifference toward her gestures of kindness.

But she dismissed their warnings with a quiet resolve, refusing to let their doubts seep into her spirit. Dot, ever supportive, continued to bolster her efforts, offering words of encouragement whenever uncertainty threatened to take root. Yn told herself that if Five truly wished for her to stop, he would voice it plainly. Yet, his responses ─ or the conspicuous absence of them ─ were limited to walking away or retreating into silence. To her, this was far from a defeat; in fact, she secretly considered his lack of outright rejection as a small, unspoken triumph.

And so it remained that way ─ until, inevitably, it didn’t.

The date marked nearly three months since Yn and Five had been paired as partners, a time filled with missions and tension. They had just returned from what could only be described as a near-disastrous mission. It had all been going smoothly until they separated to fulfill their respective roles. Yn's task was straightforward yet fraught with risk ─ she was to assassinate the final target. Five, on the other hand, was assigned to infiltrate the estate, gathering critical intel that would ensure the mission’s success.

As Yn prepared for the shot, a rare sense of anxiety settled over her. Despite her experience, this mission carried an unusual weight. One shot was all it would take, and failure was not an option. But as the moment of action approached, she faltered.

The target’s wife entered the scene, and through the scope, Yn saw something that gave her pause ─ the woman’s smile as she greeted her husband, the way they embraced, the contented sigh she let out. It was a simple, human moment, but it hit Yn like a punch to the gut.

Her hands trembled as she aimed the gun, her resolve crumbling. She couldn’t do it. Her body, usually so attuned to the demands of her job, refused to cooperate. The hesitation was costly. Security forces within the estate spotted her, forcing her to engage in a violent struggle that quickly drew the attention of her intended target. He barely made it out of the grand house before a bullet found him. His body crumpled to the ground, and as it did, Yn saw Five standing there, a small frown of anger creasing his face.

Without a word, Five appeared at her side, seamlessly joining the fray to eliminate the remaining security personnel with her. His movements were efficient, precise, a stark contrast to her earlier faltering. And as soon as the last threat was neutralized, Five grabbed her arm and, without a moment’s hesitation, used the case to return them to the Commission. The mission had been salvaged, but the tension between them hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.

That night had sparked an argument between them, though in hindsight, it was more a clash of frayed nerves than true animosity. The day had burdened them both with relentless stress, and the looming threat of failure had mingled with an unspoken fear of potentially losing each other… as partners of course. It was a volatile blend that inevitably boiled over.

Yet, as she reflected now, it was clear that without that night’s tension, the subtle shifts that followed might never have occurred. It was as if that moment of friction had unlocked something in their bond, something that would gradually reshape their future.

And it did. After that day, Yn had began to distance herself from Five, pulling back from her usual attempts to engage him following the words they had exchanged.

At first, he welcomed the newfound quiet, relishing the space she had granted him. But as the days turned into weeks, the hints of emptiness began to settle in ─ his routines, once merely solitary, now felt hollow in the absence of her persistent presence. It frustrated him that it had taken nearly half a year since his arrival to realize that, all along, she had been nothing but kind to him, even bringing him coffee out of simple, unreciprocated kindness.

Eventually, he couldn’t ignore the small void she had unintentionally left behind. So, he began to yield ─ little by little, he started responding more to her words, offering brief answers to a few of her questions. Though he tried to mask his intentions, to pretend that nothing had changed, Yn was perceptive. She noticed the subtle shift, and it warmed her heart to see him make the effort. Maybe, she thought, her persistence had finally paid off after all.

Five turned to look at her, a small, closed smile appearing on his face. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

Yn returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “If it means I get to see that smile of yours more often, then yeah, I’m not giving up.”

What began as a newly formed partnership and budding friendship gradually deepened into something far more profound ─ a bond marked by affection and love.

Nearly four years had passed since Five's arrival, with both now in their late twenties. How their relationship evolved to this point was almost a mystery, so natural and unexpected it was. There was no rushing, no planning of special days; everything unfolded organically, without them even realizing it until confessions were made during late-night talks in their offices ─ a ritual that had become part of their routine.

The Commission soon picked up on the shift. They noticed Yn’s brighter smile and Five’s subtle change in demeanor around her friends and colleagues. What caught their attention most was the increasing number of times they were seen together outside of work. The news only spread when Dot, eager to share the update about her best friend’s new relationship with the elusive assassin, let slip to some of her acquaintances. As the story circulated, more and more people became aware of their union.

It took considerable effort from Yn and a touch of intimidation from Five to stem the tide of gossip. They had to persuade their colleagues firmly and, in Five’s case, unwillingly make a few veiled threats to ensure that the news didn’t reach the Handler or become a matter of office chatter.

Those three famous words replayed in Yn’s mind often after they had been spoken. Five had been the one to say them first, catching her completely off guard.

She had been in the middle of a rant, her words tumbling out carelessly, when he suddenly interrupted her with that simple, yet earth-shattering declaration. She’d frozen up, stunned into silence, as she watched the panic flicker in his eyes, his awkward attempt to move on from the moment. But before either of them could overthink it, they shared a kiss ─ a kiss more meaningful than any other. She always reminisced about that day.

Being with him had brought her true happiness, but what she treasured most was the chance to truly understand him. To be one of the rare few who were close to the legendary Five Hargreeves.

It wasn’t the title that made her happy of course, but what it represented ─ his trust in her.

Five had eventually opened up to Yn about his past: the life he led before the apocalypse, the siblings he once fought beside, and the grueling years spent at the academy under the iron fist of his oppressive father. He shared the grim details of the apocalypse, the years he had endured in a world that was crumbling around him.

She even learned about his companion, Delores, who, to her surprise, truly existed ─ though not in the way she had once imagined.

Every revelation had brought them closer, slowly peeling back layers of Five’s stoic exterior. She listened as he recounted the challenges of growing up under such intense pressure, how the academy had shaped him, and how the isolation during the apocalypse had nearly driven him mad. Delores, a mannequin he had once loved, became a symbol of his desperate attempt to hold onto some semblance of normalcy in a desolate world.

Her heart ached for him as she realized just how much he had been through. She admired his resilience but also recognized the deep scars that his experiences had left behind. Despite all of it, she was still there, offering him the understanding and support he had long been deprived of.

One confession of hers always lingered in Five’s mind ─ the time she had offered to help him save his family, even before they had become a couple. It filled him with a sense of worth beyond his powers, knowing that someone as kind and admirable as Yn was by his side. Her willingness to stand by him, even when the odds seemed impossible, meant more to him than she could ever know.

In time, he shared his plan with her, every detail laid bare. And without a moment’s hesitation, she joined him, willing to leave the Commission behind and start a new life together. Though she seldom spoke of her life before the Commission, she knew that leaving it with him would be worth it ─ a step toward a new beginning.

All of it ultimately had led Yn toward her cherished goal of becoming a mother one day, to start a family with the man she knew she loved with all her heart. Little did she know how close this dream was to becoming reality, and the price she would have to pay for it.

She stared at the test in her shaky hands, her breath catching in her throat as the result slowly registered in her mind. It was positive.

The tiny plus sign on the strip seemed to burn into her vision, making her head spin. She had imagined this moment a few times before, but now that it was real, a wave of overwhelming emotions washed over her ─ shock, fear, and a flicker of something else she couldn’t quite place.

What would Five say? Would he be happy? Or would this news only add to the stress that already weighed heavily on him, especially with the endless equations he wrestled with, trying to find a way back home? Her thoughts had swirled in a chaotic spiral as she considered her options, eventually deciding on waiting it out. She’d tell him when the time was right ─ when he was a bit more at ease.

Two weeks had passed since that moment. Now, a few weeks into her first trimester, she still hadn’t told anyone, not even Dot. The secret weighed on her, but she carried it alone, choosing her words and actions carefully. She noticed that Five had started to pick up on her moments of distraction during their work, his concerned glances lingering on her as she zoned out during meetings or while analyzing cases.

It worried him, but he chalked it up to stress, something he was all too familiar with. As much as he tried to focus on the tasks at hand, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with Yn. Yet, he held back from asking, not wanting to add to whatever burden she was carrying.

Yn, on the other hand, had still found herself caught between wanting to share her news with Five and the fear of how it might affect him. The thought of their future together brought both joy and anxiety, and she knew that the conversation would change everything. But until she felt the time was right, she kept her secret close, hoping for the right moment to finally reveal the truth.

That fateful evening, a mission had been thrust upon them both, one that stood out as particularly treacherous. Their target: a high-ranking official in 1930s London. The mission, fraught with peril and intricacy, was conveyed to them by the Handler with an urgency that unsettled Yn. The usual meticulous preparation was replaced with a frantic rush, additional colleagues and assassins hastily brought in to assist. The pressure of it all weighed heavily on her, nearly suffocating in its intensity.

But in the midst of the chaos, Five stood by her side, his presence a steady anchor in the storm. The warmth of his hand as it grasped hers provided a fleeting sense of comfort, a reassurance that steadied her frayed nerves. Their eyes met as they were handed the briefcase, the unspoken understanding between them clear.

“See you on the other side, love,” he whispered softly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

A smile touched her lips, a brief moment of solace amidst the turmoil. She gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his face, her fingers lingering as she cupped his cheek. “As always, amor,” she murmured, her voice filled with a quiet resolve.

He returned her smile, a small, closed expression that conveyed more than words ever could. And then, with a final kiss, they vanished into the unknown, the briefcase unlocking their passage into the heart of the mission.

They lay on the rooftop, the world below a distant hum as they rested after another mission. The night sky above them was a canvas of stars, more vivid and clear than ever.

Her eyes traced the constellations, her voice carrying a note of hope. “Do you think it’ll work? Us leaving this place for good?” she asked softly.

Five turned his head to look at her, taking in the sight of her bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. For a moment, he found her breathtaking. “I’m not sure yet,” he admitted, his voice thoughtful. “I still need time to figure it out. But we will… as long as you stick with me and I do the same...”

She lost him that night.

The mission, designed with precision, had unravelled into a grim spectacle of chaos and tragedy. They had been separated away from the others, and the ambush that followed was relentless. As Yn fought her way through the fray, she felt the crushing weight of each strike and the ever-increasing number of enemies. The alleyway, dimly lit and narrow, became a crucible of their suffering.

Amidst the cacophony of gunfire and rain, Five was shot while shielding her from harm. The bullet’s impact seemed to shatter the fragile barrier between life and death. Yn’s mind was a maelstrom of fear and helplessness as she saw him stagger, blood staining his hands, his face etched with a painful resolve. His final moments were spent reassuring her with a promise to reunite, a promise that would never be fulfilled.

The rain continued to fall, indifferent to their plight, as she clutched him in her arms, her cries piercing the night. The agony of his loss was magnified by the brutality of her actions. Consumed by a blind rage, she had unleashed a vengeful fury upon the assailants who had stirred from unconsciousness. Her anger morphed her into a merciless avenger, the scene growing increasingly gruesome with each act of retribution.

The sight of a wedding ring on one of her fallen foes only fueled her anger, intensifying her wrath against a world that had stolen her love away from her.

The blood that soaked her clothes and hands served as a haunting reminder of the night’s horrors. When Dot and the other recruits had finally arrived, alerted by the delay of the two assassins, they found Yn amidst the aftermath, a lone figure in a sea of carnage. The scene was eerily quiet, save for the sound of rain pattering against the cobblestones, mingling with the crimson stains that painted the ground. Dot could only do nothing but cradle her shattered friend, her own heart breaking as Yn wept for her fallen partner.

“H-He's gone. He's really gone, Dot,” Yn had whispered, her voice barely audible through her sobs as she wept in her friend’s arms. The embrace, warm and familiar, somehow failed to bring the comfort she so desperately yearned for. His comfort.

Dot’s heart shattered at her friend’s words, a deep ache spreading through her chest. “I-I know. I know, love. I'm so sorry,” she whispered back, her voice trembling as she fought to keep herself composed.

“I never even told h-him…” Yn’s voice broke, the weight of her unspoken truth adding to her sorrow.

Dot’s confusion at the statement was fleeting, replaced by an overwhelming wave of empathy. She looked up at the others, tears forming in her own eyes as she held Yn closer. Herb and the rest of the team could only watch the scene with heavy hearts, their own grief mingling with sympathy.

They had lost one of their own that night, and the weight of that loss hung heavily in the air.

Have you ever heard the tale of two swans? One was as bright as freshly fallen snow, while the other was as dark as a moonless night. They lived on a tranquil lake, where the sun’s light danced across the water’s surface. The white swan was a beacon of sunlight, her graceful movements infusing life and light into the world around her. In contrast, the black swan bore the weight of shadows, his eyes mirroring the deep, somber sorrow of twilight, as if carrying the burdens of a cold and indifferent world.

Swans, it is said, find their mates for life. And though these two were as different as day and night, they were drawn together by a force that neither could resist. The white swan’s brightness softened the black swan’s gloom, while his depth gave her a new understanding of the world. They became the perfect counterpart to one another, a delicate balance of light and dark.

But as with all tales of love and loss, their time together was fleeting. The black swan, burdened by his own melancholy, grew weaker and eventually slipped into the stillness of death, leaving the white swan to mourn alone. There is a saying that swans give up when they lose their mate, but the white swan refused to surrender to despair. In her dreams, she saw him waiting on the edge of the lake, a shadow calling her back.

And so, she swam on, believing that their love was not bound by the limits of this world, but destined to reunite by fate, no matter how long it took.

The weeks following that night felt irrevocably altered, as though something fundamental had been lost. While only her closest friends sensed the void, it was undeniable: Yn had lost more than just a partner. She had lost a part of herself. Her light, her guiding moon. Everything that had once illuminated her world ─ was gone.

Discussions of Five’s passing were always weighed down with solemnity, spoken in hushed tones and soft whispers to avoid further distressing the grief-stricken Yn. The Handler had refrained from calling her in, adding to the sense of quiet that enveloped her. During this period, she had withdrawn from missions, spending her days confined to her quarters, while Dot provided steadfast support, her daily check-ins offering a small measure of comfort amid Yn’s profound sorrow. She resolved to properly express her gratitude to Dot someday.

As more weeks of solitude had passed, Yn’s growing stomach became increasingly noticeable, making it clear that she could no longer keep her condition a secret. Not that she had ever really planned to.

Surprisingly yet, she began to ease back into work, solving only a few cases here and there. Yet, the thought of returning to full-scale missions had seemed distant and unattainable. She couldn’t envision herself diving back into that world anytime soon.

When she officially had returned, her colleagues quickly noticed the changes in her. She was quieter, more reserved, and the brightness that once lit up her smile had dimmed. Her eyes, once filled with a lively spark, now held a subdued melancholy. Though her caring nature remained intact, it was tinged with a softness that hadn’t been there in a while.

The news of her pregnancy, discreetly shared by Dot with Yn’s permission, only deepened their understanding of her transformation. They often saw her gently cradling her growing stomach as she spoke with others, a tender gesture that contrasted with the weight of her loss. Despite everything, Yn still had extended a helping hand whenever her colleagues needed support, her compassion unwavering, though now shaded with the quiet strength of someone who had endured profound sorrow.

They had arranged a small welcome-back week for Yn, nothing extravagant, just a gesture to show their support and care. Dot and Herb had spearheaded the idea, wanting to comfort her during this difficult time. Though Dot nervously denied any relationship with Herb, Yn wasn’t fooled. She saw the affection in their interactions, recognizing the love between them, even if they hadn’t realized it yet. It was reminiscent of how she and Five had been before they got together. A part of her envied them, but she chose not to dwell on it, unwilling to descend into that sorrowful comparison.

That week passed quickly, but the one that followed brought an unwelcome tension. With Five gone, it was inevitable that someone would try to take his place as the best in their division. Unfortunately, it had to be a guy whose name Yn barely bothered to remember. She recognized him, though ─ the one who always glared at Five during meetings, muttering under his breath and plotting to outshine him. His envy had been palpable, and now, with Five gone, he seemed almost gleeful.

She was on her way to Dot's office when their paths crossed. He spotted her first, his smirk widening as he stopped, blocking her way. “Well, if it isn't Mrs. Sunshine herself. Oh wait, you're not a Mrs anymore, huh?” His voice dripped with mockery, each word carefully chosen to sting.

Yn paused, her gaze narrowing as she turned to face him fully. “What did you say?” Her voice was low, a warning.

“You heard me,” he sneered, taking a step closer, his voice dripping with malice. “What? What's with the glare? Your man isn’t here to cuddle you when you’re sad anymore? Aw, how tragic.” His tone was sharp, mocking. As his words hung in the air, a small crowd began to form at a respectful distance, sensing the tension.

Yn’s heart pounded in her chest, her grief and anger simmering just beneath the surface. He wasn’t done yet, though. His eyes flicked down to her growing stomach, and the smirk on his face turned vicious. “I'm sure it'll be sad for that child of yours too, no? Having to grow up fatherless—”

He didn’t get to finish. The sound of her fist connecting with his jaw echoed through the hall, followed by a sharp intake of breath from the onlookers. He staggered back, clutching his face, shock and pain flickering in his eyes as blood began to trickle from his nose. The once-smug expression was replaced with disbelief as he struggled to regain his footing, staring at Yn in stunned silence.

She stepped forward, her voice cold and unwavering. “You don't get to speak about him or our child. Ever.” She glanced down at him, now slumped against the wall, her eyes narrowing slightly before she straightened her posture, smoothing her jacket's sleeves with a practiced grace. A small, almost satisfied smile curved her lips. “I'm sure our boss can deal with you from here.”

Without another word, Yn turned and walked away, leaving him and the stunned crowd in her wake. She didn’t look back, her steps confident and unhurried as she continued toward Dot's office, her mind already moving beyond the encounter, focusing instead on what truly mattered. Though, a closed smile appeared on her face. How cool was that, she thought.

The months that followed passed in a blur, filled with their own set of challenges and small joys. Yn navigated the pain of her growing baby, the sharp, unexpected kicks a constant reminder of the new life within her. Sleepless nights often plagued her, her dreams haunted by memories and nightmares of Five. Yet through it all, he remained ever-present in her thoughts, a constant companion in her heart.

The day she gave birth was a mixture of profound pain and overwhelming joy. With Dot by her side, offering support and comfort, Yn held her baby girl for the first time. The sight of the tiny, delicate face with her father's eyes brought tears to her eyes. Cradling her daughter in her arms, she was flooded with a wave of emotion that made the pain of childbirth fade into the background. The spark that had seemed lost during those dark months flickered back to life.

And that spark only grew stronger as the years passed. It now marked four years since the birth of her daughter and nearly five since Yn had lost her beloved counterpart. She had named her daughter Odette, inspired by her favorite tale of the two swans ─ a story she felt a profound connection to. Odette, in turn, grew to love the tale as well, often requesting her mother to read it to her.

She carried her father's last name, a small but significant gesture by Yn to keep his presence alive. She was more than just a reminder of Five; she was a living embodiment of him. From her eyes to her smile, she mirrored him unmistakably.

Yet her spirited defiance and curiosity, traits so vividly reminiscent of Yn herself, shaped her unique character. Together, these traits made Odette a perfect blend of both her parents. A tangible piece of Five that would always remain with them.

Odette breathed new life into Yn, rekindling the smile and joy she had lost. As her daughter grew older, she proudly introduced her to some of her colleagues. The young girl quickly took a special liking to Dot, who she affectionately regarded as an aunt.

Those around her couldn’t help but notice the remarkable transformation that occurred whenever she brought her daughter along. The once-muted spark in her eyes seemed to reignite, and the spirit and vitality that had once defined her returned in full force. With Odette by her side, Yn radiated a renewed energy, a testament to the profound impact her daughter had on her life.

Her friends and colleagues took pride in this progress, none more so than Dot and her newly announced husband, Herb. Yn had always suspected that Dot and Herb were destined for each other, and seeing their happiness only served to amplify her own.

Dot, however, knew her friend too well to be fooled by her composed exterior. She noticed the subtle longing in Yn’s eyes whenever she watched couples around them ─ a silent yearning that spoke volumes. Deeply worried for her friend, Dot resolved to address this unspoken sadness. So, determined to uplift Yn’s spirits, Dot had been collaborating with Herb on a plan for the inevitable. Their efforts were driven by the desire to bring a bit of joy and warmth back into Yn’s life, a gesture to remind her of the happiness she permanently deserved.

Now, as Dot stood at Yn’s door with a briefcase in hand and a hopeful smile on her face, the moment had finally arrived to put their plan into action.

Yn was jolted from her somber reverie by a knock that drew her from the depths of her reflections. Her mind, having been absorbed in vivid, melancholic recollections of the past few years, was momentarily disrupted by the unexpected sound.

Her habit of deep contemplation, honed through years of grappling with grief, had become a regular occurrence during her solitary moments. This subtle undercurrent of sorrow still lingered beneath the facade she maintained around others, save for her daughter, who was spending the day with Dot. The break was meant to be a well-deserved respite, a chance for Yn to step away from her responsibilities and unwind. Yet, as she lay alone in her loft, the quiet was filled with a flood of memories rather than peace.

With a weary sigh, Yn rose from her bed and switched on the lamp beside her. The soft glow dispelled the encroaching darkness, casting a gentle light across the room. As she moved toward the door of her small loft, her footsteps echoed softly in the quiet.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by Dot, whose face was brightened by a warm and inviting smile. Dot held a briefcase in her hands, the enigmatic glint in her eyes hinting at a purpose behind her visit that went beyond a mere social call.

“Hi, bestie!” Dot exclaimed with infectious enthusiasm, her smile beaming brightly. She seemed on the verge of bouncing with excitement.

Yn looked at her with a hint of confusion. “Hi, Dot. Where’s my daughter?” she asked, half expecting to see Odette right behind her friend.

“Oh, don’t worry about her,” Dot reassured her with a gentle smile. “She’s fast asleep. I made sure Herb checked in on her, so you don’t have to worry.” She then adjusted her grip on the briefcase, holding it with both hands as if presenting a treasured gift. Her eyes sparkled with a blend of excitement and urgency. “I need your help with something,” she said, her voice carrying a note of earnest appeal.

Yn’s gaze fell on the briefcase, and she let out a long, weary sigh. “Dot, you know I don’t take on missions anymore.”

Dot quickly interjected, her tone insistent. “I promise, this isn’t a mission. I just need your help with talking to someone for a report. I know I could have asked anyone else, but—”

Yn cut in, her patience wearing thin. “Dot, you don’t need to—”

Dot pressed on, her voice carrying a blend of determination and sincerity. “You’re the only one I truly trust with this. Wanda’s off on her honeymoon, and that leaves Harold, who.. let’s be honest, has a knack for forgetting things. And as much as I value his help, between us, he’s not the best at keeping details straight. Plus, this report would really benefit from your insight—”

“Fine!” Yn interrupted Dot’s rambling, her resolve finally breaking. “I’ll do it, okay? Would that make you happy?” A hint of a smile appeared on her face, softening her expression.

Dot’s face lit up with genuine delight at Yn’s response. “Trust me, this makes me very happy.” Her gaze fell on Yn’s casual appearance. “But before you head out, go grab a jacket. It might be chilly where we’re going.”

Y/N sighed, a small, resigned smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She turned away, heading to her closet to retrieve her jacket, her movements deliberate as she mentally prepared herself for what lay ahead. When she returned to the front door, she grabbed the briefcase from her friend, her fingers brushing against a small note that had been tucked underneath.

“Almost forgot to mention!” Dot said with a quick, bright smile, “It’d be better off if you went by yourself. I promise to take care of Odette while you’re away, okay? Oh, and apologies for any age regressions. It was the only way, I swear!” Dot’s words tumbled out in a rush, her playful wink adding a touch of lightheartedness to the situation.

Before Yn could respond at what she just said, Dot opened the briefcase and backed away. A flash of light enveloped her, causing her to disappear in an instant, leaving Dot standing alone with a satisfied grin.

