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storiesoflilies · 23 hours ago

Text

hiraeth

synopsis: the story of two broken souls trying to heal themselves by finding solace in each other and the mysteries of the universe, until shadows from the past threaten everything. the follow up to metanoia. w.c: 18.5k.

pairings: toji fushiguro x f!reader / satoru gojo x f!reader.

warnings: ANGST! sfw, descriptions of grief, mentions of death, the healing journey, a touch of satosugu vibes. there are fluff and wholesome moments, i promise.

a/n: it’s finally here! just in time for me n my most beloved blorbo’s birthday :3 i hope you all enjoy this story, and that the ending is everything you’ve been hoping for. it’s been so fun returning to this au! @gothsuguru this one’s for you bestie <3

art / art / divider / playlist / ao3

there was a certain comfort to be found in absolute silence.

it was warm, precious, and free from any judgement in a way that nothing else in the world could be. at that time, to be consumed in its invisible, molten core of gold felt wonderful. her mind was free from all the music and the dancing numbers and the scratching of the angels’ quills on their scrolls.

and it was silent when toji fushiguro left her.

so maybe, it was in silence that he would come back to her.

that’s what she wanted to believe.

but it was all nothing but a foolish, hopeless dream of a lover.

she could not recall most of that summer, no matter how hard she tried. it was lost in a haze of salty tears and the smoke of dreamless sleep. but she remembered the dull ache in her bones, the heaviness pressing down on her chest, crushing her cracking, splintering spine into the bed.

she had no fight in her to resist any of it – not anymore.

there wasn’t much she could do but lie there, like ice melting against the salt of her dried tears, seeping into every stitch and loose thread in the sheets.

there wasn’t much of the world left anymore, either.

there was only a white ceiling and the yellowing, dirty bed linens. the steady drip! drip! drip! of the kitchen sink, and the dull smell of a very tired, stale room that she couldn’t even recall ever holding any happiness within its walls.

everything that had once made her who she had already dissipated long ago into the atmosphere, leaving nothing behind but the white noise that filled her ears with the silent screams of angels.

let them.

let them scream, let them cry.

she hated them all.

she hated the green tea she used to drink, and the stupid, big ceramic mugs she had poured it into, and all the numbers and letters that led her here, and vanilla ice cream dripping down, down, down onto the pavement, and shaving razors and–

a violent sob caught in her throat, nearly choking her on her own admission.

that she hated toji fushiguro too.

she didn’t even have to try and solve for any sort of equation to arrive to that answer.

somebody, please help me.

and that was all she remembered of that summer, before her phone lit up with a call.

| Φ |

“i can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

| Φ |

the cafe hadn’t changed much at all over the summer.

there was some new artwork done by students at the university hanging on the walls. they were all different sizes and colors, with no particular theme connecting any of them to each other. there was also a new bell hanging above the the entrance door. it was a much louder bell, not at all delicate or mellow like the last one.

she much preferred it that way.

there were too many memories in the old one’s tune.

she was currently staring holes into a piece of art hanging on the wall behind the cash register. it was hard to decipher if there was supposed to be any hidden meaning beneath the seemingly random swirls of red and bold blue brushstrokes of what looked like oil paint to her. no, maybe it was acrylic?

she clicked her tongue, already giving up on trying to guess.

a customer entered the shop, and she was sharply reminded of what her manager had said to her not even an hour ago.

“don’t forget to smile sometimes, yeah?”

they had said it sympathetically – sheepishly, even – because it came from a place of shameful embarrassment of having to even say it in the first place. of course, she knew they meant well, but it was the not so hidden implication of it all that echoed through her head like the memory of the old bell above the door.

she wasn’t who she used to be anymore, and she certainly wasn’t doing very well at all.

and everyone had seemed to notice.

she swallowed down the stone stuck in her throat and quickly went about making the customer’s order, forcing a smile on her face in the hopes it would just make him go away faster. it wasn’t fair to the customer, she knew that, but she couldn’t help how she felt.

any sort of human interaction was just so unbelievably tiresome for her now.

towards the end of the summer, she made the split-second decision to pursue a master’s degree in physics. she didn’t know what else to do, but two things were certain: she couldn’t go back home, and she couldn’t bring herself to find a proper job. her mind was far too numb for either of those things, lost in a fog that weighed down heavy on her entire being. she had no energy to network or put up false pleasantries to build any sort of meaningful connections both in and out of the workplace.