The landing wasn’t graceful by any means. It had been some time since she last felt the jarring impact of a jump. The cold, unyielding concrete greeted her back as she hit the ground, the briefcase skidding to a stop beside her.

A groan escaped her lips as she opened her eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She was in a lonely alley way. It was night, the stars above twinkling in the crisp air. The chill in the air seeped through her clothes, though she was grateful she had brought her jacket ─ despite it feeling slightly looser now that she had a moment to think.

Dot’s last words suddenly echoed in her mind, prompting her to sit up and examine herself. She had indeed regressed physically. Judging by the familiar feel of her body, she estimated she was close to twenty again. How she knew this was unclear ─ the knowledge had simply surfaced in her mind, as if planted there. The realization drew a sigh of frustration from her.

“Great. Just what I needed,” she muttered under her breath, releasing another sigh as she pushed herself to her feet. She reached down, grabbing the briefcase and staring at the note that had been hidden beneath it. With a curious frown, she picked it up and unfolded it, immediately recognizing her friend’s familiar handwriting.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It’ll be worth it !!!

That was all it said, a simple message alongside a smiley face, an address, and an apartment number. The brevity of it puzzled her, but she shrugged it off, assuming it was just her friend's way of offering some encouragement. Folding the note carefully, she tucked it away and began to make her way out of the alley. As she walked, a strange new feeling tugged at her heart, something she couldn’t quite put into words yet.

The walk to the apartment was short, the address conveniently close by. She found herself enjoying the quiet stroll, the crisp night air, and the glow of the city around her. The pretty lights of closed shops and streetlamps reflected off the puddles of water on the ground, remnants of an earlier rain. For once, her mind was still, her usual whirlwind of thoughts subdued as she soaked in the peaceful surroundings. And before she knew it, she was now standing in front of the door marked with the number from the note.

The place felt oddly familiar, almost as if she were experiencing deja vu, despite never having been there before. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and knocked gently ─ five small taps. It was a habit she’d picked up after meeting Five, a subtle, playful signal that it was her at the door.

She listened as the faint sound of footsteps approached, stopping just on the other side of the door, lingering as if the person hesitated. The pause made sense, though, the moment the door swung open.

And there he stood. Alive and breathing.

It took her several moments to even process what she was seeing. It didn’t feel real ─ it couldn’t be. She had been there in his final moments, holding him as the last breath left his body, his life slipping away in her arms. How could he possibly be standing here now? But there he was, unmistakably him, looking slightly younger than when they had first met.

His eyes, those familiar, piercing eyes she had longed for every day since his death, were now locked onto hers, brimming with a whirlwind of emotions ─ surprise, grief, shock. Seeing him again sent a jolt through her heart, unearthing a longing she had buried deep within herself.

This had to be a dream, she thought, a painfully vivid dream. There could be no other explanation. She was on the verge of convincing herself of this, of dismissing the surreal moment as nothing more than a cruel trick of her mind.

But then, just as her thoughts reached a fever pitch, everything came to a sudden, startling halt when he spoke.

“Yn?” His voice was a whisper, so soft it was almost lost in the space between them, yet it carried the weight of a thousand emotions. There was a tremor of hesitance, a desperate plea woven into the single word, as though he couldn’t bear for this moment to be anything but true.

He’d spoken her name like a lifeline. And that was all it took.

Have you ever watched a Studio Ghibli movie? The way characters embrace, with a weightless, almost ethereal quality, filled with a love so profound it borders on desperation ─ something so pure, so perfect, it feels almost unreal? That’s the only way she could describe what happened next.

Her hands, trembling uncontrollably, released the briefcase, letting it clatter to the floor as tears welled up in her eyes. In an instant, she was in his arms, launching herself at him with a gentle force that belied the intensity of her emotions.

The impact pushed him back, and he leaned against the couch for support, his arms instinctively wrapping around her. It wasn’t just a hug; it was an outpouring of everything they had both held back, a reunion that seemed impossible, now made real. In that moment, nothing else existed but the warmth of his embrace and the overwhelming relief of having him back.

It was like a forgotten melody, a touch so familiar yet distant that it brought tears to her eyes. She buried her face against him, her emotions overwhelming her after so many years of longing. It was as though time had folded in on itself, pulling her back to the moments they had shared ─ those quiet embraces when he would hold her close to soothe her fears, or when he sought solace in her arms, or the way they’d cling to each other before sleep claimed them.

Yet, even in this moment of overwhelming emotion, she sensed the subtle difference in his hold. As much as she wanted to believe that this was truly her Five, she knew it wasn’t.

She refused to deceive herself with comforting lies. But the sensation of his arms around her, the sight of him breathing once more, was enough to make her ignore that truth, if only for a moment. She felt his arms tighten around her, as though he, too, was desperate to hold onto this fleeting connection. And he was.

Unbeknowst to her, in this timeline, Five had lost her too, but the circumstances were even more devastating. They had been married in this world, their connection deepened by vows and shared dreams. But her death had been a cruel twist of fate, even more tragic because he hadn’t been there to save her. By the time he found her, the life they had built together was already shattered, the light in her eyes extinguished.

The pain of losing her, the one person who had made the chaos of his existence bearable, was a weight he couldn’t carry. The organization they had both served now felt like a prison, a constant reminder of the price he had paid. So he did the only thing he could ─ he walked away. Not just to escape the unbearable memories, but to honor the goal she had always believed in: saving his family, the one mission that had always mattered to him.

Her words, spoken with love and determination before that fateful night, became his lifeline. She had promised that they would see each other again, a promise that kept him going through the darkest of times. With that promise echoing in his mind, he returned to his timeline, a sixteen-year-old boy again, at least physically, carrying the scars of a life lived far too fast. He fought for his family, saving the world not once, but twice, driven by the hope that somehow, in some way, he would fulfill the vow they had made to each other.

Four years had passed since the harrowing events at Hotel Obsidian, when he’s been rid of his powers ─ a release that should have brought peace. Yet, a lingering emptiness remained, a deep ache in his soul that no achievement could ever truly fill.

And now, against all odds, here she was, cradled in his arms. She wasn’t exactly his girl, but she was unmistakably her in every way that mattered. It felt as though fate had woven its threads to bring them together for this fleeting, bittersweet reunion.

They both understood that this moment wasn’t meant to last, but for now, it was a precious gift. The chance to hold each other again was a final farewell, a way to honor the love that had once been the center of their worlds. They lingered in that embrace, neither willing to let go, as if parting would shatter the fragile reality they had managed to reclaim.

But with an unspoken agreement, their eyes met, and slowly, their lips found each other in a kiss that was both fervent and tender.

It was a mix of deep longing and careful delicacy, as if they were made of fragile porcelain, afraid that any sudden movement might break the bond they had just rediscovered. The kiss bore the weight of lost time and unspoken regrets, a bittersweet acknowledgment of a love that had once meant everything ─ a tentative step toward healing the trauma they had both inevitably faced and shared.

When they finally pulled away, it was with a hesitant urgency, both fearing the other might disappear, as if the moment had been nothing more than a dream.

A quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle escaped them both. With eyes shimmering and full of tears, they whispered in perfect unison, “You're alive.”

To anyone else, the words might have sounded grim, a strange thing to say with such relief. But for them, it was more than just an observation ─ it was a confirmation, a shared acknowledgment of the impossible moment they were living.

“I am,” they said in unison again, their voices soft but laden with mutual relief. A small, genuine smile touched their lips.

“How did you find me?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with curiosity and wonder. Yn’s mind raced, piecing together why her best friend had been so insistent on sending her on this unexpected visit. She looked away briefly, lost in thought, before meeting his gaze again. “Dot did,” she said simply, her expression thoughtful.

Recognition and understanding flickered across his face. “She’s alive?” he asked quietly, a mix of surprise and confusion in his voice. Yn tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowing with genuine curiosity. “Well, why wouldn’t she be?”

He sighed, his face a canvas of conflicting emotions as he looked at her. “Long story, love,” he murmured, the term of endearment slipping out naturally as he gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, as if it were part of their unspoken language.

Yn’s smile only deepened, her eyes shining with a warm, nostalgic light. Hearing him use that term again brought a bittersweet comfort. “I’ve got time,” she replied softly, her tone inviting him to share more.

Remember the tale of the two swans? Even amidst the loss, the white swan held onto the belief that they were destined to meet again. In a way, their story mirrored this. Though fate had separated them, it had overlooked one truth: the possibility of reunion, whether in life or death. While no one could truly alter fate, that didn’t mean hope was in vain.

They proved this belief true. Though they were no longer fated to be each other’s, destiny had never decreed they couldn’t forge a new path together. The path ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but even if they could never fully reclaim what they had lost, having another version of each other was a gift beyond measure.

It was a bittersweet acknowledgment that while they might never fully reclaim the past, the chance for a new beginning made every step of the journey worthwhile.

Three months had quietly unraveled since that singular encounter, each day slipping by like sand through fingers, leaving behind an unfamiliar yet comforting residue of contentment. It was a feeling neither of them had tasted in what felt like ages, a gentle calm that settled in the spaces where anxiety once reigned.

During this time, it was no surprise that Yn remained in contact with Five. Their connection, fragile yet persistent, was nurtured through careful secrecy. With Dot’s clever assistance, they managed to keep their rendezvous hidden, safely out of the Commission's sight ─ a vital necessity, for Yn was determined to shield him from the shadows of that life again.

Dot's ingenuity extended beyond mere meetups; she devised a way for Yn to send letters to Five whenever the tides of their busy lives pulled them apart. Each letter was a memorable, tethering them to one another across the distance, allowing their bond to reflourish quietly. And now, those letters had led them to this very moment, standing together outside Yn’s new home, anticipation in the air,

Five, usually so composed, found himself uncharacteristically nervous, a rare sight for someone who had faced the end of the world more than once. But the reason for his unease was clear.

Over those three months, countless conversations and reassurances had chipped away at his reluctance, finally giving him the courage to face a reality he had long avoided: meeting his daughter. It was not an easy decision. The idea of stepping into a role that once would’ve belonged to another version of himself had weighed heavily on him. He feared it might feel like replacing someone, a ghost of his own making.

Yet, despite his trepidation, curiosity still gnawed at him. A longing to know this person who shared his blood, but not his past.

Standing on that threshold, the soft patter of rain on the porch creating a delicate symphony around him, Five was suddenly transported back to another time, many years ago. He could almost feel the weight of a ring in his trembling hand, hear the murmur of vows as they escaped his lips, each word woven with threads of love and fear.

That moment, when he stood before his past lover, was etched into his memory with a clarity that time could never dull. And now, as the rain whispered against the ground, he felt the same mix of emotions stir within him, knowing that once again, he was on the brink of something that could change everything.

“Yeah, no, I can't do this.” Five muttered, his voice tight with sudden panic as he tried to turn and walk away. But before he could take more than a step, a gentle hand caught his arm, pulling him back with a softness that contrasted the storm brewing inside him.

The woman beside him, her eyes warm with understanding, smiled softly at his flustered demeanor. “It’ll be fine, I promise,” she assured him, her voice carrying a calm certainty that made his doubt seem almost foolish.

“How can you be so sure, though?” he questioned, his eyes searching hers for the reassurance he so desperately needed.

“Uh, I birthed her?” she replied with a teasing lilt, her smile growing as she tilted her head slightly. “I wouldn’t doubt her for a second, okay, love?” She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, her lips lingering just long enough to leave a trace of warmth. “But… if you do feel like this is too much, then I won’t force you.”

Five hesitated, his eyes darting away as he wrestled with the weight of his emotions. But then, with a deep breath, he looked back at her, steeling himself. “No, no… it’s fine. I can do this.”

She gave him one last reassuring smile before turning to knock on the door. Within moments, the door swung open, revealing Dot, her face lighting up with excitement at the sight of them.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up!” Dot teased, her eyes twinkling as she stepped aside to let them in. “Come on in, you two. We’ve been waiting forever!”

Yn stepped inside first, Five trailing close behind, his nerves still coiled tightly. They shrugged off their coats, hanging them neatly on the rack. But before they could even gather their thoughts, the sound of tiny, hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway, accompanied by the soft giggles of a child.

Yn’s heart swelled at the familiar sound, and soon enough, a tiny head peeked around the corner, wide eyes brimming with curiosity, before breaking into a wide smile when she spotted her mother.

“Mama!” Odette squealed with delight, her little legs carrying her swiftly across the room. Yn dropped to her knees, her face softening into a warm smile as she opened her arms wide.

“There’s my little swan,” she greeted her, her voice tender as she scooped her daughter into a tight hug. Odette’s arms wrapped around her neck, her giggles muffled against Yn’s shoulder. “I missed you, my love,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head, savoring the sweet moment.

“I missed you more, Mama,” Odette giggled, hugging her mother tightly. After a moment, she eased back just enough to peek up at the man standing a few feet away. Her little face scrunched in curiosity before her gaze shifted back to her mother, her eyes narrowing slightly as if lost in thought.

Five stood a short distance away, watching the scene unfold with a mix of awe and emotion. It felt surreal, like he was witnessing something he never thought possible. The little girl had his eyes, even that familiar smile he wore in moments of joy. The sight filled him with a profound sense of completeness, yet left him slightly stunned, as if he were still trying to fully grasp the reality of it all.

Dot, sensing the need for some privacy, offered a knowing smile. “Well, I’ll leave you three to catch up. I’ve got a few things to wrap up at the Commission,” she said, waving as she backed toward the door. “Take care, and we’ll catch up soon, alright?”

“Thanks, Dot,” Yn said, her smile full of gratitude as she watched her friend leave.

Now, with just the three of them in the room, the atmosphere shifted slightly. Odette, who had been entirely absorbed in her mother’s embrace, suddenly turned her attention back to the unfamiliar figure nearby. Her curious eyes studied him for a moment before she cautiously inched closer. There was a brief pause, as if something clicked in her young mind, and then, without warning, she bolted forward.

Five instinctively crouched down, still stunned by the sudden movement. “Whoa—” he began, his voice faltering as Odette launched herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. The shock on his face quickly softened, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, his heart swelling with an emotion he had almost forgotten.

She squealed with joy, her small voice bright as she nuzzled into his shoulder. Looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes, she asked, “Are you my mommy's boyfriend?”

Five blinked, caught off guard. “Uh... yeah, I suppose so,” he replied, slightly bewildered. Odette beamed and hugged him even tighter. “That means you’re my daddy!” she declared with the certainty only a child could have, her innocent enthusiasm filling the room.

He chuckled softly, a sense of ease enveloping him as he hugged her back, the weight of his past worries melting away. “I guess it does, huh, little one?” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Yn watched the scene with tears brimming in her eyes, overwhelmed by the sight before her. This was the moment she had dreamed of, and seeing it come to life was more than she could have ever hoped for.

Odette, brimming with energy, quickly pulled away and started chattering excitedly. “Mama told me about you! She said you’re really strong, have pretty eyes like me, and have super cool powers! Can you show me? Please?” she begged, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Five hesitated, his smile tinged with a hint of regret. “I wish I could, sweetheart, but I can’t right now. Maybe another time, okay?” he gently declined, ruffling her hair.

Odette’s face fell slightly but then brightened again. “Okay… But you’re staying with us, right? Forever?” she asked, her voice full of hope.

Five looked into her big, expectant eyes and nodded. “As long as you’d like me to,” he promised, pulling her close once more.

Yn watched them, tears finally spilling over ─ tears of happiness, relief, and love. The family she had dreamed of for so long was now becoming a reality, and seeing it all unfold was more than she could have imagined. In that moment, as she observed the genuine connection and warmth between them, everything had felt perfectly aligned.

‎

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #reader insert #fem reader #imagine #fanfic #aidan gallagher

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getvalentined · 11 months ago

Photo

"ug"

me too red man, me too

YOO IM DONE (its clearly been vincent’s year despite that he was no in it >:()

#good good art #vincent valentine #I have a print of that piece on my wall #my kitten keeps trying to attack it #it is several feet up #she cannot reach it #but she tries nonetheless #hope springs eternal I guess #why does she want to kill Vincent In Snow?#no idea #but she is DETERMINED

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iichfilwypj · 21 days ago

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flowers, please | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of persephone! reader ღ warnings: mentions of kidnapping? ღ wc: 714

The sadness soaked the meadow of flowers as, with summer’s goodbye, it began to fade in color and vibrancy. The sweet scent was turning earthy and woody, and the air, once warm and dense, now felt lighter, with the wind starting to stir.

But who cares? Just the usual changes, right?

But for her, it was different.

There she sat, a few meters from the meadow, her gaze fixed on the sky as clouds blocked the sun, dulling the once vibrant atmosphere. Leaves crunched and fluttered down onto her, but she made no effort to shake them off.

The end of summer was a reminder of what her mother suffered: how she was taken by force and forced to marry Hades (a god she despised more than any other), torn from her own mother, forced to leave them all behind during that unbearable part of the year.

Fortunately for her, a certain son of Poseidon is completely willing to make those six months less torturous.

She sensed he was near, the ocean breeze and the smell of wet sand filling the air around her. As she felt the crunch of orange leaves and the warmth of a body at her side, she naturally drew closer to him. Percy slid his hand to hold hers and moved so his cheek rested against the top of her head.

He didn’t have to say a word for her to feel comfortable enough to speak. “I hate this. I hate how this happens. Knowing the truth, not what that ridiculous science says.” There was a nostalgic tone to her voice, and he tightened his hold. “It’s just not fair, you know?

He was at a loss for words. How do you even respond to such grief? He had suffered a lot when he lost his mother for a few days, but what did he know about pain? About missing someone?

He couldn’t believe anyone could bear so much, and yet besides him was the strongest girl he had ever met.

Neither of them knew how much time had passed before someone spoke again. It could have been minutes or hours, but eventually, the boy pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to her.

“This is nothing compared to what you deserve, but I did my best.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she slowly opened the box.

Inside, there was a flower. And not just any flower; this one seemed more alive than ever, with a small, glowing aura surrounding it. She could almost see the tiny sparks leaping from petal to petal.

“I wanted it to be blue but it’s still pretty. I asked some son of Demeter, and I think he did something to make sure it lasts a while. At least until spring comes back. Or that's what I'm hoping for, I paid him with my lunch so-” His voice was cut off as his girlfriend suddenly threw herself at him, after snapping out of her thoughts.

Whether she thanked him or not, Percy didn’t hear it. He didn’t care either; she could despise him, and he'd still go to the ends of the earth just to keep a single tear from falling from her eyes.

Time drifted by as they remained wrapped in each other's arms. The night fell, and neither of them had said a word. Percy began to feel the girl's body growing heavier in his arms and realized she was drifting off to sleep. Just as he started to move, intending to lift her, she spoke.

"Do you know what type of flower it is?" Her voice was raspy and sleepy, so he took it as a sign that it was time to keep moving.

“What do you think?” He answered, lifting her effortlessly in his arms and making his way toward his cabin. He didn’t hear the quiet chuckle she released, but he felt it against his shoulder. “What type of flower is it, nerd?”

“An Edelweiss," she whispered, tilting her head toward him. He looked at her, puzzled. She closed her eyes and explained. “It’s known as the eternal flower. It symbolizes true and eternal love. It’s my favorite flower”.

"Oh." He paused, catching her gaze just before he opened the blue door. His smile mirrored her own. "Guess it’s my favorite flower too."

go girl give us nothing! nah actually i liked it! ahora tengo público en español!! que divertidoooo me re cuesta escribir las notas estas en inglés JAJAJAJ

#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #fanfic #percy jackson x y/n #my writing

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rudnitskaia · 3 months ago

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Let’s be a lovely mess✨

If we have a happy ending, I will gladly tie the knot. And I hope, without pretending, You would want that too a lot. If we have a happy ending, One eternity-transcending, I will come to our spring wedding With a happy springing stride, Smiling wide. Ta-da-dae-dae... Oh, If we have a happy ending, That will be a perfect plot. If we have a happy ending... If we... ...had... ...a happy ending... Only had... ...our happy ending... But, unfortunately, we're not. Happy endings even fairies Keep for silly fairytales, And whoever ever marries Sticks in hardships life entails... Is it worthy, all that mess? Who may guess... Oh, who may guess... But for me it will be a yes. So To hell that happy ending! Let us have a happy start And a random now to spend it With all love that fills our hearts. I don't care which cards life plays, Since you are my happy always. Will you tell me yes? Tell me yes? Let's be a lovely mess. Is it worthy, all that mess? Who may guess, Oh, who may guess? Please tell me yes, Just tell me yes! Let's be a lovely mess.

by Viktoriia “Heldig” Rudnitskaia

#i wrote a silly lil song for them <3 #can't help it i just love them #heldig arts #heldig writings #lackadaisy #romaunce #rocky rickaby #maura venza oc #maura venza #rocky lackadaisy #lackadaisy rocky #lackadaisy oc #lackadaisy ocs #lackadaisyoc #lackadaisyocs #lackadaisy oc x canon #oc x canon

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wannabepoeticischiya · 1 month ago

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fragments of caelum

It’s frightening… a love with a time limit. When he was the right person, with all the time in the world… and she was nothing but a fraction of time he’d experience. Something you know will end before it can even begin.

ao3: fragments of caelum pairing: sukuna x f! reader genre: romance, angst, heian era wc: 15.4k status: completed art by: usobuki_jj on twitter

Songs of the spring echoed in the courtyard, domed by an eternal blue sky, bordered by the stretching forests. Vines circled the barks of the trees, reaching far into their branches with hopes to touch the heavens. Sun rays thawed the dewdrops, casting them far into the depths of the sky.

Cradled underneath it all was the vessel of the King of Curses. The falls of his steps were the only rhythmic clatter clashing against the silence that blanketed the lands.

Haze of the early morning remained, tying everything to peace. No noise, no curses, no Sukuna.

Itadori continued his journey to the library where he knew no living sorcerer would ever step foot in. For what reason? Why, to run an errand for his all-time favorite teacher, Gojo Satoru, of course!

That place was as horrid as the curses they were trained to exorcise. It didn’t help that it was riddled in eerie quietness, or that the principal had these thick black curtains covering every window because he didn’t want those ancient manuscripts to crumble to ash and be blown away.

Quite simply it was a place he would never enter if he could help it.

Itadori pushed open the heavy wooden doors, hearing an ominous creaking sound emanate from it, going on and on for what seemed to be forever until the back of the door crashed against the wall with a loud bang.

The young sorcerer gulped, putting a foot forward, and trod as quietly as he could to the farthest corner of the room, where those papers (written with ancient runes no one ever really bothered to read) were dumped. Why his teacher wanted those, he didn’t know—Itadori wasn’t even sure if he could understand what was recorded in those, they were probably older than all of them plus Principal Gakuganji combined.

When he reached the very back, a dusty table greeted him along with a few books stacked up in the middle of it.

The sight had him asking, when was the last time anybody’s been here?

He sighed and picked up everything that cluttered the table. Mumbling about how the school needed to stop being cheapskates and hire a janitor.

One by one, he placed them back on the shelves, pondering which section they should go to, but it proved to be for naught since he couldn’t understand what most of them said.

Whether by accident or by fate, he knocked over a journal: weathered by the hands of time, pages golden with age. A compass was etched on its cover along with a name that had faded perhaps years before he was even born.

As he bent down to pick it up, an old picture slipped from one of the pages.

When his fingers grasped the object, Itadori realized it wasn’t a photograph, it was a drawing. One so detailed it deceived his eyes.

I guess cameras weren’t a thing back then, huh?

On its blotched page, a smiling girl could be made out. Her hands held up a peace sign over her closed eyes with one of her hands boldly slung over a man that only plastered on a ghost of a smile. Written on the side in messy little characters were:

'Ryōmen & (Y/n)' Auflage, 850

Itadori squinted, trying to see the face of the man—finding it strikingly familiar like someone he knew was tethered to the same features.

"Sukuna..." He called; eyes still glued to the sketch. Itadori wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

It was the King of Curses, feared by sorcerers and demons alike. But here, in this moment trapped in time he looked… human. As though he couldn’t be any farther from the names the world had called him.

"Oi! Sukuna! Do you know this lady?"

Itadori’s head remained free from thoughts. For a second he nearly believed that there was only a single soul inhabiting this body of his.

The silence remained, scattering like stardust through the stuffy and tense atmosphere. Itadori, who was once just curious began to worry about the demon king’s unresponsiveness.

It was strange. The oxygen in his lungs came in leveled breaths, yet his heart thudded so wildly in his chest he thought it would break free from its cage and start running to the ends of the world.

This woman couldn’t be any more than a stranger to him… so why?

"Where... where... did you get that?" Another voice, deeper in tune, laced with anger and sadness, broke the stagnancy.

It felt like his blood was pushing past its limits. His organs felt ignited, and his vision began to blur. This was Sukuna’s doing. To have him answer was rare enough as it is but to have him open the lid to his sentiments—have them pour in abundance that it became overwhelming for Itadori to handle—was never something so farfetched he couldn’t even dream of it.

"ITADORI!" Sukuna's voice echoed in his head, tearing apart his daydreams and bringing him back to reality.

"Okay... Okay... Relax.” He breathed, coaxing his body to stop its trembling. “It just fell from one of the pages."

You kept it… even after all of that… idiot woman.

Itadori inspected the fragile piece of paper, careful to not let any scattered sunlight graze it for fear that it might crumble and fade for good.

He flipped past the cover of the book and carefully turned the pages. The words of the owner were inscribed in ancient text, one so archaic he doubts there were still records of it alive to this day.

It's old, that's for sure. Have other people seen this? It doesn't look like it's been touched for years.

"Sukuna. Oi! Sukuna!" Itadori tried to call, only to be rewarded with disregard.

SUKUNA!

The young sorcerer grumbled, knowing he wouldn't get anything out of the—now surprisingly quiet—demon. So, he pulled out his cellphone and snapped a shot of the drawing, careful not to use a flash. He would get answers even if it killed him.

He slipped the drawing back into the journal, placing the artifact on the table.

Auflage's Hero: (L/n) (Y/n), the Little Liar.

Itadori ran.

Out of the library, down the winding halls, over the cobblestone pathway; drowsiness being overpowered by his overwhelming curiosity. He rushed to find the person he knew that'd know the answers he so desperately wanted to hear, Gojō Satoru.

Was this the reason why he sent him there? To find that? To see Sukuna in a way he never would have imagined?

Leaves of springtime began to fall, littering the grey sidewalks and roads with silver and blushes of pink. Puddles from last night's apparent rainfall made the scent of warmth linger in the air.

Glimpses of the open field slipped through the foliage, pushing him to hurry.

As he reached the final steps of the courtyard, he saw the person he was looking for.

"Gojō-sensei!" He called, trying to catch his breath.

The blindfolded man turned to look at the heaving form of his student.

"Itadori!" He enthusiastically bellowed before turning to face his students once more.

"See? You guys could learn a thing or two from him! You know... he can finish a 50-meter track within 3 seconds! Ain't that impressive huh? He could be a car!"

Itadori scrambled to his feet, approaching the happy figure of his sensei.

"Do you know someone named (L/n)?"

The albino-haired man seemed to be deep in thought, his pointer finger repeatedly tapping on his chin before joyfully declaring his knowledge on the topic. "I do! In fact, there's an entire clan of them! Bow-using priests and priestesses. Isn't that right, (Y/n)?"

"(Y/n)?" Itadori’s question rang, shadowed by a sonorous tune.

A mischievous smile plastered on Gojō's face, "You know her, Sukuna?"

Perhaps this was his plan all along, to rile the King of Curses into silence. Force him to relive a memory written down as one of the greatest achievements in sorcerer history.

"Tch. Who could forget?"

And it worked because the demon king never resurfaced for the rest of the day.

"What does he mean by that, Sensei?"

"Yeah. Why would someone as evil as Sukuna have ties with the sacred clan of (L/n)?"

"Why'd he suddenly get all chatty when he heard (Y/n)-chan's name?”

Question after question left the mouth of his students, flooding his ears, making his head spin.

"All right. All right, I'll tell you... just be quiet. Come on, let's all go inside."

---

Welcome to AUFLAGE.

The sign that welcomed visitors to the town was old, decorated in ivy and overgrown flora. Some of the white paint had already begun peeling off, and the wooden board where the words were engraved had its edges ridden by termites.

Please d i e slowly.

And that same sign gave travellers a very warm welcome.

Auflage was a little village near the end of society. Covered by thick forests of the west, flagged by towering mountains in the north and south, bordered by the sea in the east.

The isolation eased the nerves of its citizens, chains of brooks and rivers that circled around the town were considered a protective barrier by the old folks that resided there. They claimed that it was what protected them from the curses of the outside world.

In that same village resides a happy young woman. Easily swayed by strangers, fooled by travelers, and convinced by the shadiest of stories. (L/n) (Y/n) was what they called her.

The carefree girl that lived near the brooks. Always stuck in her own world. She came into town one day dressed like a shrine maiden.

None of the townspeople knew where she had come from, nor did they bother to ask. Perhaps she came from the next town over, or maybe even farther out in the cities. It didn’t matter. To have a new face linger for a few days was a delight, and they rejoiced at the news that she would be there to stay for a long time.

Her little home was far into the woods, a small humble hut littered with firewood, still, the people of Auflage accepted and loved her.

As the trees swayed to the rhythm of Mother Earth, her figure emerged from the thick mist. Her zori sounding in soft thuds as it hit the hardened earth. Thin golden armbands glinted in the faint light of the sun that slowly seeped through the cracks of the mountains.

The rest of her figure came into the scene, dressed in a pair of wide-legged, pleated trousers, dyed in bright red, a white kimono-style upper clothing held in place by a wide belt, with sleeves that flared at the wrists fluttering ever-so-softly in the wind.

Adults and children alike were scattered across the small village. The little ones chasing their friends around, laughing joyously without a care for the world.

It was a simple sight that she saw every day but every time she laid eyes on it, it grew more and more special.

The lady made her way across town and entered the local tavern, guided by one of the strongest shamans out there.

(Y/n) took a seat on one of the many unoccupied stools in the building.

"One mug of cider please."

Her forehead met the wooden counter, still drowsy from the early wake-up call. The sound of her plea got the attention of the flair man.

"Ah! (Y/n)-san! Always good to see you!" He cheered, wiping a glass to use for her request.

"Good to see you to Amaury-dono, how's the wife?" She raised a hand in greeting, eyes still rooted to the floorboards.

Amaury only smiled at the girl as he finished up her fill, "She's good, Arne is due in a few weeks so got to work hard."

He placed the mug of cider in front of her as (Y/n) mumbled a silent ‘thanks’.

Creaks of the opening door dragged Arne’s attention to the incoming patronage. "Welcome! What'd be for today Seizou-sama?"

Seizou shook his head and took off his sun hat, revealing his balding scalp and the wrinkles that etched themselves on his face, resembling the years that passed in his life. Hanging it on one of the hooks near the door.

"Nothing of the sort lad, just came here to issue a request."

Amaury nodded and smiled, nonetheless.

"Sure thing, let me just get some papers in the storage."

(Y/n) lifted her head to see Amaury's retreating form, his back getting further and further away until he disappeared around the corner.

Once she was certain he was out of earshot, (Y/n) faced the trembling man.

"What kind of request is it, Seizou-san?"

Seizou gave her a sad gaze, one where despair and hopelessness ravaged in those fading irises of blue. "Killing the king of curses."

(Y/n) pondered on the thought. In all her years living here, she only came across that title a couple of times when it was whispered amongst warriors and hunters or woven into a tale of caution.

Beware the demon king by night, With blazing eyes and fangs so bright.

The scrolls that the village owned were useless; moth-eaten, fading as the days passed. And even if they weren’t, the priestess wasn’t fortunate enough to know how to read—such a luxury reserved for nobility.

His whispers lure in dreams unseen, To snatch away the pure and clean.

Of course, rumors and stories flutter past her ears every once in a while. Parents told the tales of the demon king who will take you away to his palace if you don’t eat all your vegetables. Even depict him as a being with horns and wings with sharp jagged teeth. There were the occasional sketches that went around if a painter was visiting town, albeit (Y/n) doubts if they will ever ring true.

Walk the paths where lanterns glow, Stray too far and the dark will show.

"Say, what... what brought this on hmm? What makes you think that this 'king' even exists?"

It was difficult to believe that which you have not seen for yourself. Much more to fear a creature you have never once met.

The aging man only sighed, he couldn’t blame the young woman, really.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the seat near hers.

"Be my guest."

Seizou situated himself on the stool only a few feet away from the girl.

"The king of curses is no mere legend, miko. Few of my kin have encountered him during the hunting season, saying there lay a creature in the woods far too fast for the eyes to see, resilient to the sharpest of blades—the strongest of swordsmen. But it was no forest beast… it was a demon. The vilest of them all. No shaman could bring him down. Calamity falls on the cities he ventures. Towns reduced to ashes from his wrath. He spares no one, not women nor children. They say that he has four arms and a mighty build. His body adorned in ink; eyes dyed red from all his bloodshed. Only he had four, prodding at you every which way; so deformed one would think he had two faces. My son... tried to... hunt him down and never came home. Soon, my youngest also attempted to do it, he too... never returned."

(Y/n) listened earnestly to his tale as she shifted in her seat, resting her cheek on her fist. "Say he really does exist...” she entertained, still skeptical of the demon’s existence.

“Surely, you can’t expect people to do this for such a noble reason as vengeance?”

"Of course not. I’m putting all my fortune into this. At the very least, if someone were to defeat him... It'd do great for the future."

The girl looked towards the window seeing the clouds swirl and darken over the once azure sky, feeling something creep up her spine. "Oi, Mr. Seizou..." she called.

His fading icy blue eyes clashed with her (e/c) irises. "I'll do it. I'll kill him."

---

At the rise of daybreak, (Y/n) prepared for her estimated lengthy adventure. From sharpening blades to making wards to stocking up on food and other necessities that she needed to live.

The priestess wrapped her things in a large cloth, hiding the little things in the pockets of her kosode.

She barricaded her windows and finally locked the door. (Y/n) was sure she wasn’t returning here for a while. Although it was sad, for she had grown to love her humble home, it had to be done.

After grabbing the map (given by Seizou) that supposedly leads to the castle of the king, the priestess took off on what will be a year-long journey to the kingdom of the demon king.

As she walked the cobblestone path of Auflage—the last one for a very long time so it seemed—stores of all kinds and sizes that a great deal of things welcomed her vision. From bakeries to armories to the newly established livelihoods. For a town near the end of the world, it sure held a lot of variety.

Despite having been in town for a long time, the structures and the people still fascinated her.

(Y/n) decided to stop by one of the stores that recently opened.

A jingling sound flooded her ears, ringing all throughout the space, the moment she opened the door. A sign perhaps… that somebody entered the place.

The priestess observed her surroundings, weapons were fastened to the mahogany walls, huge beams of wood holding the building upright. Daylight streamed through the windows of the door, and there it lingered. Torches lined the posters, bringing luminescence to the room clouded in shadows.

What caught her attention were the odd-looking things lining the shelves. From swords to butcher knives to just rotten banana peel-designed wrappings.

(Y/n)’s stare drifted from one trinket to another, finding them so strange from the usual apparatuses used by the shrine maidens. What kind of shop is this? Is that a toenail?

"What'd it be for you, missy?"

Her curious gaze met the eyes of the man at the end of the aisle, clothed in a humble grey hakama and kosode.

"I see a lot of cursed energy pilling up inside you." He commented, eyeing the products he had for sale. Surely, he must have thought them odd, too.

"I beg your pardon?"

The tiny keeper laughed, clutching his stomach at how hilarious he was. His hunched form and disheveled appearance approached the weary figure of the priestess.

"You see that man over there," the woman looked to where his bony finger pointed to, "you're somewhat similar to what he is." He smiled, crossing his hands behind his back.

At the other side of the store was a muscular man, cautiously looking over the things that were on display. His ears catching patches of the conversation that was quietly weaving behind him.

"—could learn a thing or two from him."

The tiny old hunchback walked to the back of his shop, soon coming out with a bow and a case of arrows in his arms.

"I'll rent it to you," he casually dropped the weapon in her arms, not minding the clatter that followed as a few of the arrows fell to the floor, "if you come back alive, you can have it. If you don't, I’ll charge everything on your descendants."

If the wind could penetrate through the thick walls, (Y/n) was sure that it would blow everything away... everything including her.

She looked to the odd man; his posture, appearance—even just the fact that he was running some quack shop sent warning signals all over her head.

"Kill the king for me, too."

---

(Y/n) walked the final steps that would lead her to the ends of the village, one where the forest path lies ahead: the only entrance and exit to Auflage.

She passed through the large torii gate that welcomed travellers to the estranged town and soon, she also passed the broken sign that should've spelled drive instead of d i e.

Towering trees flagged her vision, the endless ocean of green and yellow littering the ground, accompanied by the rhythmic orchestra of the fauna made her head go into a frenzy of cautiousness.

(Y/n) had already made the journey through the woods halfway. If she kept at this pace, she would reach the town before eventide.

Still, it did not make her ventures a whole less eerie.

It's quiet. Too quiet.

The echo of a snap compelled her to turn her head towards the direction of the sound, to find a culprit for her startle.

The scene that greeted her was certainly, how do you put it...

Odd.

"Handsome, aren't I?" He smirked.

"More like strange..." The priestess countered cautiously, eyeing the man behind the trees.

"And handsome."

"It must be nice to have such vain concerns." She sneered.

The stranger emerged from where he hid behind the tree, his pink hair spiking in meaningless directions, clothes barely covering the areas it was supposed to cover. His body was packed with muscles, like he had all the food to eat with no one to share, yet he appeared somewhat wounded.

But what made (Y/n) halt her observations was the striking crimson pooling in his irises, as though every shade of red was made just so he could have it. It must be a trick of the light, surely. For what human could be blessed with such beauty that even the gods might envy him for it.

“If you draw me now, you might finish it by twilight.”

Alas, he had a foul mouth on him. And it irked the priestess—especially when he was saying such atrocities with that sickeningly haughty grin and a face drawn with ink. I’ll put you in your place, you pig!

"What're you doing in the middle of the woods?" She questioned, forcing her patience to reach further. "Almost naked at that."

(Y/n) gestured to his beaten figure.

"If you wanted a quick coin, you could at least have tried a town. You’re not going to sell much out here with tanukis and foxes."

Pinky boy tilted his head to the side, amusement glimmering in his red eyes. "Do you not know who I am?"

Taken aback by the sudden question, (Y/n) raised an eyebrow at him. "Am I supposed to?"

The stranger grinned wider at her retort, doubling over in laughter because to him, the tiny little priestess was oh-so amusing.

"Interesting..." pinky hair chuckled, wiping the water from his eye.

"I'm Ryoumen." He declared, spreading his arms out in a grand boisterous gesture.

"I didn't ask... but okay. I'm (Y/n)." The priestess bowed humbly.

Orchestras of birds hastily fluttering their wings and taking off interrupted their conversation. Soon, gray clouds blotted the sky, thunder echoing through every nook and corner of the forest.

“I can walk with you until the next village, it’s just around two hundred and twenty-five cho away*. If we walk now, we can reach it by twilight."

(*30 km or 18 miles)

“Heh?” He smirked, raising a brow at her bold offer.

“Or you can just stay here and freeze to death,” (Y/n) shrugged, turning her back to him, and soon started to walk away. “Either way, I offered so my conscience is clean~” she waved, “Don’t curse me if you die out here.”

---

"Gojō-sensei! Who's Ryoumen?"

"That's Sukuna's last name. Now shut up or I'll leave you all hanging."

"You want to kill the king of curses?" Sukuna laughed at her declaration.

(Y/n) forgetting all about her manners, hurriedly slurped every bit of noodle left in the bowl before slamming it down on the table. "So, what if I do?"

The man scoffed and flicked her forehead, "I think you're a hundred years too early to be trying that."

She slapped his arm away, ignoring his jibe. "I can do it. It’s what I always wanted to do ever since I arrived at Auflage. Besides, you wouldn't know until you try."

"Your optimistic attitude will be the only reason you'll make it to the gates of his temple."

His comment caught the priestess’s interest, eyes shining with wonder and admiration that agitated the pink-haired man.

"You've been there, old man?"

"Don't call me that.” He glared at her.

“And... yeah. I have. That's why you saw me in such a state." Sukuna crossed his arms over his—still naked—chest, defensively.

His statements were half a lie, half the truth. When he realized his hesitance, he briefly wondered, why in heaven’s name was he guessing over what words to say.

Sukuna had gone there, of course—it was his home, after all. And he got battered and beaten from destroying town after town, chased by some shamans who wanted to take his head.

Still, he lied just as easily as he killed. Finding that his resolve faltered when she looked at him with such shameless appreciation…

"Ain't that cool!" She beamed and flashed him a charming smile, "Hey~ teach me, will you?"

Sukuna broke free from his daydreams, shackling himself back into reality where he left no room for such foolish thoughts.

"No. I don't teach. I don't have anything to teach you."

The priestess deflated at his rejection, eyes watering and lips quivering. "You’re a real pain." she silently mumbled.

(Y/n) sniffed, intakes of breath growing more and more frantic by the second.

Then the tears came streaming down her face, gaining the attention of the people, and fast.

Oh... she's good.

"W-Why... why... WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?!"

His eyes widened at her yell, "Wha—"

"After all we've been through?!" She stood up and slammed her hands on the table, making the porcelain and silverware that littered the furniture clatter.

Murmurs erupted from the people who silently watched the scene unfold. To them, it looked like (Y/n) and the pink-haired man were having a lover's quarrel... but none of them could see the glinting mischief that pooled in the eyes of the priestess.

She's worse than me.

Sukuna didn’t know what to make of this silly little woman. It unnerved him so, he could have killed every single person in this inn, even burn the entire town to cinders… yet he remained—staring at her with unmanned wonder.

"YOU DID IT WITH HER DIDN'T YOU?"

Confusion rattled his soul, "I don't know what you're talking about—" he really didn't, they haven’t even spent one moon together!

One thing was clear, (Y/n) was causing a scene... and it was a very convincing one at that.

"YOU RAILED MY MOTHE—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Sukuna’s hand covered her mouth. Eyes widening to bowls at her supposed declamation.

"Fine, I'll teach you—just... be... shut your foul mouth." He harshly whispered in her ears.

The curse really didn’t know how he agreed… or why. Perhaps it was the lingering murmurs, or the boredom waiting to be tamed. Still, in the darkest corners of his soul… it remained, this little spark that soon will blossom into raging fire—casting his world alight.

Sukuna grabbed her hand and led her out of the varying gazes of the people inside the establishment.

"Now that wasn't so difficult, right?" (Y/n) placed her hands on her hips and laughed at the painted expression of annoyance that colored his face.

“For a priestess, you’re pretty scummy.” Sukuna sneered.

“Hah! Jokes on you, I’ve heard worse than that, Ryoumen~”

He stole a glance at her at the mention of his name, one of the many, he reminds.

Sukuna realizes it then… that it was the first time someone’s lived long enough for his name to be voiced in his presence. It had always been Sukuna-sama with him, or Demon king, beyond that there was nothing at all.

Despite having many titles, he was hardly called. As embarrassing as it was to admit, many years would pass without a living soul uttering his name. He would often forget about it, failing to recall that he had one in the first place.

So, to hear it now with his own ears felt strange. Sent him reeling back into the darkest corners where there was nothing but the familiar oblivion—away from that fickle flame.

Because how would he make of it when she lets it flow past her lips with such gentle familiarity? Like he was given that name so long ago just so she could call him that here at this very moment—that her voice will string with that title for every crimson moon to come. For every passing lifetime.

Silence covered the distance between them, leaving the faint rumble of people talking and laughing to echo in their wake. Flames that danced from the lanterns cast an orange glow over their faces, painting their shadows in elongating strokes.

(Y/n) exhaled loudly before she started prancing around him like a lost horse.

"What'll it be, huh? Martial Arts?" She ghosted punches over his form, pretending to kick the air.

Idiot.

"One of those fancy breathing techniques with the sword thing I keep hearing about?" She grabbed a stick and lightly hit the impassive man on both sides.

Sukuna, irked at her ministrations, grabbed the stick and broke it into two then threw it to the sides.

"Can I breathe fire?"

"What about water?"

“Hey! Wait up!” (Y/n) chased after the form of the walking man.

"What about those chakra things? With the psschhooww and the wham and bam will I be able to do that?"

Sukuna dragged a hand over his face, silently questioning the decisions he makes whenever he had nothing to do with his time.

Man, she's annoying.

The priestess and the king of curses continued their journey, treading the path until the cobblestone faded into hardened earth and the midnight sun shone overhead.

They halted in front of a small hut on the side of the road, with shattered windows, fungi blanketing the roof of the small shack. No flicker of fire could be seen inside the humble house.

It kind of reminded (Y/n) of her home back in Auflage.

"We'll stay here for the night." Sukuna forced his way into the house. If this was compliant with the Shogun’s law, the priestess didn’t want to know. She just hopes that whoever owns this shack wouldn’t mind if they occupied it for a little while.

Clinks of glassware being broken, wood scraping against the floors, thuds of heavy objects hitting the ground. The sounds made her worry.

Soon enough, Sukuna emerged from the doorway, leaning his forearm against the threshold, his other hand holding an unlit lantern.

"There's no light though..."

"Really? You're gonna worry about lights when you're literally going across the country to kill the king of curses?" He stood to his full height and towered over the priestess.

The gentle breeze of the evening swayed the (h/c) threads that were planted firmly on her head, a shiver crawling up her spine as the cold wind bit against her body.

"Please don't kill me!" She wailed in mock panic, shutting her eyes tight.

"I'm not going to kill you, you maniac. I should be worried if you're gonna kill me." He defended.

"You don't have to be so defensive about it." (Y/n) ceased her act and rolled her eyes at him.

I want to kill her so badly... she's so annoying.

(Y/n) turned to face the man, the light of the imprisoned fire casting a faint glow of orange on her face. How he managed to set it ablaze, she had no clue.

For a moment she looked at him like she wanted to say something, but she held back. Probably something stupid, he thought.

Her pondering continued until she let out a laugh, eyes glinting with scheme and mayhem, smirking up at the tall man. "You're not going to take advantage of me, are you?"

A flash of fire rushed past her head and blew a hole through the wall of the already rundown shack. "WHAT WAS THAT?"

"I'm not gonna take advantage of you... you sicko!" Sukuna fisted his free hand, restraining every bit of anger in his soul. To think this—this demon spawn could even be the least bit grateful!

Oh, he's mad.

"That was a curse. That's what you'll be learning first thing tomorrow." He lectured, handing her the lamp and pushing her through the doorway, "NOW SLEEP!" before he slammed the door shut.

The King of Curses remained standing under the stars, trying his best to restrain the bubbling urge to incinerate everything in his sight.

What in the world am I doing? He sighs, walking further into the rice fields.

Sukuna sat under a tree, a great distance away from the hut. The cicadas sung their melodies into the night, frogs croaking from the side. He watched aimlessly as the curses circled around the area of his energy, seeing them lurk around the edges of the forest, or peek from the foliage yet remained a means too far for them to be harmed.

If only that idiot priestess was the same.

The light from the lamp gradually faded, a sign that she was yielding to slumber. Curses weren’t tethered by such earthly needs. Sukuna had no need for food or water either. He simply indulged in the flavors they brought but he held no obligation to them.