so, when she got the call back from her manager that she could stay on at the cafe, everything seemed to conveniently fall into place. no one could argue with what she was doing. she was furthering her education and saving more money by taking the course part-time.

and that was exactly what she wanted – to be bothered as little as possible.

deep breath in…

as she handed the customer his order in a pale-green styrofoam cup.

and out.

that was how she got through every interaction, day after day.

because if she could survive for long enough, then maybe – just maybe – she could begin to claw her way out of the crumbling black hole of obsidian she was buried under.

she hoped.

the doorbell rang out loudly.

she looked up sharply, and put on the best smile that she could muster, so much that her cheeks almost hurt.

it was the owner of the shop.

what– why are they here?

and then, a star walked in.

she sucked in a breath.

no, it was just a boy. a boy who looked like a star that had just fallen down from the heavens. all blues and pearly, fluffy hair and teeth shining in the brightest, most perfect smile she had ever seen in her whole life. he must have been born from a blue nebula, she thought, because he was so wonderfully rare, unlike anything or anybody else at all.

she could have sworn she heard the sound of a quill tapping against the side of an ink pot.

| Φ |

“you don’t have share anything you don’t want to. just say whatever feels right for you.”

| Φ |

the boy’s name was satoru gojo, and he was the owner’s nephew.

“he’s just transferred from a university in tokyo,” they’d said, with a proud, hushed reverence in their voice when they whispered the last word.

she could only nod along silently, pretending to be impressed, while all she was really thinking was why on earth he would transfer from a probably prestigious university to come here of all places.

it didn’t really matter; satoru was here now.

and he was her new colleague.

the extra interactions she had to handle on a daily basis were absolutely bone wearying. teaching him how to use the coffee machine, where all the ingredients and cleaning supplies were kept, and how to lock up the cafe for the night. it was all just too much; she hadn’t signed up for any of this. the next two years were supposed to be as easy as they possibly could be.

but more than anything, it was satoru and his irritatingly perky attitude that got on her nerves the most.

it wasn’t fair to him at all, and she knew it, but she couldn’t help the nagging, grating annoyance he made her feel. his chirpy voice was like nails on a chalkboard, scraping away at her already thin patience. and then there was him, with his stupidly good looks that made every customer that came in through the door do a double take.

more than that, it was the way satoru had the gall to pretend he didn’t enjoy it – when he obviously did.

no, that wasn’t the worst thing of all.

it was the way that satoru persistently attempted to get to know her. it confused her to no end, haphazardly cutting through the endless haze of brain fog, because she couldn’t understand for the life of her why someone like him would ever want to know someone like her.

“so,” he began one day, the autumn sunset filtering through the window. “you study physics too?”

too?

her manager must have been running their mouth, again.

she cleared her throat, putting down the damp cloth she’d been using to clean the cash register. “yeah, uh– you too, huh?”

satoru smiled that signature lopsided smile of his. “second year.”

when she only nodded silently, picking up her cloth again to silently signal she wasn’t interested in continuing conversation, he pressed on anyways. “yeah, i heard you’re doing your master’s now too. you must be really enjoying it.”

the last part was more of a question than a statement to her.

“sure,” she replied flatly, perhaps even snappily, and satoru’s smile faltered slightly.

a strange pang of guilt struck her that only got worse as the silence between them stretched on uncomfortably. she squirmed in her seat, aggressively rubbing her cloth between every nook and cranny of the register, while satoru busied himself cleaning the coffee machine, uncharacteristically quiet.

finally, she couldn’t stand the awkwardness anymore, and put down her cloth with a sigh as she swiveled in her seat to face him.

“so, are you enjoying it?” she asked quietly, her gaze dropping to the dried skin around her cuticles.

“sorry, what?”

“are you enjoying your course?”

“oh, yeah i am, actually,” he replied, a twinkle in his cerulean eyes as he laughed heartily. she suddenly felt quite warm. “i’m quite the genius.”