She held a striking difference to him.

Long after she had passed from the memories of every person she had met, their children, and their children’s children, Sukuna would live on for the centuries to come.

The priestess was so painfully mortal. A hand from him would send her soul to the borders of death. A slip—a mistake. A burst of anger, an annoyance, if she were to be at the end of his temper…

Sukuna pondered then, if he should leave.

This has been nothing but a simple detour. A way to kill the time he just had so much of.

But she shone like fire through the abyss that it made looking away impossible. Because when you’ve known nothing but resentment, you’ll latch yourself to any form of kindness that shows your way.

---

Light of daybreak refracted the early morning dews like prisms, casting the colors of the sun into the haze of dawn.

"WAKE UP RYOUMEN!"

(Y/n) banged together a metal ladle and a metal pot while repeatedly saying her new favorite phrase, 'WAKE UP RYOUMEN!'.

"I'm up! I'M UP WOMAN! STOP YOUR DAMN NOISE!" He grabbed the utensils out of her hand and threw them out the window. “You’ll wake the entire village with your racket!”

In the end, Sukuna returned before the break of sunrise, telling himself that he’ll play along until the act gets old, or he grows too tired to keep up—until his patience wears thin, or she dies. Whichever comes first. He didn’t know then… that those were all just excuses.

For a priestess, she has such a terrible attitude.

“Hey, um…”

Sukuna looked from the broken window (a lot more broken than last night) to the priestess.

Her cheeks were dyed as scarlet as her hakama, hands behind her back as she bit her lip.

“I just… wanted to say… that—”

Irked by her stalling, he snapped. “Spit it out, miko!”

“THANK YOU FOR COMING ALONG!” Startled by her words, (Y/n) quickly covered her mouth like she could hardly believe she had said those words of her own free will.

“What I meant was that… that… uhmm…”

A firm hand covered the expanse of her head, ruffling the already unkempt threads.

“I said I would, didn’t I? I don’t break promises.”

The king would never know how his simple truth would tether the priestess to him. How the words he spoke on a whim would be the frail vow that would shackle her until the day she dies. That it would latch onto him as tightly… just like he had held onto her.

(Y/n) beamed at him from under his arm, grabbing the shoulders of the tall man and shaking him back and forth, "Teach me then, o great one."

Sukuna led the priestess to a large clearing. Far from the prying eyes of any other mortal.

Reaching the area with a large tree (the same one he had idled under last night). He told her to stay a few steps back.

Sukuna spiralled his focus in a single breath—

“Ready when you are!”

“Be quiet!”

Once more, he breathed in, his posture upright and relaxed yet brimming with intensity. Sukuna’s eyes narrowed sharply as he channeled his cursed energy, hand rising with fluid grace. His fingers parted in deliberate gestures, steering the power that sparks and swirls to take the shape of a fiery arrow. In a controlled motion, he draws his arm back, the flames burning brighter every passing second.

Then he fired, sending the arrow straight to the tree, burning through it, and blasting open a boulder on the other side of the field.

Pleased with the small display of destruction, he turned to the priestess with sheer delight. Finding that she had her jaw dropping to the ground from shock.

“You’ll be learning that miko.” Sukuna smirked, jutting his thumb at the fiery wake of his technique.

Snapping out of it, she shut her mouth and readied herself to protest, “Are you kidding me?! I can’t do that!” (Y/n) crossed her arms, glaring at him all the way from where she stood a hundred feet away.

“It’s the only beginner trick I know!” He hollered, silently snickering at her predicament. “Kids could do twice as much if they tried!”

“You cheat! That’s a lie and you know it! You’re the worst teacher ever!” The priestess fumed, snarling at him from the distance, shaking a fist in the air from sheer annoyance.

Sukuna slowly crossed the distance between them, taking in her angered image. It amused him seeing her so riled up from a single comment. Human emotions were truly as fickle as their lives.

The sun glared brightly over their heads. Still, its rays fell warmly for what seemed to be the first time in half a century.

As he drew closer, he craned his neck to catch her gaze. “You’re already giving up?” He teased, shaking his head in disappointment, “What happened to all that hope? Come on~”

“Why you—”

“OI! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU SCOUNDRELS ARE DOING? YOU BURNED MY TREE DOWN!”

The priestess looked to the raging villager in panic, getting ready to kowtow for forgiveness while Sukuna didn’t even spare a passing glance as he stood uprightly.

“I think… we should…” She looked to Sukuna with a diabolical grin, finding that he did not even show the slightest bit of emotion on that inked face of his. With a shake of her head at his indifference, the priestess intertwined her hand with his and tugged him forward breaking forth into a—“… run.”

“Hey! Get back here!”

She laughed, the melody echoing between the borders of the valley and his ears, feeling his soul calm at the sound.

The unusual duo ran from the angry man, stopping only once they heard no footsteps chasing after them.

Sukuna has never run from something so obscenely foolish—he reckons he never ran away from anything at all. There existed no creature who could make him fear for his life or sweat from nerves.

Still, even as he tried to deny, he could not shake off this excessive thrumming in his heart—screaming that getting dragged by this human was just a teeny tiny bit fun.

---

For days and weeks on end, that became their routine: wake up because of the loud banging (whether it be a broken sword, a wooden stick, or an out-of-tune biwa), eat (mostly just for the priestess), go to a clearing, practice techniques that can easily be done by a kid if the teacher wasn’t such a jerk to his student that obviously wasn’t a kid but a priestess who could only try so hard!

If they were lucky, angry mobs of people wouldn’t come chasing them out of the village… that was very rare. It had them sleeping in marshes, openings of an old tree, caves.

(Y/n) didn’t mind. In her heart, so long as Ryoumen was there for her every waking moment she was certain that everything would be alright.

But it could not be said for the rest of the world.

Soon enough, tales of the king of curses traveling with a priestess began circulating from town to town. Undoubtedly originating from the folks they startled half to death, given their flashy explosions and endless bickering.

In twilight's glow, the priestess strides. The demon king at her side.

They knew nothing. All those foolish humans and shamans conjuring their own truths to soothe their fear, to vanquish uncertainties, to pin their accusations on whoever was close enough to be suitable.

His eyes aflame, her heart of grace. Souls entwined in a wicked embrace.

But if the world ran on scales being tilted to fair and unjust then there would be no need for rulers. Reality remains: the truth can be muddied and lies can come as clear as water. If people in power put their faith in that notion, who were the unfortunate as to question them so?

Calamity awaits this dark dance, A fate in ruin, a cursed chance.

Stories of the king’s companion reached the ears of power, binding the unknown priestess in a place far from where she actually stood. It was simple, really. If one cannot get to the root, you stick the poison in the bark until it seeps in and kills it from within.

For those who lived in torment of his existence would stop at nothing if it meant eliminating him from the lands.

O priestess pure, who dared to scheme, With demon king, forsake your dream. In shadows deep, your light shall wane, A traitor's fate, eternal pain.

Bound to the fiend, your soul will weep, In eternal gloom, your spirit keep. For conspiring with the devil's might, In endless night, lose all your light.

“Curse the traitor who dares to walk the shadows.”

Wades of grass swayed from the broken gale, leaves rustling until the breaths of their life got carried into the blue ether.

“Oi, get up.” Sukuna loomed over the hunched form of the tired priestess, looking down on her with bordered patience.

The woman panted and tried to catch her breath, pushing her palms against her knees to hoist her body upwards. “Yeah… just… give me a… second.”

“I can see the sun go across the sky, that’s how long you’re taking.”

“That’s so rude—” her body was suddenly shaken by violent coughs, sending her crumbling to her knees. "I think I might be coming down with something." She laughed, looking up and flashing him a forced grin.

"Yeah, the wrong idea." He jeered, poking her forehead.

"It might be a cold." The priestess tried to put forward, grabbing the hand that continuously knocked on her head to help hoist her upright.

"Don't be ridiculous.” Sukuna scoffs, prying his arm from her once she’d found footing, tucking it under his battered kimono. “Idiots are too dumb to catch a cold."

“Right? That’s why you’ll never have to worry about getting sick!” She laughs, walking past him and onwards the path they had to tread.

Sukuna, frozen where he stood, could only stare and watch as her figure got further and further away. Draped over by the daylight that lingers around her, loyal as they come. Clothes that fluttered in the wind like waves crashing against the shore. Eyes that looked back at him when she noticed his footfalls weren’t anywhere near hers.

He wasn’t so sure if he was angry at her comment… or relieved that she was alright.

Even now as she waved at him from so far away, her sleeves waltzing with the breeze, Sukuna couldn’t see any of those hurtful resentments—the ones that he was most familiar with—as though they had not existed at all.

“I’m leaving you if you don’t hurry up!” she yelled, cupping her hand near the side of her mouth to have her voice reach him.

Foolish little human, he would think. He could cross that distance in the blink of an eye, even appear at the gates of his home without a single breath passing. Still, he chose to walk alongside this priestess… wasting the time he just had so much of.

But deep down, he knew. He was happy that he was wasting all his time with her.

---

“If you don’t feel well just say so, idiot miko.” Sukuna knelt beside her heaving form, his shoulder being the only thing stopping her from falling to a crumpled heap on the floor.

“No… I’m… I’m fine.” She caged the fabric of his clothing between her fingers, chasing the breath she kept on losing even from a simple exercise like walking to a clearing. “I just… need—I just need to catch my breath… that’s all.”

Sukuna shifted in his position, slumping on the hardened soil, allowing her weight to fall on him completely.

“You’ve been saying that for the past week.” He reminds, planting a hand to support both their weights.

“You don’t seem to be getting better.” Sukuna’s fingers carded through her hair, wanting to untangle them… only they stuck to his digits like glue, bunching up in his hand like he had yanked it straight from her scalp.

“Yeah… sorry about that.” Her chuckles sounded tired, as though it took everything in her to even force it out. The priestess loosened her grip on him, letting her hand fall.

Time felt warped in those few arbitrary seconds, perhaps he was just imagining that it did; never quite admitting the bothersome whirring his heart would emit when he saw her struggling all this time. It was fine when he was the one to cause her little setbacks, because she, too, took part in riling him up. But it was an all too different matter when it was caused by something else.

Still, in those few passing moments, the pieces seemed to gravitate together. And he yells at himself for ignoring the warnings. His agitated energy, the flutter of his power, the unsettling gloom trailing past her shadow. The coughs, her hair… the patches of green and violet decorating her skin.

Even from a few moons ago, he shouldn’t have brushed it off. The priestess would wake in the dead of the night screaming—yelling that something was out to get her. She’d jump at the slightest rustle, asking if Sukuna felt it too… that someone was watching them. Her sadness from the hostility of the animals from the villages, or that she wasn’t as happy as she used to be… that it probably killed her inside just to pretend that she was alright.

Sukuna pushed the priestess, not enough to get her to let go, but far enough for him to be able to see the dark circles under her eyes and within them, the hazy reflection of the one that had been cursing her.

---

“Your wife seems to be in terrible condition.” The shaman from the village inspected the priestess, squinting his eyes in what looked to be pretend observation. Of course, anybody, be it human or curse, could see that she wasn’t doing well.

Sukuna rolled his eyes, not even bothering to correct that the woman was not his wife—he’d rather eat his own fingers than be bound to her for eternity.

“Well, let her stay here for a few days to get her energy back. It’s a long way from the one hexing her so she should be alright.” The human excused himself from Sukuna, leaving him to stare at the bedridden form of the priestess.

With every stutter of her breath, the twitches in her closed eyes, even the faintest mumbles that slipped past her lips, Sukuna found himself clinging to the moments when her laughter would ring in his ears, that she’d poke fun at him and say he was walking like an old man, or when she’d complain and say she was tired… that she wanted to sleep and eat until she couldn’t breathe.

Back then, it all looked so foolish; annoying if nothing. On days like those, he wished she would just cease her endless chatter—even if it was for less than an hour—or that she would tire herself out from running around like a child, or that she would stop asking all those unnecessary questions.

Why is the sky blue?

What’s your favorite season?

Where do you want to live once this adventure is over?

But one would never really know the value of a moment until it’s forced to become a memory.

He drew closer to her, raising his arm in a languid manner, a spark of blue flame dancing on the tips of his fingers.

Sukuna’s hand lingered above her body, hesitant to cast the spell that would end her torment. He wouldn’t have admitted it, and he knew that he never will, but in that space in time—a little rift that belonged to him alone—he trembled in fear.

What would she make of him if she ever found out? That the king she had so desperately sought was the same being walking alongside her. The same one who was at the receiving end of her kind smiles and warm affection. What would you think of me… if you knew the truth?

It was easier that way. To hide. To run. To cower away from all that he deserved from the one person he didn’t want to look at him that way: In fear, in hatred, in contempt. Because beyond that, Sukuna didn’t know where to be. He couldn’t bear to know what would become of him if the priestess would see him the way humans did. The vile curse who killed anyone in his wake. Sukuna. Calamity bringer. Demon king.

But the sight of her in pain, plagued by the nightmares conjured by a wicked sorcerer, weakened by the spell wrongfully placed on her, haunted by the waking thought that it would never get better.

No. that’s too much.

Sukuna let the fire fall, burning away the remnants of harm thrown at her. Swearing to himself that he would not let her suffer for his sake.

If she were to wake one day and realize her mistakes, then it would just have to be the monument of his retribution. He would take it, so long as it was not right now… here, where the fervent longing in his heart blazed for nothing but the priestess. Burning so fiercely, blinding any other thought, because he didn’t want anything, not the humans or the curses, to take her away from him.

Not the human who fearlessly led him through the forest, clung to him like he was the one who held all the answers, looked at him like he had hung the stars in the sky.

Not when he wished for nothing but to stay by the miko’s side.

---

A hundred million lights shone on the midnight canvas overhead, illuminating the world in a soft glow, casting faint drizzles of warmth to cover the face of the sleeping girl—no longer running from the darkness.

Sukuna never left the room. For if she was here, then there was no need for him to be anywhere else.

Yet once more, the world—or rather, his subordinate—begged to differ.

"Sukuna-sama."

The demon king spared not even a passing glance at the sudden entry of the white-haired servant, choosing to keep his crimson stare pinned on the priestess.

"Oh, Uraume." He acknowledged emptily.

"I have been looking across the country—"

"Get lost. I don't need you right now." He was quick to dismiss his servant’s urgency with a wave of his hand.

Uraume placed a foot in protest, although hasty to rescind when a sharp glare emanated from the eyes of the demon king. "But Sukuna-sama, the sorcerers..."

Fed up with the useless rambling, Sukuna let out an exasperated sigh, "What? Are you so weak that you can't take care of a few little humans?" he ridiculed.

"They are dabbling with the forbidden arts, Sukuna-sama." Uraume tried desperately to raise even a grain of attention in the king’s heart, yet he remained impassive to the situation all the same. "One was recently sighted to have cursed a few nobility—"

Sukuna leaned back in his chair even more, resting his cheek on his fist and glancing at his servant from the corners of his eyes. "Since when have I cared for others, Uraume? Let them die."

His words were cold, uncaring, and cruel… but not once has he torn his gaze from the soul resting on the cot.

Uraume thought it to be strange. The king of demons had spent so long treating the lives of others as nothing less than dirt under his foot, yet he held this fleeting human he’s known for less than six full moons as a treasure he could not look away from.

It wasn’t any of the servant’s business. How Sukuna chose to spend his time is out of Uraume’s concern. Uraume merely has to report to Sukuna and take care of all the things he didn’t want to concern himself over.

"She did from the grounds of her home, Sukuna-sama." Uraume tried not to falter from Sukuna’s heavy stare, choosing to bow instead of facing the angry expression painted on the king’s face. The servant did not want to be at the end of his wrath.

"Pink eyes? Blue hair?" His footsteps echoed within the small room, and Uraume was soon looking at the seams of a white kimono.

"Yes, Tsukumo Ren, are you perhaps acquainted with her—?"

"Kill her." Sukuna’s hostility forced the servant to the floor.

Now that Uraume has confirmed it, Sukuna had no doubts. Tsukumo Ren was the sorcerer behind those pools of (e/c) staring back at him that day. The same ones that used to look at him with all the hope in the world. The same ones that were glistening in pain—begging for him to put her out of her misery.

"Kill that sorcerer. That's an order."

The sound of fabric rustling had Sukuna withdrawing his energy, looking down on his servant in contempt before he tore his gaze and walked away.

“Leave.”

Uraume wasted not a single breath and teleported away. Either the servant obtains the sorcerer’s head, or Sukuna would be the one to take Uraume’s.

After what felt like eternities dragging on, the priestess had finally woken.

Sukuna pushed the gnawing sensation of relief down the depths of his soul.

He felt silly… feeling like that, for a human, no less.

"Were you… talking with someone… just now?" She rasped, hoisting herself to sit up.

But he would admit to it just once that in this moment, Sukuna was happy to be the one who stood here. To be the first thing she saw, the first voice she heard. To be the first person she thought of.

“No.” Sukuna was quick to deny, as he handed her a cup of water. “You were hallucinating.”

After being the object of contempt for many, many centuries… it was nice to know that beside her, he was wanted. Above all else, beyond rhyme and reason, when he was with her… he felt seen.

The priestess downed the liquid, feeling her the tightness in her throat diminishes. “I see. Have you eaten yet?”

“Worry about yourself more, idiot.”

He felt loved.

---

The demon king, in twilight’s glow, Found solace in the priestess he’d come to know.

Not a week later, the renowned shaman who could curse anybody from a distance was proclaimed dead. Shards of frozen water bordered her home that had exploded into splinters. Sorcerers investigating under the command of the shogun found her body sliced to pieces, her blood painting the walls.

For her, his heart would fiercely burn, And vengeance swift would soon return.

Soon enough, rumors emerged from town to town. Iterating the tale told by one folk to the next, each one a lot more diverted from the truth than before. Still, it would not matter. For the chants written down in history would prove every other legend wrong—yet this one will always remain true, even as the world is raised to ruin.

To those who dare to bring her pain, His wrath unleashed will reign like rain.

---

"Who ever knew I'd be so famous that others would want to curse me?" (Y/n) walked joyously, swinging her arms back and forth divergent to the falls of her steps.

Sukuna trod alongside her, as he told the priestess the truth, finding no need to withhold it from her. If his servant held life second to Sukuna, then the sorcerer would be no more.

"Yeah, waste of a perfectly good incantation if you asked me." The king shrugged nonchalantly, purposely saying the words that would add fuel to the fire flickering in her.

Sukuna could feel the sharp glares she was sending his way all while he pretended not to notice them, suppressing the laugh that threatened to burst from his throat.

The priestess huffed in annoyance, turning her head away from him and walking at a much faster pace, leaving him behind.

“Oi! I was just joking!” He yelled in protest, hurrying his strides to catch up with her who was now turning the next corner of the street.

Sukuna stopped moments before he could collide with her back.

People walked past them in every direction while they stayed stagnant in the midst of it all, like an iceberg adrift in the vast ocean.

"So, how do you intend on paying the healer?" The priestess turned to face him, inclining her head to meet his stare.

Her question took him by surprise. They had to pay? For what? That quack doctor didn’t do shi—

"Uh... I wrote my name; they can ask for something in return when they want to." Sukuna looked away, scratching the back of his head. Like hell he’d do something for a lowly human—

"You know how to write? That's so cool!" She looked to him in adoration, the same one she had always worn before that sorcerer took it away—and heavens was he elated to have the light of those eyes end its journey behind his own.

"What you don't?" Sukuna smirked, flicking her forehead.

"Nope! Not even my name!"

Sukuna was left staring at her, at a loss for words, like he had seemed to be for the past twilights. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, how this little human squeezed through the tight crevices in the walls he built so high—or perhaps it was him who tore them down.

"You wouldn't even know if you're a national criminal." He laughed, tucking his hands in his sleeves, and continued to walk.

"Right?” She grinned, skipping every now and then to match his lengthy strides, “I do know how to write Auflage."

Sukuna scoffed, slowing his pace so he could poke fun at her from a nearer distance. "That's useless."

"Correct again! Wow, you're really smart, Ryoumen!"

There it was again, that little stutter in his breath at the mention of his name. One of the many, he continues to remind.

Even with the chatter of the townspeople, the clatter of their sandals hitting the cobblestone path, the late afternoon breeze singing their melody, he feared that knocking of his heart would be too loud—that it would overpower all the resounding restrictions he so desperately tries to put on himself and he would end up giving in to all this… all this happiness.

"You're just an idiot..." He whispers halfheartedly.

"Hey! Teach me how to write your name." The priestess bounced on the balls of her feet as she looked to Sukuna with a heart full of hope and stubborn determination.

"Shouldn't you be more interested in yours?" Sukuna raised a brow at her, pushing the priestess to move with the rest of the crowd towards the river.

"No. You probably know how to write that but it's not fair that I don't know how to write yours." She shook her head and pointed an accusing finger at him.

"What?"

They halted near the bank of the river. The setting sun sank behind the horizon, painting his face golden; striking the priestess with shadows.

Then she turned to face the rushing river, half her face dyed in aureate light, casting the illusion of eternity.

"How am I gonna find you if you go disappearing on me? I can't write. I can't read, and I can't draw."

Slowly, humans came occupying the fields of grass, scattering their laughter in the once silent atmosphere.

"At the very least, if I know how to write your name, I'll be able to look for you in the future... and find you again."

As the last rays of daylight faded into the earth, she looked to him for what should be no-less than second nature… so why? Why did his soul scream at him to go to her? To be near her no matter what life she lived? To be the one within arm’s reach… to be the one she looks for, the one she asks to see.

How ridiculous her words were. To him who ardently believed that he was born and reincarnated to be the object of everybody’s contempt, that he lived only to hurt other people.

Still… why does she look at him like those didn’t matter? As though they never held importance to begin with. She was the one being ridiculous! Not him!

“Hello? From the magnificent miko of the land to Ryoumen? Is anybody home?” The priestess waved a hand over his face, the one who stared at her unblinkingly.

But Sukuna realizes then that he too was accountable for some of the blame.

“Sit down and pay close attention.” He grabbed a small branch and sat on a log away from the rest of the crowd.

Because even as he harbors these doubts, he still finds himself looking for her. Everywhere. In everything. In everyone.

Through fire and flame, where darkness holds its sway, The demon king feels something start to sway.

When Sukuna turned to see if the priestess obeyed his command, his soul nearly descended to the depths of hell as he sees her sitting so painfully close to him, staring at the undisturbed earth with such fervor.

As moonlight dances on her gentle grace, A flicker warms his cold and distant face.

The king began drawing lines on the dirt, glancing at her from the corner of his eye to see if he still had her attention. He did.

兩面

“How do you read that?” She gazed at him in wonder as she pointed to the characters on the ground, written so neatly it would have passed as a calligrapher’s penmanship (the priestess has never seen a calligrapher’s penmanship. This is the first handwriting she has witnessed).

“Ryoumen, you idiot. Now you try.” Sukuna flicked her forehead and handed her the stick.

In her presence he sheds his ancient rage, And finds his soul anew free from its wretched cage.

As the priestess glanced back and forth from Sukuna’s writing and to her own, the king finds himself sinking more and more into the warmth she gave. When he looked at her, he would often think to himself, how lucky am I to have been right here where you existed. Even now as he drowns his crimson irises in her image, in this time, in this life… he finds himself wishing for this moment to last just a little bit longer.

“There. All done.”

Sukuna peeked an eye open. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting to see from someone who hadn’t written anything in her whole life. But it certainly wasn’t this.

“What’s with the scrambled sticks? These look like summoning runes!”

The priestess inhaled a breath of offence, holding a hand over her heart. “I haven’t written anything in my entire life! You’re supposed to be encouraging me to do better.”

He desperately tried to hold back the harsh criticisms flooding his tongue as he grabbed the twig from her hand and erased the characters they’d both written.

“I’d be lying to your face if I told you that you did a good job.” Sukuna gave the stick back to her, looking at the priestess with a deadpanned expression.

“You’re supposed to follow certain strokes not write whatever you want wherever you want.”

He moved closer to the priestess, holding the hand she used to write and guiding it to draw on the ground.

The priestess held her breath for all the seconds she felt him so close to her. She could have sworn her vision dotted from the lack of oxygen flowing in her lungs, but she feared her heart would crawl out of her mouth if she so much as let out a sound.

His hand felt cold over hers, like he was plunged in eternal frost before coming to wake in the vernal freshness of the sun.

Yet to the priestess, he was like a cool breeze during the summer heat, or the anchor in a raging storm, the moonlight in the illusions of midnight.

He felt like home.

And she swore she could have stayed like that for all the eternities to come, caged in his hold, safe from the cruelty of the world, seen amidst ten thousand people.

If only her lungs didn’t burn from the breaths she didn’t want to take.

“On—On second thought…” The priestess broke free from his half-embrace, standing up and fisting the fabric of her clothes, “you—how… how about you find me instead!”

Sukuna’s eyes widened at her yell, he thought for a second that the miko was giving up, that is until he saw the scarlet coloring her cheeks all the way to the peaks of her ears.

“You’re smart, and you know how to read and to write. So—uhm, I’ll just wait for—for you to come and get me… if I get taken away.”

“Okay.”

“It’s more of a situational condition anyway, it’s not like I’ll be—wait, what did you say?” The priestess ceased her pacing and faced the man still sitting on the log, watching her with radiant glow.

“I said okay. I’ll find you in the future.”

She broke out in a face-breaking smile and sprinted to where he sat, beaming down at him with all the happiness the world could offer, “Really?” She spoke in a joyous, hopeful tune.

Before Sukuna could berate her for asking too many questions, something shone from the corner of his eyes.

The king watched as the villagers, one by one, then all together, lit up the objects they held, letting them float into the midnight ether. The lights flew into the sky, disappearing as though they’d become one with the stars.

He once deemed the festivities foolish, looking at them from far away, alone in the courtyard of his temple. Humans throwing their trash into the sky or letting them sink into the rivers. What was the use of such fleeting moments, he would think. For what good is there to laugh and cry knowing it will come to an end sooner or later?

But the humans remained happy either way, even if they knew their lives were as fickle as the lights they set off into the night.

Sukuna looked away, not liking the feeling of something brewing in his chest. He turned to tell the miko that they were leaving, away from all this frolicking, only to find her holding one of those lights.

Ah, why am I like this?

“Hey, c’mon hurry. The light’s gonna burn out.” With haste, she grabbed hold of his hand, placing it parallel to hers on the lantern.

For so long… it was all so strange to him. How do humans take it? All these happy memories will crush them one day, he knows it. What greater heartbreak is there than realizing that these will pass… just as everything else does.

That you will pass… just like all you mortals do. Scattering the lands with all your laughter that it echoes even after you’ve gone. Long after your death, for many centuries to dawn.

“Now make a wish. If the light reaches the heavens, then your wish will come true. Ready?” The priestess closed her eyes, squeezing his hand with ardor.

The light of the lantern painted her face in a warm glow, setting alight the fervency of her desire.

But Sukuna only had one wish.

“Now.” He felt her hand push his to raise the light afloat. “Look at it go! Our wishes are definitely going to come true.”

She watched the lantern ascend to the heavens and Sukuna watched her. For what good was the promise of paradise if heaven was right there.

---

Beneath daylight, the demon found, His heart for her was tightly bound.

As the days of their journey neared its close, the very last meadow they stepped foot into was half a wasteland.

"Hey, Ryoumen..." The priestess sat under the shade of a tree that had miraculously survived, watching as the clouds drifted by in shapes and sizes blotting the earth with shadows painted in their likeness.

Sukuna sat a little ways off, in the middle of a small patch of flowers. He looked out of place, or so he had believed. To be embraced by life when he only brought death.

"What is it?" he asks, not tearing his attention from what he was doing.

The priestess, innocent and kind, Knew not the feelings within his mind.

"A shop owner gave me this," She pulled out a large bow and a case of arrows, one she had forgotten about until she was so painfully reminded of their existence (tripping over it as she was packing her things), "he told me that I was somewhat similar to a person nearby at that time..."

Sukuna faltered in his activity, thinking back to that moment she spoke of. One that transpired nearly eleven—no, twelve full moons ago. Once, he would have thought of the time passed as nothing—if you’ve lived long enough, everything starts to blend together at some point. But all these days to him have felt like a lifetime, a lifetime that wasn’t nearly enough.

Similar to me, eh? Very wrong, filthy sorcerer. She's nothing like me.

The priestess threw the weapon at Sukuna, thinking that perhaps he had the answer. But the moment it made contact with his skin, a sharp hissing sound emanated from his skin.

Her eyes widened at the scene, standing up so fast and rushing to his side to cast the bow elsewhere.

"Hey—what... why is there... steam? What? Are you okay—"

Sukuna held up a hand and that stopped her from reaching out for him, "It's nothing."

Sukuna rose from his position and returned the weapon, feeling his hands burn from the contact.

“Hey! Wait just a moment, Ryoumen. You’re hurt, aren’t you?” The priestess tried to catch up to him when the sun had mysteriously gone out, and the scent of flowers invaded her nose.

"Let's go to the village. Might be the last time you'll see a human. You never know..." His voice echoed in the wind, coming from everywhere all at once until it faded to a distant buzz.

In silence deep, his truth concealed, For she knew not what love revealed.

Her fingers found solace in the circlet he draped over her eyes, a wreath of flowers.

When her vision narrowed to search for his presence, to call his name—ask what he means for every gentle touch, warm smiles, and kind undertakings—she found he was already up over the hill, standing there… waiting patiently for when she’d be ready to depart.

Perhaps then, it all became clear…

Under the azure canvas overhead, painted over with the silver water of light, surrounded by the passing zephyrs, she knew.

The hustle and bustle of commerce from the town strung from one corner to another. Streets were littered with people. Children ran around, keepers and vendors opened their businesses for travelers and residents alike. Banners that vary in size and color were hung all over the place. Laughter and chatter of everyday life danced in the happy and uplifting atmosphere.

It made the priestess smile; it was exactly what she missed most about her town.

"Get yer Ambrosia here! Buy one get one free!"

"Rat poison for sale! Up for free taste!"

"Expired milk! Fit for your cheating husband! Get two for the price of one! Limited time only."

The demon king and the priestess walked through the lively streets. Her hand clutched firmly against the cloth of his light-colored kimono that he only got after the rest of his torn and beaten clothes crumbled and got taken away by the wind.

"Get your portrait drawn by the greatest artist around! 50% off on people with companions!"

The priestess dragged Sukuna to where she heard the calls of the advertiser. His hand intertwined firmly with hers as she dodged and avoided people as much as she could.

"Hi there, onee-chan! Here to get drawn?"

She nodded her head, and the little boy beckoned her to follow him. The priestess tugged at the unwilling hand of Sukuna who stood firmly and unmoving outside the venue.

"C'mon Ryoumen! It's to commemorate the finish of the training thing! This may be the last thing we'll have to remember each other... never know..." She tried to use his own words to convince him, continuously pulling at his arm trying to get him to agree.

Still, he refused.

The priestess sighed, ultimately deciding that it was her pride or this absolute need for remembrance, and she wasn’t going to leave with either so she pulled out the greatest weapons any girl could have... the look.

"Pwease~"

The pink-haired man showed a look of disgust and shivered from the image engraving itself into his head and slammed a hand to cover her horrifying face.

"Alright, I’m going. Just—just stop it with that face."

"YES!" She cheered and circled around him—the space she occupied for herself.

Sukuna silently watched her, a faint smile gracing his usually annoyed face.

What a weirdo...

"Onee-chan, Onii-san, this way please..."

---

"It looks so cool!" The priestess gushed, ogling at the portrait that took almost 3 hours to make.

"It's not half bad. I guess..." Even Sukuna couldn’t put it in himself to deny.

She turned to the little artist, "Do you have a quill I can use?"

The little boy nodded and handed her a spare.

“What for? You don’t know how to write.” Sukuna smirks, looking over her shoulder to see what she was up to.

“Currently not entertaining the jeers of bashers.” She swatted him away and continued to write albeit in slow, messy strokes.

'Ryōmen & (Y/n)' Auflage, 850

Sukuna took notice of the writings she engraved at the bottom of the paper. Had she been writing? All those times she had her back to me… she was practicing?

"Why Auflage?" He found himself asking. Sukuna knew it was one of the three things she knew how to write: her hometown, her name (which he demonstrated after many, many pleas and cries from the priestess), then Sukuna’s name. But she could have easily asked him to write it for her. The priestess would have only needed to say, and he would have made it so.

She looked up at him and flashed him a beaming smile, "Because that's where we first met, silly."

When did I start seeing you like this?

The gentle breeze of the early afternoon danced around her body, rays of the bright sun highlighting the curves and bumps on her face.

How can you still look at me like that? After knowing me… wasting so much time… on me—

"I will treasure this for years to come! Maybe when we meet again, I can laugh about how you showed up in front of me half-naked!" She lightly chuckled at her suggestion. “The great Ryoumen!”

When did I start thinking that my name had a ring to it whenever you would say it?

"Thank you." The priestess handed the quill back to the boy and continued to wander around the town with her companion.

She held the portrait up and inspected it for the hundredth time that day, "Wow! We look like a couple here."

That I'd do anything for you over and over again if you'd ask me to—if I knew it will make you smile.

Sukuna stole a glance at the drawing with mock disgust, and an evident flush of red dusting his inked face, "A couple of jackasses."

"HEY!"

---

What Sukuna said had rang true. No, not the 'couple of jackasses'. The part where he said that that'll be her last human contact for a while.

It had been three full moons since that last village, twelve since she had set foot in her home. Still, the seconds ticked by as though they were but a grain of sand in the endless desert.

Sukuna and the priestess traveled for a long time, passing by a long, deep ravine, walking through dark, creepy forests, and eerie swamps. As they crossed the distance to his castle, the more he began to feel the heaviness in his chest grow.

The curses lingering in the shadows began to act more unpredictable, fearing nothing, believing themselves to be the strongest.

“What is going on in that head of yours…”

Sukuna diverted his attention from the darkened borders of the woods and towards the priestess who had her hands supporting her head as her elbows rested on her knees.

“You always look so out of it ever since we came here.” She pointed out, tilting her head in question. “If you’re scared, we can just go back—”

“Whoever said I was afraid?”

“You don’t have to say it when it’s written all over your face.”

Sukuna scoffed. Why would he need to be afraid of himself? He could care less. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe.

Still, why didn’t it cease this hurricane of sadness wreaking havoc in his soul?

Crackles of the fire permeated the space between them. There existed no cicadas’ orchestra, no rustles of the foliage, the king even doubted if the zephyrs dared to venture into his domain.

It was just him in a place far too big for a single soul to inhabit.

“Do you think the king ever feels lonely?” The priestess stood and walked near him, not knowing that the person in her question was already at the receiving end of her words.

“So vast a kingdom for there to be no citizen.” She sat next to him, keeping her eyes on the dancing flames.

Sukuna didn’t know what to say. He was the king, renowned in all the lands. Demon king. King of curses. Calamity. He has had so many titles for the past century, be it as a curse or as a human. But he never chose to be labeled by any of those.

He had a name once, just like the rest of them. He once turned to see who uttered it so long ago, he would know he was needed at the mention of it, and he would be reminded of his own self—breathing, living—just like the rest of them.

“Maybe that’s just his fate. To be the abomination in everybody’s eyes.”

But now, his name was buried under the titles he was bestowed, woven in tales of terror, burned in history as the vilest demon to have ever been born. Perhaps he was far too gone in the oceans of his sin to be called by his name.

“No one is born to be hated, Ryoumen.” The priestess nudged his shoulder with her own, “I would know, the head priestess in the shrine I used to work at told me. And even if she didn’t, I’d still think so.” She smiled, seemingly proud of her belief.

“The same way no one is born to be revered by the heavens, no one is born to be the basin of everybody’s anger.” The priestess tossed a few sticks into the fire, watching as it burst forth to blaze once more. “Because that��s just cruel, isn’t it?”

“How do you bring yourself to love a world that did nothing but reject you?”

Sukuna stared at her in wonder. For so long, he lived his days believing that there was nothing in this world for him to have, nothing for him to hold dear, nothing to be blessed with. So, he took what he wanted… even if it already belonged to someone else. It wasn’t fair. Why does everyone have something while I’m here with nothing? Yet here she was, wholeheartedly believing otherwise. As the light of the fire painted her face golden, Sukuna found himself thinking, how could anyone… be as marvelous as her?

“That’s why I’m glad… that I met you. It really feels like a stroke of luck! After years and years of nothingness, nothing but this spiralling darkness, all of a sudden—there was you. I didn’t really know why I was born all those moons ago, but now the answer just seems so simple. Maybe, just maybe… I was born so I could meet you.”

He believes it then, if the world had so selfishly kept it all from him, letting him believe that it didn’t need him… Sukuna will just have to keep living for someone who does.

---

Her words shone like daylight in this never-ending darkness. At the falls of twilight, in the wake of dawn, mists of the afternoon, shadows of midnight, there existed not a single second where her warmth had ceased to be near him.

Sukuna recalls the tender falls of his name from her lips, and all her kind affection. All that happiness, all those adventures, and everything in between. He treasured them all, carving them deep in the shrines of his soul, promising himself never to forsake them, resent them, or throw them away. Even if the sorcerers of the future were to damn him into eternal suffering, he would never forget.

I would rather be pained by the reminder of you, in every corner and every turn, than to live a life without a single memory of you.

Because he knew that after this, there was no going back. There would be no tomorrow. No lanterns to keep the roads alight. No fires to keep them warm. No nagging miko to keep him company.

It would just be him all over again. A single soul in a world that was far too big.

"His place certainly fits the description." The priestess looked up from the sketch and towards the looming temple in front of her.

Towering pagoda-like spires, carved with serpents and grotesque faces, reached for the skies. Beams of darkened wood stood at held the obsidian tiles covering the expanse of the roof. Screen windows were sealed shut, leaving no room for glances as to what secrets it held inside all that ancient malevolence.

There existed no clear route to the palace-like structure, for it looked to be as if there was no need for one. Not a single soul had ventured here in one piece, nor had anyone been fortunate enough to leave with it intact. The grounds were overgrown with thorny brambles, shadowed by the foliage that left no room for the gale to weave through.

An eerie, dim sunray streams through the dense canopy, painting the cracked stone pathways with unsettling patterns.

The priestess looked to be hesitant to go through the thresholds of his home, although Sukuna guesses her reasons were far too different from his. She had probably feared for her life, much like many mortals do… yet he feared that beyond this, nothing would exist. Just like how it had been before he had come across her being.

“Ryoumen I—”

“Move forward, miko. The king is ahead.”

Sukuna led her through the winding corridors of the temple, finding every torch ignited to a fault, leaving no room for shadows to linger. Crimson and obsidian tapestries depicting the waking nightmare of mortals hung from the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of incense blended with something acrid.

"Who knew he was such a collector huh?" The priestess jested, trying her best to give him one of her grins—yet she, herself, found it difficult to perform such a gesture when she was walking under the ceiling of the place serving as the foreboding citadel of demonic power, within the realm where the demon king reigns supreme.

“Listen, Ryōmen—" she faced him and looked at his weary eyes, "maybe we should leave.”

She gave him a halfhearted smile as silver began to brim the horizons of her lashes. “We can just tell everyone that they were mistaken, that the king doesn’t exist. Or that we killed him—anything!” The priestess drew closer to where he stood, clutching the fabric of his kimono, scared of letting go.

“I thought this was your dream?”

"Please…" her words were silenced by the sound of doors sliding open, crashing against the walls with a resounding bang.

No… it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time now.

The priestess felt her chest rise and fall as her breath slowly dwindled. With a guilt-ridden heart, her gaze trailed upwards, like those lanterns from all those moons before. She found herself desperate to trace the contours of his inked face, memorize the shade of crimson dyeing his eyes, see the hints of warmth decorating the plains of his cheeks. The priestess treasured them all knowing that after today… she will never get to see them again.

You were my new dream.

A searing pain flowered from the beds of her stomach, casting her vision to tunnel to the image of him—so profound, so out of reach… so pained.

“Su…kuna… ah, I finally… got to call… you that…”

In his bewilderment, ropes of blinding white erupted from the shadows of the corridor, binding the king in a heavy hold.

Sukuna clenched his fist in protest, desperate to break away—to catch her before she fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. Only to falter when it dawns on him that this was her scheme all along.

For so long, people called my name in fear, resentment, like I was the very scum that walked the earth.

Sorcerers emerged from the corners, flooding the halls in numbers. Dressed in white kosodes and black hakamas.

“Well done, girl.”

A man rounded the corner, his hair shaded in the likeness of snow, eyes refracting the color of the sky. Sukuna recalls those features, having been inherited from the clan they labeled Gojo.

Sukuna looked to where the miko lay, a hand clawing the floors to reach where he stood, bound beyond escape, while the other was dyed red from holding her wound. A very prominent arrow nock blooming past that kosode she so devotedly wore.

Beneath the stars, the demon grieved, For love was true, yet hearts deceived.

The stranger knelt to where the priestess was, face down and holding tightly onto her wound as her blood flowed out of her body like waterfalls.

The man fisted the threads on her head and held it up, forcing her to witness the fruit of her crafted scheme.

The priestess, pure, in love so deep, Had no intent for harm to reap.

Yet to Sukuna, it remained clear as daylight, that she wanted no part in this. Even as her life is held at the palm of another, ready to be taken away, she remained looking at him… like she had always done.

“Your precious demon king, about to be sealed away.” Seizou shook her head back and forth while the priestess could do nothing but clench her eyes and endure the pain.

“Finally, after all these years.” he dropped her to the floor, choosing to draw closer to where Sukuna was bound, “Your reign will finally come to an end—”

Seizou’s words were swallowed by the white-hot pain searing through his chest, blood pooling in the back of his throat.

“Too bad yours will, too.” The priestess twisted the knife, imbued with a thousand curses, deeper into the heart of the man, hilt painted crimson—the color of her life… the color she had come to love so ardently.

“SEAL HIM AWAY!”

But darkened plots from hidden hands, Sealed his fate with cruel commands.

“It’s over—demon!”

The binds burned brighter, forcing him to revert to the form he was known for. One whose face was so deformed that humans were quick to conclude that he had two, his four arms tearing through the fabric of his kimono—the same one he recalls that she had held on so fervently.

Ah, the miko…

Everything slowed down. Her fingers freed the knife from her bloodied grip, staggering in her place and Sukuna closed his eyes.

As cowardly as it was, he didn’t want to see her turn away in resentment. He didn’t want to see the light, he had once been the center of its orbit, dim to leave him in the darkness. Sukuna, above all else, didn’t want his last memory of her to be one where she looked at him like he was anything but himself.

Humans prayed with their lives clutched so tightly, afraid that I'd be the thief that would take it away. Did they really deem themselves so precious that I'd steal their breath? It's kind of arrogant, really. The ones who declared themselves to be the humblest in the lands had held their souls higher than the heavens.

He was ashamed. Over and over and over again, he believed himself to be foolish—to have fallen so low as to crave the affection of a human. The priestess who was so painfully mortal.

But it remained. Every fervent thought. All the waking daydreams. Glimpses of heaven in you.

When did I get strung in such sappy things?

When did I...

Sukuna, feeling his fingers be burned from his limbs finally raised the curtains of his irises.

The hallways were free from noise, not a single breath in place.

“…hey.”

Aside from the priestess who lay beside his feet, tugging weakly on the seams of his clothes.

"Pretty... aren't I?" She laughs weakly.

"More like strange..." Sukuna could have sworn he heard those words before.

"And pretty."

"Sure, and pretty."

“I’ll… write your name. I promise… and they… won’t look like… summoning runes.” She coughed, casting away the substance that gave her life, no matter how painfully short it was.

How do mortals bear such anguish, knowing all that they loved would meet this end?

Sukuna spoke her name, one tethered with such earnest longing—a desperate plea for her to keep her life—to keep living, far longer than any other human. To outlive these sorcerers who gave him such a fate, even if it was just for a second longer.

“You… finally… called me… by my name.” The priestess smiled, letting her hand fall to the ground.

As the binds grew brighter, encasing everything in white, Sukuna caught the sight of a lone tear falling from the side of her eye, along with the words… “find me in the future.”

---

In realms where twilight meets the darkened sea, A priestess loved the demon king, though doomed to be.

Their passion burned where stars and shadows blend, Yet destiny decreed their hearts would never mend.

She fell to darkness, he was bound in chains so tight, Their love a fleeting spark in endless night.

#chiya's head rent 🎐#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #ao3 #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #ryomen sukuna #gojo satoru #yuji itadori

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lambilegs · 2 months ago

Text

does it happen in a season? (part two: WINTER)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

last chapter (FALL) | next chapter (SPRING)

soundtrack: fake plastic tree - radiohead (this is the song I was referring to here :') listened to it a shit ton when writing this chap and I feel the entire atmosphere of it really reminds me of this chapter); linger - the cranberries; lovers rock - tv girl; cherry wine - grentperez; telephones - vacations; eternal flame - the bangles

(contains: even MORE slowburn shit, more pining, 16.4K words (I know... I hate it too), set in the nineties, college!au lee, content warning for: anxiety, depictions of a panic attack, internalized homophobia, religious trauma, religion jokes)

🇵🇸 reading/watch list for palestine + organizations | more media on palestine | decolonize palestine

----

WINTER. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

when you hear the key clicking into the lock, you immediately shoot up from your lying position on the couch, flinging your legs over the edge and patting your hair down. fuck, fuck. your fingers mindlessly twitch and move for a second, not knowing what to do, before finally settling on leaning into the couch and crossing your legs. yes, this feels natural. at least you hope so.

when lee walks through the door, you feel the entire facade slip. a smile, one that was always inevitable, immediately tugs on your lips. you’re powerless to the urge. especially when it’s been four days since you last saw her. especially when, for once, her hair is in something other than a ponytail, lying limp on her back as a neat braid. especially when, after catching sight of you, she smiles. it’s small, barely there, but she actually fucking smiles. you can practically sing like a canary.

she sets her duffel bag near the door, sliding her shoes off and placing them on the rack. you wince at the sight of your dirty sneakers half-hazardly lying on the floor. you wonder if she ever hates some of your less-than-clean habits. if they make her cringe or think less of you. god, the mere idea makes you shrivel up in self-consciousness.

but, lee says nothing, silently meeting you on the couch and sitting on the other side, tucked into the corner and far from you, as per usual. even when you guys watched the two movies you picked out from the video store, in a back-to-back feature filled with inquisitive staring from lee, attempts at chattering from you, and some eerily accurate guesses as to what happens in The Shining from her, she sat far from you. at this point, you know she’s most likely like that with everyone, and it’s nothing personal. she doesn’t seem to be the most comfortable with touch or intimacy. but, still, you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to feel the warmth of her nearby.

“so, how was it?” you ask, turning your body to her.

eyes on her lap, she gives you a small nod. “it was okay.”

you cock your head at her. “how’s your mom?”