“oh, really?”

from then on, he wouldn’t – or, rather he couldn’t – shut up about it. it was like the floodgates had opened, and he went on about anything and everything that sprang to his mind. how he was planning on solving all the unknown theories of the universe, like he was planning on plucking the answers straight from the stars. the more she listened to him, watching the way his lips moved animatedly, the more she believed that if anybody could do it, it was him.

strangely enough, she found that she actually liked listening to satoru gojo talk.

but what struck her the most was how he was like her – and more. she knew that if he wanted to become one of the greats, he would.

if he wasn’t already, that is.

for the first time in what felt like years, she felt her lips curve into a genuine smile.

| Φ |

“it’s okay to cry. you’re really brave for coming here, and i know it’s not easy taking this first step.”

| Φ |

they started studying together at the cafe during the quiet afternoons that stretched into the evenings.

there was the air of familiarity to it all, the same aura of memories she had of doing the same thing not so long ago with a vastly different boy. it brought an unbearably searing heat of anxiety straight to her stomach. she tried her best to shove those feelings deep down into a pit of pebbles, zoning out often and long enough that satoru would frantically wave his palm in front of her eyes.

“you’re doing it again,” he said, his head tilted, a heavy hardback textbook split open in his lap.

she blinked once, shook her head a little, and lightly tapped her cheek twice. “sorry,” she mumbled, then took a few sips from her mug of bitter black coffee, which had long since gone cold.

green tea was something she hasn’t touched since, well, that day.

satoru looked at her for a moment too long, a strange look crossing his face that she couldn’t decipher, before he buried his nose back in the book on his lap.

the sun had set quite some time ago, and the beginning of winter was already making the days so much shorter. only the warm glow of pale orange lamps filled the cafe, bathing anyone inside in a warm, cozy glow. there were no customers at the moment, much to her relief, probably because it was still the beginning of the semester and the students weren’t in cramming mode just yet.

another hot bubble of anxiety churned in her stomach, and she fought to keep from wincing as her heart started to race.

“so, how are you finding that book?” she blurted out, trying to distract herself.

satoru hummed thoughtfully. “it’s good, thanks for letting me borrow it. you’ve got good taste.”

she snorted, though it was somewhat strained, forced. “hah! well, thank you, i suppose.”

he looked up at her again, and she felt herself shrink just a little. she could never get used to his eyes no matter how hard she tried. they were unlike anything she had ever seen before, and the longer she stared into them, the more it felt like they multiplied into six eyes. it felt like he could see right through her and rummage through the mess of broken heartstrings and glass inside her, and know everything that had ever happened to her – and everything that ever would.

was he an angel?

maybe he was the one who had been trying to solve her equation this whole time.

she almost laughed at that.

don’t be ridiculous.

“you’re too good at this, you know?” satoru suddenly stated, closing the book over with one of his fingers wedged between the pages he had been reading.

she frowned. “what do you mean? physics?”

“yeah. you’re like me, you have a gift for all this. even when you don’t really care about it, you’re still good at it.”

she picked the edge of her finger. “i-uh, wait, what do you mean i don’t care about it anymore? i obviously do. i’m doing a masters for fuck’s sake.”

she didn’t know why she felt the need to lie about it or why she suddenly felt so defensive.

he was hitting a nerve, and he knew it.

satoru gave her a look, a smug smirk on his lips. “no, you don’t.”

“i do!”

“no. you don’t.”

“yes actually, i do.”

“you’re lying.”

“no, i’m not! why would i lie?”

“i dunno, you tell me.”

damn you, satoru gojo.

she bit her lip to stop it from wobbling. satoru’s face crumbled like tumbling stones, and his book dropped to the floor with a loud bang.

“hey, hey,” he rushed, standing up and nearly knocking his chair over behind him. “hey, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean- fuck! i’m so sorry.”

the delicate skin of her lip throbbed from how hard she was biting it, and she was sure it would bruise by tomorrow morning. she swallowed thickly, avoiding satoru and those stupid, all-seeing eyes of his.

“it’s fine,” she muttered, hoping the tears gathering in the corner of her eye wouldn’t spill in front of him. “i-uh, let’s just get ready to close, okay?”

satoru frowned, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted to do.

in the end, he said nothing at all.

they quietly packed up their things, locked the door, and the bell sang them a sad goodbye tune as they walked their separate ways into the night.

| Φ |

“so, your friend told you to come here?”