“she’s alright.” her voice sounds timid, almost as though the admission carries more significance than just a casual report. “she’s been taking walks, which is good for her.”

you smile gently at her little concern. she’s so sweet. “it is. did you enjoy yourself?”

her gaze slides from her lap to the cushion between you two, which almost feels like a threshold in that moment. her lips part for a second, before closing, then parting again. “no. not really.”

you blink in surprise at her brutal honesty. you aren’t an idiot, you know that most college students don’t exactly delight in visiting home. but, most would also have the self-consciousness, or sense of obligation to their family, to lie about it. you wonder if lee doesn’t lie due to her natural tendency to forgo social cues, or if it’s something more. if things are just that bad – so bad that she doesn’t even have it in her to either muster a lie or continue preserving the protective instinct for her family.

you pause to consider how to proceed, before tentatively settling on, “why? is everything okay?”

the corner of her lip pinches into a small twist, eyelids fluttering hard. “um, yeah. we just… it’s complicated.”

you lean your head on your palm, elbow braced on the edge of the couch. “I have time.”

her head darts in your direction for a split second, before turning to the television. “I… I don’t go there often. not as much as I should. I don’t like going there. but, I always do, for one reason or the other. even when it’s not completely necessary.”

“maybe because it’s comforting and safe?” you supply, tilting your head at her. “even if it’s a place that you’re not so fond of, you grew up there, with your mom. so, you always want to return to it.” even you could sympathize with such a feeling. university, and living with a roommate, brings along a thrill of independence. sometimes, it seems so romantic, like you’re the protagonist of a coming-of-age film, making your way in the world. but, sometimes, during the lonely nights, when you’re up studying late, mind whirling with thoughts of your future, you wish you were back home. you wish that on top of the stress and anxiety, you didn’t have to take care of yourself. you wish you could just melt into the hands and care of someone else.

she’s silent, and you know that means she’s taking a few moments to process your words. finally, she speaks. “maybe. but, it’s also about my mom. I spent so much of my life wondering what it’d be like to be on my own, and already feeling that way a lot of the time. then, I left for school, and I’ve spent these four years feeling like…” she continues, her voice lowering to a whisper, “that life followed me here.”

your voice becomes as small as hers. to see her speak about something so personal, with such tender vulnerability, twists something in your chest. you’re grateful, of course you are, but part of learning more about her comes with the ache of discovering the complications of what she faces. it’s surprising, and humanizing, but also stirs a deep sympathy in you. “why do you think you feel that way?”

her voice cracks – it’s so soft you could’ve easily missed it. “I don’t know. guilt, maybe. or obligation. the responsibility that comes from her being my first…” she sighs heavily, eyes clamping shut tightly.

you keep your voice low, almost feeling like you’re approaching a wounded animal. “your first..?”

“friend.” she sucks in a trembling breath. “it feels wrong to stay away for so long. it also feels weird to not talk to her for a while. but, at the same time, I hate going there.”

you pick at a loose strand of your guys’ sofa, lost in her words. you understand her situation acutely. you, too, have people in your life whom you only really call or meet up with for the sake of retaining a past bond you both are just desperately trying to preserve. there’s no true love or fondness – rather, there’s just a pretense coating the entire meeting, causing it to drip in a kind of insincerity that’s bred through necessity.

“I’m sorry,” you gently say, sensing from her tense shoulders that it must be a sore subject for her. “it must be difficult, to have so many conflicting feelings about the situation. especially since she’s your mom and all. it makes sense you want to talk to her, though, you know? you grew up with her. even if logically, you know the relationship isn’t the smoothest, it’s normal you still go back. for whatever reason – comfort, safety, obligation.”

her nostrils flare for a millisecond, and you start with the sudden thought of will she cry? you almost wish she would – maybe if she let herself cry, she’d let herself be held. and maybe if she let herself be held, she’d have some of the burdens that seem to plague her off her mind. you wish she’d just let it release. maybe she does, but just not with you. the thought causes a bit of a sting, but you know it’s ridiculous of you to be upset over it. regardless, you just hope she gets a release.

finally, she speaks, quietly mumbling, “thanks.” her voice raises to a clearer level. “I just… I don’t know.” she blinks back at the television before abruptly standing up. “I’ll just change.” she stills, glancing at your knees. “we can watch something after?”

she may as well ask you if you’re planning to breathe. the fact that she actually enjoys watching things with you to the point of asking for it makes your chest warm. for a moment, such an idea feels surreal. two months ago, you barely got a word out of her, and now, on this cold november night, she’s going out of her way to watch something with you. it feels almost impossible to comprehend.

you nod eagerly. “yes, yes, of course.”

her lips clamp together in a tight, formal smile before grabbing her duffel bag and heading to her bedroom.

and as usual, you look out for her as she leaves.

–

lee knows it probably sounds a bit odd, but if she likes the class, she actually enjoys studying. there’s something in her brain that gets itched and satisfied through letting so much information travel into her brain. she likes how methodical it gets – the research, the note-taking, the reading. it’s a part of the world she can make sense of. there’s a neat, structured process, and she just allows herself to get swept up in it and feel the rush of learning something new.

there’s one particular library on campus, filled with wood and carvings into the wall, that she frequents almost everyday. sometimes, even when she doesn’t have much work to do, she’ll just get started on next week’s work just for the sake of spending some time unwinding there. it’s almost relaxing to focus on one subject and dedicate her mind to nothing but it for a few hours. it’s almost a trancelike activity, like a puzzle – once she gets sucked in, it’s hard to stop.

she rarely studies with other people. she’s fond of her friends, she is, but god, she can’t help but admit (both to herself and their faces) that they are awful study buddies. they always find it amusing to see lee so focused and will ball up the paper wrappings of their straws and throw it at her face, or the two of them will talk and giggle so much they get asked to leave. she’ll usually only put up with them if the work she needs to do isn’t demanding. other than that, she enjoys doing her work in solitude.

which is why she’s so conflicted when she one day sees you approaching her, bright smile and crinkled eyes. she swallows hard at the sight, forcing her gaze back down to her work. when you slide into the seat across from her, she feels her jaw tense, racking her brain for the right thing to say.

“what are you doing here?”

your face falters, and something in her aches at the sight. her words sound fumbling and messy to her, but she forces her way through them. “no, I didn’t… I was just asking.” it’s weird. sometimes, she’s able to catch what she thinks are expressions of hurt or annoyance caused by her flat tone or blunt words. but, more often than not, it feels like even more of a struggle to navigate asking someone about such facial expressions, either by pointing it out or just drawing her own conclusions. even if she feels a twinge of guilt, most of the time, she’s entirely lost in knowing for certain if the other person in question really is hurt, and if so, what is and isn’t okay to do in response. it’s not often that she leans into the immediate urge to clarify herself – anxiety and uncertainty usually prevent that. but, she supposes now is one of those times.

“I just, I don’t want to be bothering you or anything.”

she blinks hard, eyes frozen on the papers in front of her. “no, you’re not.” logically, she’s never properly studied with you, so she truly doesn’t know if you would be a bother. emotionally, though, the possibility that you could be one isn’t enough of a reason to make her decline sitting with you. she wants to say yes. she just isn’t sure if she’s successfully conveying that to you. “you’re not.”

she tentatively looks up, bracing herself for an expression of hurt or anger. but, you just seem worried, lines deepened into your forehead and mouth folded in. at least that's what it seems like to her, especially in the context of your words.

she mulls on what to do for a few seconds before deciding to close her textbook, folding her arms over it. “what… what are you working on?”

you blink up at her, eyes a bit wide. she patiently waits on you, her foot wiggling under the table from where it’s crossed over her other. “I have a presentation for my feminism class.”

she nods slowly. her mind starts stirring with questions about your class, curiosity simmering in her. but, she holds back, wanting to try to assure you in some way that she wants you here. “what is your presentation on?”

“we’ve been focusing on media in this unit, so I’m doing it on the exploitation and archetypes of women in horror.”

she pauses, mind lingering on your words. she doesn’t know much of horror, so she isn’t sure of the many examples that exist, but she isn’t surprised at the notion. in most media, she tends to see caricatures made of women, a practice that itches at her in an aggravating way. she herself has received comments from peers on the type of stereotypes she’s expected to encapsulate as a cop, all because of her gender. comments that irk her so much she could never be bothered to respond.

“that’s interesting,” she muses. “I, well, didn’t realize it happens so much in horror.”

“oh,” you scoff, a bitter shrill ringing your laugh, and despite the subject manner, some of the tension slides from her shoulders at seeing you at ease again, “trust me. it happens all too much.”

“why do you think it happens?” she finds herself itching to know what you think, how you feel. it feels like a soft grip at her throat, coaxing and urging her to seek more of your thoughts.

you tap your pen on your notes. “I think it says a lot about how we find women in horror easy to discard, since they’re not even seen as whole, complex characters. and how we see the violence against them as more thrilling due to the power dynamic if the killer is a man.”

“hm.” her mouth twitches at the information. “almost like they’re not even seen as useful unless they’re just used as a victim.”

“victim to a man, which just further produces the reputation of the killer,” you enunciate, pointing a finger at her, leaning back in your chair with a smile, evidently satisfied by your conclusion.

her lip quirks up. it’s not like she hasn’t picked up on your passion before – the wistfulness in your sigh when listening to a song you like, the way your eyes light up and flick to her (without subtlety) when you show her a film. she knows it exists. but, still, she finds herself feeling respect at the way you eagerly speak of your assignment.

“it sounds interesting.” her jaw shifts as she contemplates on her next words, wondering if it’s too forward. “when is it?”

you flip through the pages of your notebook, finger skimming a page before coming to a stop. “december sixteenth.”

she hums in response, silently willing herself to just do it. just ask it. “in the social studies building?”

“yeah…” the word drawls out, and your lips curl into a wide grin. she blinks at the sight of it. do you suspect her? “room 225.”

okay, so, you probably do suspect her. why else would you willingly supply the room number? she feels a twinge of disappointment at her own lack of secrecy, but you look so happy, so she supposes her failure isn’t too bad. she nods, a stubborn piece of her still not wanting to give anymore information away. “okay.”

you beam. “okay.”

–

you can feel it happening. the slow, dreary days filled with nothing but work piled on top of work. you try to rid yourself of the feeling and just relax, but it’s there, always scratching at the back of your head, like a neglected cat trying to cry out and itch its way through the door. deadlines, exams, quotations to cite in the library, work. so much work.

you can see it weighing on lee, too. she doesn’t talk about it as much, but after two and a half months of living together, you can see the signs of it. the undereye circles that are darker than usual, greying her eyes. she’s yawning more than usual during her morning coffee, which has doubled in the amount of mugs she usually drinks. between that, and the instant noodles you hear her making at 2:00AM, you’re convinced she has a stomach of steel.

sometimes, when you’re awake in your room, listening to music, or skimming your notes, you can hear her on the phone with her mom. as guilty as it makes you to admit, you’ve been more and more curious about her home life since she got back from halloween weekend. she never contacted you during the trip, and her brief retelling of the four days on the night of her return was all you had received. you don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the walls are too thin to avoid her voice, and your ears catch onto things you never noticed before.

there are lots of pauses. the strain in her voice tightens even more than usual, making her voice sound harder, firmer. but, somehow, she never sounds loud or harsh. it’s always just tentative questions of are you okay? or what are you doing in the house? she offers more information to her mom than she does anyone else – or maybe it’s just you she doesn’t offer it to, and she’s like that with anyone else she cares about. you shake off the thought, and will away the bleeding jealousy caused by it.

lee actually tells her mom about how busy she is, how she can’t sleep because she needs to get an assignment done, how it looks like it’s going to snow soon. she asks if it’s snowing in oregon, and it leads to a yeah, I’ll be there in winter break. you wonder what makes her more open with her mom – if it’s genuine love and adoration, even the kind that lingers before the surface, or simply shared history. if her mom who she’s known her entire life receives uncoaxed admissions of her wellness, you wonder how long will you have to know her before she gives you that too?

she sounds like a good daughter. always patient, always gentle and never missing a call. it’s been like that since september. you didn’t always bear witness to it, but you know it’s a constant in her life. she always ends the calls with a promise of another. it makes you feel a softness inside, to see her being so caring and tender. you had suspected for weeks that it was there, that tenderness, but the confirmation makes you all the more glad to know.

it makes you linger on yourself. are you a good child? you try, in your own ways, to be so. sometimes, this small apartment with lee feels like an entrapment of adulthood you weren’t ever ready for, and all you want to do is crawl back home and bury your nose in the familiar scent of your stained bedsheets. other times, the apartment feels like the first time your foot has ever been planted on the grass after years locked away. you don’t even realize how much of a sanctuary independence is until you visit home, and when you do, it’s a bittersweet mixture of sweetly lying in the palms holding your past, but also being reminded of exactly why you pushed the fingers away before they could hold on too tightly.

a week later, you attend a protest happening for Palestine. while your friend was supposed to join you, the november chill seemed to have unexpectedly preyed upon her, rendering her sick and curled into bed. you had only discovered the news by the time you had reached campus and received a page from her, confirming her absence on the payphone. the last minute change left you with no time to call upon any other peers or friends, and so, you stand alone, shyly holding up your sign.

but, it doesn’t feel lonely. even though you’re technically by yourself, the thrum of mutual support for a similar cause feels like a sort of bloodstream, with each participating member being part of the vein. it makes you feel anything but lonely, the string of solidarity tying you to the crowd in a way that’s indescribable. even though you know you probably would have been a bit nervous to have attended alone had you discovered your friend’s sickness earlier, you can’t help but feel it’s a blessing in disguise that the change of plans were reported so last minute. somehow, being alone gives you even more of an opportunity to observe your surroundings, read the other signs, and watch the power burning in everyone’s eyes – an experience that makes your body feel revived, as though a shock was sent through it. the chants are like a defibrillator, pressing into your chest and restarting the life within you after a week of nothing but hopelessness. you can’t help but allow it to lead to another subject of pondering – sometimes. things can feel so hopeless, so fast, just with the addition of another assignment or test. what is it like to have the kind of resilience reserved for conditions that, to you, can only exist in a figment of your imagination? how much strength does it take for that?

the protest leaves you feeling a sense of fulfillment. you know it doesn’t really matter how it makes you feel – what matters is to show up and contribute to spreading the word and making it known what should and shouldn’t be tolerated. but, still, you leave it with a sense of faith in humanity, and community, restored, one that leaves you uplifted and almost running off a high. but, you know that’s not the point. it doesn’t matter what you do or don’t get out of this – what matters is to help who truly needs it.

when you’ve walked through the march for two hours, your toes numb from the cold and hands aching, you step into a pizza shop, stomach grumbling. you stand in line, eyes roving over protestors who had the same idea as you, exchanging polite smiles, and watching the crowd continue to move like wave through the window.

you blink when you see the flash of light brown hair, wrapped into a ponytail.

almost as though it’s some sort of bodily instinct, like breathing or licking your lips, you exit the line and rush through the door, pushing it open and yelling, “lee!”

the cold air immediately whips against your face, white snowflakes beginning to dot along the trails of wind as you make your way to her. even though you knew it was lee from the get go, the soft doe eyes and tough jaw immediately recognizable after nearly three months together, you can’t help the pang of relief from knowing it’s her.

she blinks at you, lips just barely parting as you walk over, nervous laughter beginning to tickle at your mouth. “hi.”

you smile back. “hey.” you look around, the chants of the protest ringing around you both. “are you here for the…?”

she nods. “yeah.”

you pop your lips. “alone?”

“no, um…” her eyes shift to behind you, and you turn to find two girls approaching you both. the same girls you always see lee walking around campus with. you stiffen, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. “I’m here with my friends.”

“oh, hi,” you greet, exchanging smiles with the two girls. their eyebrows are raised in curiosity, gaze darting between you and lee, clearly awaiting an introduction.

you glance warily at lee, and that seems to do the trick, her eyes finally lifting to you three and blinking hard. she pauses before saying, “these are my friends, amaya and maria.”

when she introduces you, amaya’s eyes widen. “oh! so, you’re the roommate!”

her open, friendly tone helps in making you feel more at ease, though her words pique your curiosity. your eyes flick from her to lee, teasingly saying, “yeah, why? has lee been spreading rumors about me?”

maria snorts, patting a hand on lee’s shoulder. lee doesn’t pull back or flinch, and just lets the touch happen. something in you softens at the sight. “oh, please, we’ve been trying to get her to talk more about any roommate irks she’s dealt with from you, but either she’s nicer to you than any other roommate, or you’re just that good to live with.”

the words nearly send you into a euphoric bliss, an embarrassingly high-pitched giggle spilling out. “no, no, I think I’m just that perfect to live with.”

lee rolls her eyes, mouth twitching.

amaya nods at you. “so, you’re here for the protest?”

you lift your rolled up poster. “yeah, I came in right after class.”

she makes small talk with you, asking about your major and the classes you’re taking. when you mention your mythology course on tuesdays, her eyes brighten. “oh, I’m in that class, too! don’t be a stranger, come say hi next time.”

you can’t help but smile widely. “yeah, of course, I’ll make sure to.” it’s strange, really, to think that all this time, someone so intimately connected to lee was sharing the same space as you every tuesday. it’s silly, but it feels almost reverent, in a way, to be near someone so close to lee. lee’s such a difficult person to peel away the layers of, and so, seeing and being near someone who has already done that feels like standing next to a champion of some sorts.

maria, who’s been standing near lee and talking lowly to her the entire time, lee’s only response being some hums and nods, pokes her head out to you. “why don’t we all get food together?”

you hesitate, suddenly keenly aware of being the odd one out. “oh, well, only if it’s okay – I don’t want to interrupt or anything–”

“you won’t,” lee softly interjects, eyes locking with yours. the moment has your stomach tightening, and all you can do is nod, your cheeks warming from something other than the biting, feverish cold.

–

lee doesn’t know what she had been expecting for the day, but it definitely wasn’t this. the protest? yes, of course, she had adjusted her entire week’s worth of work to ensure she could attend today. seeing you? nothing had prepared her for that.

she nervously glances at her friends as they seat themselves at a table to save it when you and her head into the line. she doesn’t know how to feel about this unexpected crossover. her moments with you have felt private, in a way, something only involving the two of you. to merge one of those moments with her friends feels a bit surreal after nothing but conversations between you two being reserved to the privacy of your home, and bubbles of separation from your public surroundings.

still, something stirs in her at the sight of you interacting with her friends. it feels like something is off, like something has shifted, but, it’s not entirely unwelcome. it feels strangely nice to watch you interact with her friends, to see the people she cares about interacting. she blinks at the thought. she supposes she really does care for you.

it’s an experience foreign to her. as a child, she sometimes had people over, but as she grew older, and her mother’s grip on both lee, and every item that passed the threshold into their home, grew exponentially, she found herself unable to handle the humiliation of letting people into such a home. in her teenage and adult life, only two or three people had actually met her mother. her high school girlfriend, or well, whatever she was to lee, did come by once. she had insisted on meeting the mother of the girl she was involved with, and with burning ears and a nauseating sense of anxiety, lee had led her through the snow and into their lonely home. the experience had brought both comfort and pain. the conditions of her home had been a private, shameful secret between her and ruth for so long, and to open it to someone else made her feel like any justifications or comfort she could have provided for herself were now shattered. any illusions she could have convinced herself of were broken now that someone else bore witness to the sight she had been forced to become accustomed to. but, still, what she had received were soothing rubs on her palm, tender kisses at the desk while they were basked in the grey shine of winter, and an assuring hug. it had both eased and lengthened her shame in ways she did not even know how to untangle.

when she glances at you, she starts at the sight of you watching her. her head immediately snaps away. she wonders what you see when you look at her.

“I’m surprised you’re here.”

she stares at your dirty sneakers, curiosity burning through. “why?” was it the crowds? the movement itself?

“well, you seem to hate crowds.”

the corner of her lips twitch. the assumption is both correct and fair to have made, considering you had seen her struggle in the subway station. at the entrance of that memory, she can’t help but shift in her spot, insecurity gnawing at the back of her mind – do you think she’s weak? “I do. but, this matters. and I have ways to… manage.”

when she hesitantly raises her eyes to you, she gulps at seeing your small smile. she looks away, something twisting in her stomach at the sight. you seem to do that a lot – smile, that is. is it like that with everyone, or just her? she shakes away the thought. it doesn’t matter. but, still, her mind keeps straying to your hair, slightly disarrayed from the wind, and the way your eyes seem brighter from being outside.

“that’s really decent of you, lee.”

she says nothing at the praise. it’s not decent of her, it’s simply the right thing to do.

“so,” you drawl, the two of you stepping forward as the line shortens, “what kind of things do you guys do to manage?”

it’s too direct a question for her to evade it. so, with a tight breath, embarrassment crawling through her, she mutters, “we, um… stay to the edge of the crowd. it’s less crowded there. and whenever we – I – start feeling like it’s a lot, we take a momentary break by heading inside somewhere.” speaking the words out loud floods her with a sense of gratitude. not everyone was as patient as the two constants in her life. she knows how lucky she is.

you hum in response, the noise neutral enough to give her a bit of relief. “that’s sweet. they seem sweet.”

she quietly nods in agreement. sweet feels all too simple a word to really describe the care they treated her with. it’s the kind of patience and understanding she had learned to not expect years ago. and then, they came in, and insisted – no, demanded – that she tolerate nothing else but the utmost patience. she doesn’t actually put their lessons into fruition, of course, but their insistence always gave her an overwhelmingly appreciative feeling.

“why don’t you bring them to the apartment?”

her mouth tics at the sound of your voice so small. she realizes how it must’ve come off to you. maybe you thought she was embarrassed of your guys’ place, or of you. she sighs at the thought, staring at your shoes. eye contact is always, well, less than easy for her, but knowing you might be hurt makes it even harder. why was she messing up so much lately?

“it’s not like that,” she says, her voice quiet amidst the bustle of the tables and customers. “I’m just not used to having them at my place. I’ve never really done it.” it’s the truth. her past apartments, what with the blank walls, new roommates and seclusion to her room, never really felt like places to invite her friends to. she also often felt uncomfortable with asking her roommates if it was okay, and besides, she preferred going to someplace else where it could be just the three of them, and in a space bigger than her tiny bedroom. with time, she just got used to things being like that, and continued to never invite them over. even now.

and maybe she still isn’t used to the idea of inviting people over to her place of residence. maybe to her, the idea of home will forever be inexplicably linked to discomfort and solitude.

“why have you never done it?”

her thoughts slide back to you, and she carefully ponders how to place her words in the most respectful way. “well, I always just wanted privacy with them. and no place I ever lived in felt… I don’t know, comfortable enough.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t bother you guys.”

she immediately shakes her head, worry seizing her. she doesn’t want you thinking that. “no, I know you wouldn’t. I just mean, I’ve gotten used to it being this way due to past apartments, so that’s why I don’t bring them over now.” maybe at the beginning, she was unsure if you’d be bothersome. but, now, it’s really just something she avoids out of habit, and the additional awkwardness she feels at doing it after having already lived together for three months. there’s also something vulnerable about knowing you’ll see her with her friends. she can’t help but be cognizant of how different she must seem around them.

you shrug, your shoulders relaxing at her answer, which causes her to feel more steadied in relief. “then, get un-used to it. I wanna see what you’re like with friends.”

her mouth twitches, raising an eyebrow. “have you forgotten they’re about four metres away?”

“yes, but we are in a crowded place, meaning someone–” you jab a finger to her arm, which sends her stiffening, “– won’t be relaxed.”

she hums, unable to resist the small smile creeping onto her face. it’s a bit unnerving, honestly, to hear you easily express knowledge about her. but, it also makes things feel a bit easier, more familiar. “so, you think you know me?”

“not fully.” she nods, suddenly freezing at your next words. “but, I’d like to.”

her mouth feels dry. she swallows hard, breaths shaky at the declaration. she doesn’t know why someone would want to know her, and she was used to not wanting to be known. so, why did your words leave her feeling relieved? did she want you to know her? after a pause, she decides that she does.

she glances at you, blinking hard. “um, okay.”

–

you nearly bark out a laugh. she’s so awkward. how can you not be endeared by her? you try not to think too hard about her dry responses. it’s been clear since the get go that she struggles with, and isn’t keen on, social interactions. and one would think that the longer you know her for, the more frequently you witness proof of this insight, the less concerned and paranoid you’d be of what she thinks of you. but, still, you worry every now and then. there’s something there, you know so. you feel something for her. and you don’t want to get ahead of yourself and make assumptions of her feelings, but you desperately hope she at least generally likes you. but, your feelings seem to constantly stir up worries that she might not, especially since you so badly want more of her. more conversation, more moments, anything.

“is that okay?” you wryly ask..

she peaks at you. “yeah.”

your shoulders sag. please, anything.

“we can… both get to know each other more.”

if it’s scientifically possible for a singular sentence to make a person’s heart light as a feather, that’s what you’re experiencing. you whip to her with a cheek-aching smile. “really?”

she flinches at your sudden turn, then tightly nods. “really.”

her voice is firm with the promise of it, and you feel there’s no other option but to believe her. “I’m flattered.”

you could nearly facepalm the moment you say it. jesus, how desperate do you sound?

she scoffs lightly, lips upturning. “it’s not that surprising, is it?”

you give her a pointed look. “maybe it wouldn’t be if I could read your mind, but sadly, all this college education hasn’t given me telepathy skills.”

her tone is lightened with a teasing lilt. “I’m sure they never made such a claim in the fine print, so you have no one to blame but yourself.”

you can’t help but grin, even at her sarcastic comment. “is this your offer to do all my paperwork from now?”

she shakes her head. “no.” she glances at you. “practice makes perfect.”

you snort. “someone has jokes.” not that you minded at all. part of you is always childishly ecstatic when she reveals her comfort around you through a joke.

she stares ahead to the counter, and you can see her mouth twist in amusement. your stomach practically flutters at the sight. it looks so close to a smirk, and that notion only has your mind hurled with images of lee cocky and arrogant. god, what a sight that would be. how would she look leaning over you with her mouth twisted like that, looking down on you? the thought nearly has you shivering.

you look to her again. her eyes twinkle with what feels like mischief. it feels so foreign a sight on her, but you drink it in, gaze lapping her up. “yeah, I can usually supply them around a half-year into acquaintanceship.”

you bump her shoulder, noting the firm strength of it. “I’m getting them after three months only, so does that make me special?”

her laugh lines deepen as her smile widens. she gives you a side glance. “if that makes you feel good about yourself, sure.”

you roll your eyes, muttering, “asshole,” with no real malice laced. malice for lee? never.

when you guys wait at the high tables and stools for your order to be completed, lee nodding for you to take the stool, leaning her back on the edge of the table, you spot her wringing her hands around her abdomen.

“cold?”

she tears her eyes away from the oven. “hm?”

your eyes fix on her hands with raised brows. “cold?”

“oh.” she glances down sheepishly, shrugging. “a bit. it’s okay.”

you really don’t know what the fuck possesses you in that moment, but this sudden need to dote on her surges through you, wrapping and squeezing without relent. you want to do something, anything, to help her in that moment. so, you sigh, removing your mittens, which have kept your hands toasty warm, then tentatively ask, “can I…?” as your hands slowly extend to hers.

her eyes widen imperceptibly, flicking between your face and hands. her lips part, then close, and suddenly you’re washed with the humiliating feeling that maybe it was the wrong thing to ask. you know how she is about touch – shit, what if she feels disrespected?

your mind is whirling in a panicked tornado of these thoughts when her small voice bursts through. “okay.”

her body is stiff, eyes observing you carefully. it doesn’t feel all too okay. “are you sure?”

she nods, to your surprise. despite her tense stature, she seems certain of her decision, and bearing witness to that makes something eager tug at you, wondering at its meaning. “I’m sure.”

with her confirmation, you shakily grab for her hands, nearly hissing when your skin makes contact with hers. this is so different from that time at the station – that touch was some sort of survival instinct, and this was nothing but pure want. her skin is so cold, poor thing. without the push and pull of an agonizingly large crowd, you can truly feel her hands – the smooth crevices of the lines on her fingers, the way her veins protrude at the back, a deep blue, how bony and long she is.

you rub your palms over her hands, focusing on the task of bringing some warmth to her. you avoid her sharp gaze, which you can feel is examining you, distracting yourself with the twists and rubs of your hands.

when you pull back to blow hot, moist air into your cupped palms, you finally dare to take a peak at her. you nearly suck in a breath at the way she’s staring at you. her dark eyes are honed in on you in the same way she does her readings, almost as though she’s studying you to memory. her jaw is set, mouth in a pressed line. but, her eyes – god, her eyes. they’re latched onto you as though you’re some destination on a map, or a pocket of light at the end of a tunnel. or perhaps you’re just succumbing to wishful thinking.

you wordlessly reach for her hands and she quietly lifts them, patiently allowing you to continue your ministrations, your breaths still trembling. “you’re a good patient,” you joke, the words too breathy for your liking.

she hums thoughtfully, eyes still focused on you. “I heard complacency sometimes helps when involved with odd people.” her lip quirks up.

you bite back a laugh. “shut up. I know you’re enjoying this.”

she gives you a small nod, an earnest smile spreading. “it’s nice.”

the two words, albeit as simple as they are, cause a bloom of satisfaction deep in you.

“am I interrupting?”

you both jerk from each other at the third voice, and you swivel around to find maria standing there, arms crossed with a smirk curling her lips.

“we were just waiting for food,” you nearly squeak, whirling to lee, who’s watching the entire interaction with a blank expression. you sigh, turning back to maria. “we’ll be there in a sec.”

maria’s eyes drift to the counter, and the large pizza box sitting on it. she adjusts her glasses, leaning over to read the paper stuck to it. “you mean this order?”

you splutter, wincing. “I… I guess so.”

maria’s smile widens, and she picks the box up. “whenever you guys are ready.”

as she walks away, your head cocks to lee, who’s staring at maria’s departing figure with slow blinks, as though she’s processing what just happened. “um, you should probably get some gloves,” you mumble, trying to move past the awkward moment.

“I have. I just didn’t bring them here.”

you chortle. “okay, then get better survival instincts.”

she softly snickers, lifting herself from the edge of the table. “yeah, those might actually be handy for a future of law enforcement.”

“glad to be of service.”

sharing jokes with her – you can’t help but feel lucky. suddenly, you don’t feel as estranged from what her friends must experience with her when you two sit with them. that, however, changes when you witness their easy banter filled with a shared history you can’t compare to, but still, they never neglect to give you context and keep you in the loop. it’s sweet, and you can’t help but feel glad that lee has such friends at her side. you can tell she feels lucky too, from the way her eyes fondly linger on them when they recall a funny story.

when you feel her gaze shift to you, you can’t but hope it carries even half of that fondness.

–

“lee?”

lee stiffens at your voice. you can’t see her. not like this.

it all started when her forensics class pushed all their reading up by a week, meaning she’d have to do double her usual amount. already, that wasn’t good. lee latched onto her routine like a lifeline, especially when it came to academics. spontaneity never worked well with her. and so, she panicked. panicked over the significant shift this extra reading would cause, panicked over the limited time she’d now have to prepare for that friday’s exam. she needed to study for it, but she also needed to do the doubled readings, since her forensics exam was the next monday.

she felt scrambled for the rest of the week. she tried to force herself to stay up and get as much reading for her forensics class done as possible, but whenever it became apparent just how little progress she had made, that sent a flood of chest-tightening anxiety through her, which would shatter her focus for the time it chose to linger by.

the reading was put aside on thursday in favour of spending the entire day cramming for friday’s exam, even skipping class that day in order to do so. she barely ate anything, and drank copious amounts of coffee, the lack of sleep from the past few days catching up fast with her.

she did the exam, felt satisfied with it, then continued her relentless schedule of catching up on the readings for monday’s forensic exam. she had a long shift at the library on saturday, but still gave herself no break, immediately heading home and continuing to work, the process extended even more by her bouts of intense anxiety and drowsiness.

your eyes were on her everytime she came out for a refill of coffee, or to eat something small with her books by her side. you had asked several times if you could help, if she needed anything, and the soft look in your eyes made her feel like she was on the examination table. it was nice of you… really nice, she couldn’t deny it. but, she wanted to prove something to herself. and in all seriousness, she’s too accustomed to her specific regime of studying that she didn’t want to undergo the process of learning how you study and potentially dealing with the stress and socially-infused situations of realizing your methods aren’t compatible with hers. so, she politely declined. when you nodded in understanding, a slight frown on your face, she was gripped with the desire to forgo studying for a few minutes to make it disappear. but, she couldn’t. it felt like she couldn’t do anything for herself.

on sunday night, it felt like things were finally taking a somewhat positive turn. she only had one reading left, and it was the shortest one, so she would wake up early on monday, skim it, then go over her notes once more before the 9:00AM exam. she went to sleep with those assuring thoughts on her mind.

except, she forgot to set her alarm. and then, she slept in.

this led to her laying on her bed for ten minutes, the struggle to breathe squeezing at her chest, forcing herself to release the air in steady, consistent breaths. her eyes were blown out and her hands were wringing and pulling at each other, body feeling like it was suddenly afloat and not really attached to earth.

after she took a cold, cold shower, trying to make her body feel something other than sheer fear, she dressed and went straight to campus. she awkwardly stood at her professor’s desk, fingers thrumming against her black coat, quietly explaining what had happened and asking for another chance. she wondered if she should beg, plead, list her credentials – but, decided straight and to the point would do better in preventing a waste of either of their time. besides, she could never convincingly do some of those things in the first place, so why try? she felt sure in how she proceeded.

at least, until he said, “you don’t seem that desirous to retake it. and even if you were, I don’t give redos unless there was prior notice or a medical condition involved. if I allowed every student to miss an exam with the excuse of sleeping in, this classroom would be empty on exam day, miss harker.”

she came home. had another… attack, so it seems to be. then, sat on her floor, back braced against her bed, staring blankly at the wall, trying to intentionally even out her breaths.

it’s now been two hours, and her mind is whirling with thoughts. she knows it’s not objectively that big a deal. she took a lighter load for the spring semester, so if she fails her forensics class, she can just retake it then. but, still, disappointment and shame seep through her. she’s meant to do better than this. she’s meant to be a good student, one who people can take pride in. one who she herself can take pride in. her friends, even you, have always praised her for her focus, her responsibility. how will she face anyone? is this what she left her mom in oregon for?

and that – that is the thought that breaks her. tears slip down her face, and she silently lets them roll down. the image of ruth harker in her head, living in their tarnished home, just waiting for her daughter to return home every break, every long weekend. the mother she left to fend for herself, equally parts ashamed of her decision and happy to leave. and here she is, being neglectful of her alarms, sleeping in, missing an exam. she should’ve done better, should’ve made her decision to leave worth something. worth something that at least can carry the same weight of the shame and guilt that plagues her everyday when she thinks of her mother back home, all alone.

she starts when you knock at the door, your voice ringing on the other side. “lee? are you in there?”

she’s always home around this time, you both know that. the question is merely a formality.

“yeah,” she mutters, her voice raspy.

“can I come in?”

she tenses up, eyes scanning her bedroom. it’ll be the first time you’ve seen it if she says yes. it’s clean – no late nights can erase her aversion to a mess.

it’ll also be the first time you’ve seen her in such a state. she wipes the back of her hand along her face. part of her just wants to be left alone, so she can cope with these emotions as she always does. just silently letting them exist, and ride them out in the silence of her room and the chaos of her mind. but, another part of her, a part that’s growing more and more apparent, wants someone here to tell her it’s okay, that things will be alright. she wishes she could call her mom. she wishes she could tell her mom these things, and admit just how lonely she is here, how hard things are.

she’s suddenly struck by such an acute sense of loneliness that she begins to truly linger on letting you in. not solely because of feeling alone – but, also, because it’s you. you, who has seen her panic on the subway. you, who has treated every facet of her with understanding.

she hesitates, then tentatively says, “yes.”

when you enter, your eyes curiously peer around the room and she suddenly feels self-conscious. there’s not much in here at all – no art, no photos, not many trinkets. what do you think of that?

your inquisitive search doesn’t last for long before your gaze finds her, and your eyebrows immediately furrow. “oh my god, what happened?”

she freezes as you sit next to her. “I, um…” her nostrils flare as she inhales a short breath. “I forgot to set an alarm. I didn’t wake up in time for my exam. my professor won’t let me retake it, so I'll probably fail.” the last word comes out as a shaky breath, and she avoids you, humiliation drowning out any other emotion.

“what the fuck?” you hiss. “why?”

her voice lowers. “he said it’s not a valid excuse.”

“yes, it is!” you press, your voice reaching a higher octave. “you’ve been working yourself to death, and it was a genuine mistake, and–”

“I have no way to prove that,” she gently intervenes, finally locking eyes with you. she doesn’t know how she looks, but however she does manages to make you falter. she doesn’t want you to falter, though, not because of her. so, she adds, “but, yeah, I get feeling upset.”

“are you not?”

“I’m embarrassed,” she whispers, eyeing her brown socks. it feels so hard to admit such an honest feeling, and she cringes at it.

“don’t be,” you immediately respond, the words hard and earnest. “we all have slip-ups like this. uni is fucking hard, and you’d be shocked at how many classes I’ve skipped, how many times I’ve missed handing in an assignment and had to weasel my way through it. we all have moments like that – yours just happened to be on an exam day. you’re probably worn out, and the fact you slept in is a clearcut sign you’re overtired. and that’s because you have been working hard. too hard, if you ask me,” you add quietly. “it’s not embarrassing at all. you were just tired and an accident happened. that’s it.”

that’s it. you make it sound so simple. weakly, she murmurs, “but, I should’ve done better or at least more.”

“more than studying every single waking moment of the week?” you question gently, and that makes her mouth tighten, a burst of stubbornness making it hard to accept how right you are. “it was an accident, lee.”

“I should’ve been more responsible.”

“you are, like, one of the most responsible students I’ve met. this wasn’t a case of you being irresponsible. if you hadn’t been so overtired, you would’ve remembered it. meaning that this is just a case of you being overtired.”

she sighs, turning away. you’re right, of course you are, but it’s hard to accept such a weighty mistake without placing the responsibility on herself.

you snicker, poking her arm. “stop being stubborn.”

“I’m not.”

“uh huh.” you pause, and she feels your eyes on her. in the aftermath of her vulnerable confession, she feels like curling in on herself and hiding away. “what will happen, though? if you fail?” the last words are quiet.

she breathes in shakily. “I have enough room to shift it to my next semester.”

a whoosh of air exits you. “thank god. see?” you tilt your head down, forcing her adrift gaze to meet yours. she gulps down at the sight of your smile. “it’ll all work out.”

she nods, eyes fluttering shut, trying to absorb your words. it’ll all work out.

“can I hug you?”

her eyes snap open, surprise coursing through her. it’s a sudden request, but she supposes not totally unreasonable. people usually hug those they’re comforting. she waits for the familiar sense of discomfort to rouse her into a polite decline. but, it doesn’t come. she takes a moment to digest this. it doesn’t come, just as it doesn’t with her friends or her mom. should she give in, then?

partially curious, partially craving more comfort (though, she’ll never admit it), she says, “um, sure.”

you shift closer to her, so that your arms brush together, the fabric of your long sleeves doing nothing to lessen her awkwardness about it. your arms freeze midway, and she braces herself for it. finally, you wrap one arm around the back of her shoulders, and the other around the front of her neck, your grip loose and gentle. you pull her in, and she lets herself lean into your body heat, resting her head on her shoulder, tucked into the curve of your neck. the scent of your soap fills her noses, and she feels the cold of her cheeks lessen against your warm skin and the fabric of your sweater. her body is tense and hard in your embrace at first, but after a few moments of you rubbing her arm, she relaxes, body loosening and sagging into you, the exhaustion of the past few days hitting her with full force.

and so, you two sit like that for a long while, the pale, white light of the winter day filling her room and casting its glow on you both.

–

when you wake up, you immediately flinch at the sight of lee’s face right next to yours. after some bleary, confused pondering, you remember what happened just hours before. you insisting she lay in her bed, then asking tentatively if you can hang out in her room, her just as hesitantly accepting the offer. listening to your walkman as she fell asleep soundly, watching as she curled into the cutest fetus position. and, of course, inevitably, falling asleep yourself, sinking down into her beige blanket.

she’s still asleep, her hands resting by her face, knees lifted to her stomach. you smile at the sight. she sleeps like a little kid, so innocently. her fingers twitch and fidget, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. you hope her subconscious musings are far from exams, school and the anxiety.

her breaths are deep and steady, long lashes curved in the loveliest way. does she even realize how pretty she is?

your hand practically itches to raise and intertwine your fingers with her long ones. she felt so smooth and right in your hands the day you warmed them. you want more. but, no, you won’t take. not like this, when she’s still asleep.

you slide your most recent mixtape into your walkman, autumn leaves doodled all over the case. Linger by The Cranberries flows into your ears as your eyes take in lee’s room. she’s minimalist, to say the least. it’s not all that surprising, but you wonder why she has such a lack of personal objects. your eyes move to her desk, curiously taking in her copy of the bible. is she religious? from how she made it sound, it had seemed like she was only raised religious. but, perhaps you were wrong and had judged wrongly due to her being a lesbian. she very much could still be religious, you suppose.

you wonder if she’d find your own stances on faith off-putting if it turns out she really is religious. you no longer find yourself particularly attached to any belief system, and the question of whether god exists or not is one you sometimes contemplate on, but still have no real answer for. sometimes, when you find yourself silently praying to some invisible force in a time of need, you’re faced with the question of whether or not that god is someone, or something, you truly want to believe in, or just feel obligated to. like, this silent existence lurking over your shoulder, waiting for you to finally believe in them.

you find yourself so entrapped in the whirlwind of contemplation that you don’t even notice lee waking until she shifts near you, legs stretching out. her eyes are wide as she takes in your figure, which is probably shadowed now from the dim light of the sun setting so early. she seems surprised at the sight of you at first, before understanding seems to dawn on her face. her ponytail is mused, so much of her hair falling out as she rolls onto her back, her turtleneck rising up her stomach. you gaze into your lap, trying not to stare. god, how easy it would be to roll over her in her small mattress, watching her hair become more disarrayed.

you force yourself to speak. “rested well, sleepyhead?”

she releases some indiscernible, mumbled words, groaning.

you laugh. “come again?”

“mm. I slept well.” she rasps her fingers along her stomach, eyes pausing on your knee. “thank you. for before, and for staying.”

“anytime.” and you mean it. you know she’s not one to confide in someone easily, so part of you is immensely honoured she stored such trust in you today.

she sits up, resting her back on the headboard. “you drool in your sleep, you know?”

you immediately reel back, scoffing. “how would you know? you were passed out when I fell asleep.”

her lips quirk up. “I woke up at one point. you were making a puddle all over the pillow.”

you bristle at the comment. “you know, the ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed.”

she chuckles quietly, sagging back. “just… keeping you on your toes.”

“someone certainly seems to be in a better mood now.”

“I am. thank you.”

the words are quiet, said with genuine gratitude. you soften at them. god. you’re such a fool for her. “you’re welcome.”

you lift yourself from the bed, rising on your toes to stretch long and hard, pulling your arms back. you shut your eyes in satisfaction, and when you open them, you giggle at the sight of lee staring at her wall, pointedly turned away from you. “such a gentleman you are, harker.”

she rolls her eyes. “are you finished?”

“mhm, yeah.”

she turns back to you, and desire stirs in your abdomen again at the sight of her intense gaze, feeling as though it could burn right through you. you’d do anything to have the focus of that gaze sharpened by desire. if you pretend hard enough, you can maybe fool yourself into believing that’s what it is right now.

you force your focus to the window in her bedroom. it’s snowing, the darkening evening flowing with tiny flakes and sending your neighbourhood into a little fairy land. you watch it in wonder for a few moments before meeting her gaze. “do you want to go for a walk?”

the street lamps cast a golden glow on the street, the snowflakes more apparent under their light. the streets are coated in a blanket of milky-white snow, almost like a soft cushion you could fall into. you know you ought to be rehearsing for tomorrow’s presentation, not taking a stroll with lee, but you can’t help but give into this moment with her. besides, after the presentation, you’re a free bird and done with the semester – that knowledge gives you a sense of freedom in choosing how to spend your time now.

you two walk quietly like that for an hour or so, feet kicking up the snow. you stop once at a stall near campus for some warmed donuts and coffee. you joke with her that this is preparing her for her FBI-diet, and she laughs lightly.

“my house back at oregon looks like this. with the snow and everything.”

“it sounds beautiful.”

she nods, eyes roving along the white plane extending from the bench you two are seated on. “it is.”

“do you miss it?”

“sometimes.” she sighs quietly. “other times, I’m just glad to have left. but, around christmastime, it was nice. just covered in snow, only her and I.”

“your mom?”

she nods, lips pursing. “yeah, my mom.” she fiddles with the sleeve of her jacket. “and you? do you miss home?”

“sometimes,” you repeat after her. “I don’t know. sometimes I feel like being an adult is just such a burden, and I want nothing more than to go back home and continue being without responsibility. but, I know with that, comes less autonomy too, so it has its pros and cons.”

she hums thoughtfully. “it’ll get easier with time. right now, it still feels new, but I’m sure you’ll adjust.”

“thanks.”

she nods, letting the silence simmer before speaking again. “it’s easy to miss home when away, even if you know it’s hard there.”

you laugh, no real joy attached to the noise. “yeah, nostalgia just makes everything seem nicer.”

“but, like you said, familiarity too. when you’re always moving and meeting people, constantly dealing with something new, the home you grew up in can feel a lot more comforting. even if it… stifled you back then.”

“yeah,” you agree in a whisper.

she closes her eyes, letting the chilled breeze brush along her face. in the white light of the moon, her cheeks are kissed with the faintest pink, those hard lips softened in the calm of the night. it reminds you of that night at the party when the two of you got high, and you felt like all her worries had dissipated.

“I wish I had a camera, so I could photograph this moment,” you blurt out, your words breaking the silence and sending you slightly cringing.

she keeps her eyes closed. “when do you get paid next? maybe you can find a used one.”

you snort at her practical answer. “it was meant to be a tender sentiment.”

“oh, I see.” she smiles lightly before her face eases back into one of relaxation. “it was.”

you’re suddenly struck with an idea, one that makes your cheeks ache with amusement. you start quietly reaching down to the ground, picking up a ball of snow and patting it into shape.

“what are you doing?” she questions, eyes still shut.

in a flurry of adrenaline, you throw the snowball at her chest. she jerks back, eyes flying open and skimming along her chest in surprise before meeting yours. her face is blank, and you wouldn’t be able to detect even a wisp of the thoughts in her head had it not been for her slowly standing up, idly scooping up the snow gathered on the bench’s arm. “maybe you should start running.”

you don’t think twice, scurrying away through the snow-covered field, laughing in wild anticipation. you turn back, yelping at the sight of lee easily catching up to you. damn her for jogging all the time.

her aim is all too perfect, her snowball smacking right into your back in a whirl of flakes. you stumble at the impact, still squealing in delight.

and so, you two continue like that for a while, until you’re both drenched and tired, the walk home filled with attempts at a rematch from you, and lee trying to escape your efforts.

the next day, your friend in your feminism class is practically shaking your shoulders, encouraging you without a moment’s pause. your stomach is swarming with buzzing bees of anxiety, filling you to the brim with worried thoughts.

“you can do it,” she says, nails tight in your shoulder. “I’ll be watching the entire time, and I’ll clap so loudly at the end, and–”

“ow, ow, my shoulders,” you whine, writhing out of her grip.

“oh, sorry,” she sheepishly says, sliding her hands down to your forearms, clutching tightly. “just know, I’ll be right at the front the entire time.”