“i-uh, more like made me. sorry.”

| Φ |

being alone wasn’t so unbearable for her anymore.

but it still wasn’t good.

she’d moved out of the two-bedroom apartment she’d shared with her old roommate soon after starting her master's. there was no point in paying for an extra room, and she certainly didn’t feel like living in close quarters with another human being. so, she moved into a studio apartment in the building next door.

it was… decent.

perfectly adequate, really. there was no peeling walls or mold anywhere, and it didn’t drain too much of her energy to keep it all somewhat clean. in the beginning, the smaller space was oddly comforting. she felt secure, like a little mouse in a tin box.

safer.

snugly enclosed within the walls of a home that hadn’t been tainted by old memories.

although, she still didn’t have much energy to cook. there had been too many things she'd wasted money on, too many things that had gone out of date that she had the unpleasant task of cleaning up before moving out. the employees at the 7-eleven across from the cafe had grown embarrassingly familiar with her as she bought cup after cup of instant ramen for her dinner every night for weeks during those first weeks after moving in.

one night, an employee – an older lady with obviously nothing better to do –finally said to her, “you know, there are fresh bento boxes on sale at the end of the day. it’s healthier than… this.”

she’d just sniffed at the woman, pushing her cup forward with a defiant jut of her chin. the lady had sighed, shaking her head as she scanned the noodles. when she arrived home, she took her shoes off and threw her keys onto the kitchen counter. she flicked the kettle on and walked over to her bed to change out of her clothes.

and that was when she saw it.

her reflection in the mirror.

god, she didn’t realize just how awful she looked. her skin was horrible, her eyes tired and sullen, probably from living off a diet of instant noodles with little to no water. she didn’t know why, but the sight shocked her to the core.

she knew she wasn’t doing well.

but, she just didn’t think she looked that tired.

from that night on, she bought the bento boxes on sale every night. the employee never bothered her again after that, just gave her a smug smile that told her everything she needed to know. the changes in her were small, barely noticeable, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

she hated to admit that the lady had been right.

but still, it wasnt a complete fix.

so here she was, quietly chewing on a bite of peppered beef and rice, doing her best to stifle her sobs as music played from the radio in the background.

she hadn’t meant to get so emotional, but it had gotten too overwhelming for her to handle. satoru and all his damn questions – why did this random boy from who knows where in the world manage to get under her skin so much? she barely even knew him at all. the only two things that tied them together was that cafe and physics, and even that was fragile at best.

it was almost like at the start with…

no.

she couldn’t even say his name in her head.

it was all absolutely pathetic – she was pathetic.

“even if you don’t really care about it, you’re still good at it.”

is that what her life was going to be from now on? living a lie? pretending that she cared about whatever it was she was doing, while on the inside, she was still falling down that infinite green hole the boy with a perfect scar on his lip had pushed her into.

she sniffled, tossing the now empty box into the bin.

when would it all end?

she just wanted to stop feeling so hopeless all the time. she wanted to be happy again, to hear the numbers and angels singing to her like they used to, to feel and be how she once was.

but everything was still so quiet.

and probably would be for a long time.

that was why being here, in her tiny box of a house, still felt like no home at all.

| Φ |

“do you want to start from the beginning?”

“not really, but sure.”

| Φ |

the next day, when she arrived at the cafe, satoru was already there waiting for her.

and he was so obviously nervous that it set her teeth on edge.

from the moment she caught sight of him from outside the window, she could tell something was off. he was behind the counter, his hands a blur as he poured coffee and punched the buttons on the cash register to hand customers their change. satoru must have been keeping an eye out for her, because the moment he spotted her through the glass, he froze.

a snowy deer caught in the headlights.

then, he gave her what was probably the most awkward, jerky wave she had ever recieved.

right up until she walked behind the counter to stand beside him, he was a jittery mess, his foot tapping incessantly as he waited for the two girls hovering in front the cash register to finish deciding what they wanted to have.

“hey!” he greeted, far too cheerily. his voice was a little high-pitched, a crack in it like chipped porcelain.

she blinked twice, slowly, as she tied a beige apron around her waist. “hi.”

one of the girls at the counter cleared her throat, clearly unimpressed that nobody was paying attention to them. satoru snapped back into reality, mumbled a half-hearted apology, and she hurriedly got started on making their drinks. meanwhile, satoru fumbled with the coins as one of the girls dropped them into his open palm.

this was all so unlike him.

he was always so smooth and confident, annoyingly so.

it felt almost wrong to see him like this.

but they continued in a fragile, comfortable silence, serving customers and cleaning up tables after they left. when it was golden hour and the shop was somewhat empty, satoru finally let out a great big breath, like he had been holding it in the whole time.