“yes, mom.” you drawl out teasingly, your heart flooding with gratitude and affection.

when your name is called by the professor, you smooth down the creases on your shirt, exchanging firm nods with your friend and heading up on the small platformed stage in your lecture hall. your eyes scan the crowd hopefully. you thought lee’s question from a few weeks ago was asked with the intent of attending your presentation. then, again, you had been the one to supply the information about your room number, so maybe her question regarding the building was pure curiosity or just a formality. a small part of you feels wounded at the harsh reality. why did you always get your hopes up so damn much?

shaking the thoughts, and its accompanying sadness, off, you introduce yourself, and say, “and today, I’ll be discussing the portrayal of women and femininity within horror films.” you force yourself to skim your eyes over the crowd, but whenever you make eye contact with someone, you internally wince. nerves are still fluttering in your gut, but you try your best to ignore them, especially after you undergo the mild humiliation of finding yourself distracted by your thoughts for too long a moment, your professor’s clearing of her throat urging you to look back down on your cue cards.

your eyes dart up when the backdoor creaks open, and your heart nearly zips up your throat at the sight of lee. she’s in a button-up and slacks as per usual, her long black trench coat wrapping around her. when some people look to the back due to the noise, you can see her jaw lock, probably feeling embarrassed at being the subject of attention. but, then, she locks eyes with you, and her lips press into a small smile, giving you a nod – whether it’s one of encouragement or acknowledgement, you don’t know. but, she’s here. that’s all that matters. she sits in the back row, arms crossed over the desk, leaning in, eyes focused on you.

you breathe in deeply, feeling as though it’s almost possible to vividly experience the expansion of your lungs in that moment, then continue speaking. “now, we’ll start off by exploring different archetypes…”

as you speak, you intentionally will your eyes to continue skipping along your peers’ faces. whenever you falter in your words, or feel suddenly struck with a feeling of awkwardness, your eyes latch onto your friend, and, of course, lee. lee who watches you carefully the entire presentation, slowly nodding to your points.

when you move to the good representation of women in horror, you add, “an example of a complex female lead in horror is clarice starling from The Silence of the Lambs,” purposely making eye contact with lee, whose lips curl into a soft grin.

when you’re done, and have been sufficiently congratulated and praised by your friend, which triggers a tight hug between you two, you shuffle up the steps to lee, who’s standing up as you approach, her smile wide. “hi. you came.”

she shrugs. “I wanted to see.” she looks up, cocking her head, a stream of hair brushing past her cheek. you want to move it away so bad. “besides, you knew I was coming.”

“no,” you corrected. “I hoped you’d come. but, you had me wondering there for a second.” you feel suddenly bashful at the confession, at letting her know you had truly harboured a desire for her to come.

she seems to feel the same way, hands fidgeting with her sleeve. “sorry. the subway ran late, and I, uh – I brought you this.”

she hands you a chocolate bar, and you could nearly jump her bones right there. you nearly sigh at your own thought – god, you’re deranged. you turn the bar in your hands, rubbing the plastic. “hershey’s cookies and cream?”

she gestures awkwardly at it, movements stilted and stiff. “maria said it was good. it’s a new flavour.”

“we can share it, then.”

her mouth twitches. “okay.”

you drag your friend to the back row, and the three of you sit together for the rest of the presentations. friendly as ever, your friend jokes with lee about any horrible living habits you have, and you know she must be doing a pretty good job, because lee actually jokes back, which incites many well-deserved arm smacks from you.

afterwards, you and lee take the subway, then walk the rest of the way together. the sun is out, shining a warm, golden line on the glittering frost of the snow. you walk together in peaceful quiet, breaking the chocolate bar into two pieces for you to share.

the only interruption is your sudden halt, lee’s shoulder smacking against yours as she stops too late. her eyebrows draw in. “what’s wrong?”

you point at the window display to a stationery store, a mini christmas tree aglow and glittering through the glass. “we should get a tree.”

the lines on her forehead deepen. “why? we both won’t be in the apartment for christmas.”

you pout, the reminder a sad one to you. “I know, but it’ll look festive, plus we can keep it after break.”

“after christmas? what’s the point?”

“it’ll look festive, lee!”

she seems genuinely perplexed. “but, the tree isn’t there just to look festive.”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “is this a catholic thing?”

she snickers softly. “no, it’s just a factual thing.”

“that’s so boring, lee.”

she huffs a sigh, glancing at the tree. “but, won’t it be a waste?”

you continue pouting, emphasizing the act with a kick to the snow. “please?”

she sighs again, staring at you warily.

–

lee doesn’t know how she got herself into this, but all she knows is that she did, and now, you’re being infinitely indecisive about which tree to choose. you’re currently standing between two miniature ones, eyes roving between each thoughtfully. she had agreed to this outing under the assumption it’d only drag her out of the apartment for an hour or so. she checks her watch – between your visit to a cafe and the languid patience at which you’re choosing a tree, it’s been two.

she leans against the wall. “can you pick one soon? I want to go home.”

“please, grandpa, I need silence to think.”

amusement bubbles in her. “I’ve been silent for the past half hour, so I don’t know if I believe that.”

“I have been thinking!” you exclaim. “and you aren’t helping me make the choice, so…”

she sighs, sliding from the wall and picking up the lighter of the two trees, which is a lot more gangly with large gaps in between the branches, walking to the cash register.

“wait,” she hears you softly call out. she turns to find you staring longingly at the rich green, full, thick miniature tree. she supposes it fits more of the traditional standard, but the choice doesn’t matter much to her. “you don’t like this one?”

she walks back silently, swapping the trees and carrying the other one to the counter. as exasperated as she might feel, she finds herself unable to ignore any signs of dejection from you, whether it be a pout or whiny tone. jesus, she even pays for half of the tree, despite your many protestations. but, she ignores you and quietly insists to the cashier to split it in half. she knows you’re just as broke as she is, and she isn’t about to let you pay for it all on your own. and as contradictory as it might seem to her lack of enthusiasm for purchasing a tree, it’s still something you’ll both… enjoy – or whatever it is you planned to do with the tree post-christmas. it doesn’t feel right for you to shoulder the cost on your own.

another hour later of choosing lights (lee chooses golden, while you choose multi-coloured) and ornaments (she chooses one pack of classic, plain ones that are green, red and golden; you go for more more sparkling, ornamental ones for some “contrast,” as you say), you are back at the apartment, decorating it together. lee tried to initially assemble it, but you pushed her to the couch, telling her to relax and let you do it. she isn’t sure how exactly you expect her to relax, with all your stumbling and struggling in putting the parts together. after watching you curiously for a half hour, she finally gets up, silently shuffling in your way and getting on her knees to put it together. you shove lightly at her, begging her to move, but she ignores you, getting to work. she’s good at this kind of stuff – taking pieces of something and assembling it together, putting her mind to work in figuring out something that has a process and structure. in ten minutes, she’s got it done, looking up at you with a small smile, satisfaction and pride trilling through her.

you release a petulant huff, crossing your arms. “you had it easier because you noticed all my mistakes.”

“mhm,” she hums mindlessly, eyes scanning the tree, rearranging the branches.

“look who’s being so picky now, miss what’s-the-point-of-a-tree.”

“if we’re going to be keeping it past christmas, we might as well make it sufficiently nice.”

“‘sufficiently nice,’” you repeat mockingly with a laugh. you, then, bump her shoulder with your hand. “you did damn good, I gotta admit.”

pride swells in her chest at your praise. “thank you.”

you two wrap the lights around it together and she feels like a child having a playdate, the two of you stepping over each other whenever you cross paths when circling around the tree. she can’t remember the last time she put up and decorated a tree with someone like this. maybe it was with her mother back in high school. there wasn’t all that much space in their home, but still, every christmas, lee dragged out the tree from her mom’s closet. her mom would usually watch her blankly for the first few minutes, before eventually joining her, her slow movements stilting the process by an hour. they didn’t talk much when doing it, but occasionally, her mom would reminisce on an ornament she had received from lee’s father, or lee would laugh at her mom dropping something, and for a split second, as short and fleeting as a star winking into oblivion, it’d feel like her and her mother again. her mother who held her as a child and used to dry orange slices with her so they could hang them on the windows together. in those moments, things felt normal again. through those last years of high school, when her mother started fading away more and more, lee wasn’t all that sure why she insisted on bringing out the christmas tree so much. now, on reflection, she’s sure it’s because of what you two had spoken of. she missed the familiarity of her mom. maybe that’s why she hasn’t even resisted going back to oregon for winter break all these years. she wants to spend christmas with her mom, and maybe, just maybe, get to feel like a daughter with her mother again. to have some of the tension, and pauses, and shame, go away, even if just for a day.

“when do you leave?” you ask her, carefully hooking on an ornament.

she stares at you through the branches, your ministrations and the branches both providing her with some subtlety. the soft light of the lights shadow over your face, softening all the edges. she forgets what she’s meant to be doing for a moment, sinking into the sight. when your eyes flick up to hers, she immediately looks down, clearing her throat. “um, what did you ask?”

she feels her face heat up at your soft laugh. “I asked when you’re leaving for home?”

she falters. “two days from now.” she’s known this piece of information for weeks – she planned the trip all the way back in november. but, now that it’s approaching, some sort of discomfort lingers in her. the idea that she’ll be away from the apartment, from you, makes her feel more off than she had expected.

“and you come back on?”

“the fifteenth.” she blinks hard at the tree. it seems like so long, all of a sudden.

“so, you won’t be here for your birthday?”

her head snaps up. she had never told you of her birthday, nor mentioned that she was staying the entire break because her mom wanted her in oregon for it. she doesn’t want any sort of big deal made for her birthday. “how did you–?”

“amaya told me,” you cut in with what she can only describe as a playfully evil chuckle. “you thought you could hide it from me?”

her lips press together. “she shouldn’t have told you. I’m not set on celebrating it much.”

“fine, fine. so humble,” you drawl out with a smile.

she sighs. “it’s not that. I just don’t like… the attention. or people going out of their way.”

“you do realize that if people go out of their way, it’s not because you’re holding them at gunpoint, right?”

confusion seeps into her mind. “what do you mean? I don’t own a gun.”

you giggle, shaking your head. “no, no, I mean, if people do something nice for you, it’s not because you’re forcing them. it’s because they want to.”

“still. I don’t know, it just feels like a lot.” lee has friends, but she still experiences bouts of discomfort at being doted on, especially for something that takes as much effort as a birthday celebration. the gifts, the cake, the balloons. she doesn’t know exactly why it makes her so uncomfortable. maybe it’s a multitude of things. the fact that for most of her life, her birthday was a private celebration with just her and her mom, disconnected from everyone else. or maybe it’s because she’s just generally not used to people other than her mom treating her with such tenderness. or maybe in these recent years, she just got so used to being the one depended on at home, the one to provide the basic care, that it seems wrong vice versa. maybe part of her is still the wounded child who feels connection, and the gifts that come with it, just aren’t in the cards for her. no matter how many people try to prove it otherwise.

“okay, well, will you accept at least one birthday gesture from me? since you won’t be here.”

your eyes have that pleading look, and her resolve slowly wanes. “fine. what gesture?”

you clap your hands, racing to your bedroom. she lowers her hands from the tree, twiddling them together, nerves suddenly spiked in anticipation. she also hates surprises. so, maybe that’s another reason.

you return with a box neatly wrapped in red wrapping paper with shimmering gold stripes, an elaborate bow placed on top. lee nearly stutters at the sight, suddenly overcome with mixed emotions of surprise, awe and discomfort. she gulps, waiting for you to proceed.

“happy early birthday,” you say, head ducked down, thrusting the gift at her abruptly. she easily catches it, ignoring the tingling feeling her fingers get when they brush yours. “don’t open it till the fourteenth, though.”

“I… okay.” she cradles it gently, staring down at it. her fingers skimm over the wrapping, the creases on the paper indicating your repetitive attempts at folding. you did this just for her? she feels all the more uncomfortable under your gaze now, acutely aware of the fact that her face probably isn’t best translating the gratitude pulsing through her. she looks up, intentionally willing herself to stare at you. “thank you.”

she’s relieved when you seem more than satisfied with that, a wide smile cracking through your face. as she puts the gift down, she wonders if she ought to give you your gift now. it’s laying in her drawers at this moment, but she still hasn’t prepared its presentation, which will undoubtedly pale in comparison to yours, but still. she knows you’d enjoy the anticipation of her gift being hidden in wrapping.

she places the present on the table your guys’ tree sits upon, feeling desperate to change the topic to ward off the awkwardness of saying nothing more about your gesture. “when will you leave?”

“the day after you.”

she nods, suddenly feeling a sense of something akin to guilt at leaving your guys’ apartment alone without either of you here. but, obviously, she knows it’s impractical to stay back just because it feels wrong. and it’s just as impractical to ask you to stay back with her. she knows that.

but, still, it feels unsettling to think of leaving, especially as you two finally finish the tree and admire it, then go to the movie store for the tape of Home Alone, then watch it together on the couch. she won’t admit it to you, but you were right. the tree really is nice – a sentiment she can’t help but muse on as it glitters in its corner of your guys’ apartment.

–

the day lee leaves, she plans to take the 5:00AM train, insisting you don’t have to wake at 4:00AM to see her off. but, you do so anyways, groggy and bleary-eyed, watching her as she slings her duffel bag over her shoulder.

“oh, you don’t need your walkman?” you ask, pointing to its spot on the coffee table.

her eyes dart to it, widening a bit. “oh, right.”

you retrieve it and the two tapes next to it. one is kate bush, and your eyebrows furrow at the sight of the Radiohead one. you turn to her, waving it. “you listen to them?”

“no.” her lips fold, eyes hooked onto the tapes. “I bought it after we heard that song at the party.”

surprise surges through you, and a desperation to know more clings onto your next words. “why?”

“you liked them, so I thought they might be good.”

you try not to grin too hard. liking lee is so easy. it’s a thought that suddenly strikes you in that moment. she’s not someone whose fatal flaws you need to ignore or minimize to feel at ease with her. she’s not someone who only gives you droplets of kindness to drink up like a starved man at a lake. she’s not mean, or cruel, or even annoying. she’s just lee. hard at the edge, infinitely soft inside, undoubtedly awkward, and oh-so considerate and sweet.

you hand her back the tapes, still in awe, chest churning with affection. “that’s really… thank you, lee.”

she gives you a single tilt of her head, wrapping the headphones around her neck and tucking the walkman into her pocket. her hand lingers on the doorknob, eyes frozen on your shoulder. “I should, um, get going.”

don’t leave, you suddenly ache to say. listen to the tape with me and tell me what you think of every song.

but, you can’t. it’s too selfish and stupid a request, especially since you, too, are leaving tomorrow. so, you swallow down the words and say, “I hope you get there safely. also, you can call this time, you know? you never did last time.”

“um, yeah. okay, I will.” her gaze shifts to yours, eyebrows drawn in in a steady, hard promise. “I will.”

“good. so, I guess I’ll see you soon? after the break.”

after three weeks. the unspoken words linger between the two of you. you ignore their presence in the air, trying to be encouraging. she repeats, “after the break.”

she gives you one last long look, her eyes roving along your face, and it feels as intimate as a kiss or hug. then, she nods once more, turning and leaving your guys’ apartment.

in your sleep-deprived state, the emptiness you feel in the space as soon as she departs makes you nearly want to cry. you pad back to your room, the silence deafening, wishing over and over again that she forgets something and you can hear the familiar turn of her key.

but, it’s lee, and you know that even if she did forget something, she’d ensure she makes that train for her mom.

you turn on Pablo Honey, curling into your bed and hoping she, too, is listening to the tape. at least then, it can feel like the two of you are listening to it together.

when you wake up again after sleeping in all too late, weeks of packed schedules and due dates compounded into what feels like an everlasting slumber, you lay on your back for a while. lee was just a stranger four months ago. now, she’s someone whose absence makes you ache and the apartment feel abandoned.

you go through your normal motions of the day, making coffee and breakfast, then sitting down to finish the second half of Home Alone 2 that you didn’t get to complete with her the day before. it feels different, and weird, to not have her there, rolling her eyes at your commentary. you sag into the couch, sulking, longingly staring at your guys’ christmas tree.

but, something seems off. your eyes flick down and you leap out of your seat at the sight of a box neatly wrapped in plain brown paper. on top of it, your name is scrawled in lee’s handwriting, a little note on top. you gingerly pick it up, holding it like some ancient artefact.

I know you’ll probably be too excited to wait for Christmas before opening this, so you have the ex-Catholic’s permission to do so whenever you want. I’m not really good with this kind of stuff, but thank you for being my friend. I hope your break and trip home go well.

you laugh at the note, nearly kissing it out of the sheer joy bursting through your body and sending you so much energy that your prior sadness feels like a lifetime away. you set the note down, immediately setting to carefully unwrapping the gift. you’d rather do it alone in the privacy of the apartment, away from any prying eyes at your childhood home, anyways.

when you behold the gift in your hands, your eyes gush with tears, dry lips aching with how hard you grin.

it’s a film camera.

–

whenever lee visits, her mom embraces her as though it’s been years. lee feels both accustomed to and like a craving in her is sated by her mom’s affection. her mom pets her hair like she’s a child again, and she asks after lee’s classes, even lee’s roommate. lee gives her a rundown of the former, but chooses to vaguely allude to the latter. she’s scared of what her mother will see on her face if she speaks of you. most of all, she’s terrified of what she herself will feel if she talks about you. will she feel shame under the gaze of her mother? fear? she doesn’t want to feel those things when talking about you.

on christmas day, her mom has them sit together in the living room, the television softly playing in the background, and read some prayers together. lee knows them all – they’re practically engraved into her memory from all the years spent hearing them in church and having private sessions just like this with her mother. when her mom reads them, lee is torn between spacing out and getting lost in her own thoughts to ignore the numbing words, or soaking up this moment. her mother’s voice, the worn out bible, the childhood floor she used to sit and lie upon when falling asleep with her head in her mother’s lap.

“will you visit church today?” her mom asks.

lee hesitates. “alone?”

her mom slowly blinks at her. “we can go together.”

even if she had been asked to go alone, lee would’ve still done so. one might say that she could simply lie, but there’s something about being in such close proximity to her mother that makes it harder to lie. at the apartment, she can easily tell her mom that she’s still praying. but, when confined to these walls, with her mother’s wide, trusting eyes on her, lee finds that it’s impossible to fib.

and so, they go to church, lee pretends to pray with her mom, and then she sits with her, watching the television, letting her mom pat down her back. when her head is guided into her lap, she has to suck in the tears.

two weeks later, it’s near to mid-january, and lee can’t wait to leave her house. she’s started to take extra long walks through her old neighbourhood, and spend long hours in the library, just so she can escape the walls of her mother’s home, feeling like they’re closing in on her with the stacks upon stacks of items. her mom at least has the consideration to never store anything in lee’s bedroom, so she finds herself there a lot of the time, reading and listening to music. she can’t evade the guilt that doing these things causes her. she’s finally here for more than a few days in what’s been over a quarter of a year – and already, after two weeks, she can barely stomach staying inside for too long. how did she ever live here?

the guilt is made even stronger by how much her mom clings onto her. lee knows that she is missed when she is away at school. it had always been just the two of them in their pale, white home since she was born. no family, no friends. her mother had grown to distrust the world a long time ago after she had gotten brutally cut off, so as a child, lee had always been used to their isolated life. but, after enduring a lot, perhaps too much, during lee’s childhood, her mom had started to pull back from what was once normalcy. she stopped throwing anything away, and got upset if lee tried to. she started to have this haze veiling around her, and so often, got lost in her own thoughts – but, in a way that made lee feel like she was lost and couldn’t escape. she latched onto lee tighter and tighter, for now it was not just solitary and a rejection of the world driving her to grasp desperately at her daughter, but paranoia too. fear of being alone, stranded, and fear of lee being out there, with people.

sometimes, lee wonders if the hoarding is her mother’s way of trying to go back to a time before whatever happened to make her this way. maybe it’s her way of trying to go back to when lee was still a kid, and she didn’t have to watch her leave all the time.

when it’s the twelfth of january, she gets a phone call when cooking mac and cheese in their kitchen, trying hard to not focus on the mess surrounding her and just how crowded in and disarrayed she feels from it. it’s such a contrast from her bedroom in the apartment that she always, relentlessly keeps empty and pristine.

she picks up the phone. “hello?”

“hi.”

it’s your voice. the tension in lee’s shoulders loosen – but, just a bit. “hey. all okay?” it’s not all that bizarre that you called. she’s spoken to you a handful of times over the break, the first call initiated by her to tell you she arrived safely. the rest were interchangeably done, her initiating the one on christmas, and you wishing her happy new year’s.

“um, not really.”

she stiffens. “why? what’s wrong?”

your voice is small, timid. “well, I came to the apartment today, just to prepare some stuff for next monday’s classes. and I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve never come back to our place empty after time away. but, I feel kind of scared.”

her eyebrows furrow, worry burning through her. “why, did you hear anything? did something happen?”

“no, no. I mean, I checked every room. but, I don’t know, I still feel anxious.”

her eyes flick to the cat-shaped clock in their kitchen. her mom’s car is just outside. “should I come back?”

“lee!” you gasp out with a laugh. “it’d be hours of driving for you.”

“yeah, but you’re scared,” she says flatly. suddenly, that’s all that matters. that, and the fact that she can get to you. even if she drives back for her birthday, she’ll manage.

“no, no, please, don’t leave your mom. I promise, it’s okay. I just – I just wanted someone on the phone.”

lee softens at your insistence. you could be nice – so nice – sometimes. she sets the keys she had retrieved back on the kitchen counter. part of her itches to ask, someone or me?, but she resists. it shouldn’t even matter to her. yet, still, the curiosity gnaws at her. “what made you call me?”

“I don’t know. I just thought of you.”

she wants to ask more, but decides against it. it’s too much, too open. “okay. well, what do you want to do?”

you yawn loudly, and she smiles at the noise. “I’m kind of tired. but, that’s what made me scared. the apartment is so dark and it feels so isolated right now.”

she racks through her brain for a few seconds, trying to find a solution. “I have some lamps in my room. they’re dim enough to sleep with. unplug whichever you want and take it to your room.”

“really?”

“mhm.”

after a few minutes of rustling and soft clattering, she can hear the shuffle of fabric and can picture you curling into bed. she wonders how you look tucked into the blankets on this winter night. “are you in bed?”

“yeah.”

she hesitates, another idea sliding into her mind. it’s more intimate than her last, so she pauses, taking a moment to carefully choose her words. “we can… stay on the call for a bit. I’m talking on a wired phone, so I’d have to hang up later. but, I can stay till then.”

your voice crackles on the other end, but still, she can hear the softness. “really?”

“mm,” she hums.

“okay, yeah, that’d be nice. what time will you sleep?”

“not for another few hours.” it was only 10:00PM – she knows she still has a few hours left in her to spare. “I’ll be right here.”

“thank you, lee.”

she nods, even if you can’t see her. “yeah.” she feels a bit embarrassed at how grateful you sound. it really isn’t that big a deal.

when your breathing evens out, and melts into soft snores, she sets the receiver down on the counter, continuing to cook. when she’s done, she drags a creaking, wooden chair to the counter, seating herself there, and remains in place, just as promised.

when the clock hits 1:00AM, and her body begins to sink into a tired, bodiless feeling, she tightens her hold on the receiver. she doesn’t want to hang up. but, why? you two aren’t even speaking on the call.

she stares at the phone, perplexed. why? why did she want to remain on the call? why did it feel so wrong to hang up? the pondering only leads to more questions. why did she not want to mention you to her mom? why did bringing you up feel more weighted than it was with any of her other friends? she knows with them, there’s no romance involved, so logically, she doesn’t need to worry about bringing them up. which means, if she was hesitating to bring you up, that’d naturally indicate…

she gulps down, staring at the phone, her breaths getting shaky.

shit.

----

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#lee harker x reader #lee harker #lee harker fanfiction #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #maika monroe #s.writing #does it happen in a season?

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