“sheesh!” he exclaimed, stretching his legs, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “that was so busy. how did you used to do this all by yourself?”

she gave him an amused look. “well, it wasn’t this busy a year ago. it’s gotten much more popular.”

satoru grinned, but it was tight, forced. “really? must be because of you and your great service.”

she didn’t know what to say, but she snorted, somewhat amused.

“hey, so uh… about last night,” he started, already stumbling over his words, but she quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“it’s all good, satoru,” she said firmly, trying her hardest to still be gentle. “i didn’t mean to get so emotional, so i’m sorry about that.”

he stared at her for a heartbeat longer, and she felt a strange flutter in her chest. she couldn’t stand the feeling, and got right back to adding more pink mooncakes to the clear display box at the counter. this time, it was her turn to keep an eye on him. satoru was breathing rapidly, his chest puffing and falling quickly, a peach-pink blush dusting the tips of his ears.

he looked positively miserable.

like he was absolutely bursting to say something but was holding back.

she bit her lip. “are you okay?”

satoru froze, his hand pausing from refilling the jar for the lids for the takeaway cups.

“yeah, i just-” he swallowed thickly, not quite looking at her. “i’m really sorry about yesterday.”

“is that all? i promise you, satoru, it’s all good.”

satoru fidgeted, his fingers rapidly tapping against a white lid. for a moment, neither of them moved, the low hum of a handful of customers conversing filling the air. a cup clinked loudly against a saucer, shattering the tension between them, and he inhaled sharply.

“i’m sorry if i push you too much,” satoru said softly, like he wasn’t sure whether he should even say it at all. “i don’t mean to.”

a stab of guilt pierced her heart.

it would be a lie to say that he hadn’t been pushing her out of her comfort zone. for the last few months, he had been nothing but persistently nice to her. anytime they crossed paths on campus, he always smiled and waved, pulling her into the orbit of his blue brightness, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it. at first, she was convinced that he would get bored of her quickly, that he would find more interesting company to keep than hers.

so, she tried to ignore it when she could.

but satoru never let up, not even a bit.

when she wouldn’t wave back, turning her back instead, there would be a tap on her left shoulder, and satoru would pop out from her right, spooking her with a laugh that made it seem like he knew exactly what she was up to.

and he didn’t care or seem to mind.

whenever she was clearly making no move to initiate a conversation, he always did it for her.

and he’d always ask her how she was.

how her day had been, or if she’d slept well the night before whenever they worked a morning shift together. during their quiet study sessions at the cafe, he’d always ask her how her course was going. at first, she thought satoru was just trying to fill the silence, that he was restless – too full of energy that he didn’t know what to do with. but now, she saw that she had been wrong the whole time.

she’d been blinded by his eccentricity and her own self-wallowing to notice it before.

that satoru gojo had a big heart.

and for some reason, he genuinely cared about her. it might not have been hard to notice that she wasn’t okay, but he had – and had tried to fix it. little by little, their study sessions and conversations were slowly pulling her back to the version of herself she thought she would never get back.

“you weren’t… pushing me,” she said slowly.

satoru gave her a pointed look. “yes i was. you know i was, especially last night.”

“okay,” she laughed a little, and a small smile appeared on his face. “maybe just a little.”

they both spared a glance at each other and broke into a nervous fit of laughter. for a moment, it all seemed normal, but then their smiles fades, and the silence crept back in like a parasite, with the light in satoru’s eyes dying like a smothered candle.

“well, i promise not to bother you half as much anymore,” he huffed playfully, though his eyes shifted away from her face.

she chewed the inside of her cheek.

“i… don’t want that.”

satoru looked back up at her sharply.

“you don’t?”

“i just- i’m not… it’s hard for me to feel good about things anymore.”

but being around you has been the only good thing for me. you’re the only person who makes me feel even a little like how i used to.

she couldn’t bring herself to say that, though.

because, whether or not satoru had meant to push her so much didn’t matter anymore. she had now realized, with a particularly harsh slap of reality, how much she had needed it. her changes had been so small and gradual that she hadn’t even noticed them herself. she couldn’t even remember the day when she finally didn’t dread leaving the house anymore, only that it had just happened.

and the boy made from blue starlight had been a huge part of making that happen.

satoru was like an icicle suspended over the edge of a cliff. was it concern, or maybe even shock on his face? she clenched her fists, nails digging into her skin. she didn’t know what she would do if he decided she was just too much for him, too heavy a burden that he hadn’t signed up to carry. if satoru decided to let go and fall, she didn’t know what she would do. she’d be all alone again if he left, and she didn’t think she could survive it this time.

please, i’m sorry. i’ll be better, i promise. just hang in there and wait for me a little longer.

but then, slowly, satoru flashed her that feather-soft smile he had given her the first time she finally waved back at him. it was softer, different to the way he usually smiled, like the notion meant so much more to him than she realized.

and she felt like everything might finally start to be okay.

| Φ |

“do you regret letting the things that happened to you in the past hurt her too?”

“of course i do, that’s why i’m here. i’m fucking broken, and i need help.”

| Φ |

the streets were dusted with a light frosting of snow.

there wasn’t much of it at all, really. it was hardly deep enough to make a snowball from, but it was enough to blanket everything in a sea of powdery whiteness. a cold drop of water dripped from a streetlight straight onto her nose, and she shivered profusely from the shock of it, pulling her itchy woolen scarf tighter around her neck.

there were faint tracks in the snow leading up to the cafe, and she guessed they probably belonged to satoru.

they had both been tasked with decorating the cafe with a little festive cheer on this crisp sunday morning. satoru had groaned about it, complaining that he would do anything but that on his day off. he only begrudgingly agreed to it after being bribed with unlimited access to the seasonal sweet treats.

and only if she helped him too.

so, that was how she had also been dragged into it on her day off.

she pushed open the door, scraping her damp boots against the entrance mat as warmth seeped into her bones. satoru had actually remember to turn the heating on, and her heart swelled with gratitude.

however, her good feelings were quite short lived.

“satoru,” she hissed. “what the fuck?”

the place was in absolute disarray.

tangled lights were strung about randomly, baubles of various shapes and colors rolled haphazardly across the floor, and the branches of the fake christmas tree were decidedly not attached where they were supposed to be. satoru was lazing at the counter, completely engrossed in his textbook, not even sparing her a glance as he deadpanned.

“what? i took everything out of the boxes like you told me to.”

“ugh! not like this, and you know it! seriously, it looks like you just dumped everything out onto the floor and just left it.”

his humorous snort told her that was exactly what he did.

it was painfully obvious that satoru gojo absolutely did not like christmas.

as soon as december hit, satoru became quite restrained, even dejected. he wasn’t up for doing much at all, except sitting around and reading her old textbooks. whenever someone asked if he had any plans for the holidays, he would just say “no,” in a way that completely shut down the conversation. if he overheard customers discussing their festive plans for too long, he would zone out, like he was lost somewhere far away from here.

she strode toward him, making sure to stomp her feet a little. satoru never bothered to look up at her, so he didn’t see when she picked up a plastic candy cane and threw it at his head.

“ow! seriously?”

“help me. now.”

letting out an exaggerated groan, satoru slammed the book shut with a loud slap and slowly – very slowly – slid off his chair.

it took several hours of hard work, but they eventually managed to turn the cafe into a mini wonderland. dainty red bows and lights were tastefully placed around, gold and silver tinsel glinted playfully in the sunlight, and the tree in the center of the tables was adorned with emerald and blue baubles.

“what do you think, satoru?”

but he was hardly paying any attention.

“sure, looks fine.”

in fact, satoru looked like something was crawling painfully beneath his perfect skin. he seemed ready to bolt outside without saying another word to her.

“are you alright?” she asked carefully, setting down a pretty green bauble she had been holding.

he looked up at her blankly. “yeah, i just don’t like all…” he gestured around him. “this.”

“not a festive person?”

“not really.”

“oh, okay.”

“it’s not for everyone sometimes, you know?”

“well, yeah… sure.”

“and it’s so much fuss for just one day.”

“mhm.”

“i hope you don’t think i’m like… i don’t know, a grinch or something.”

“i don’t think you’re a grinch, satoru.”

she tried not to notice how he shivered when she said his name.

“good, because i’m not. i don’t actually want someone else being miserable too.”

“what do you mean too?”

at this, satoru fell silent, like he’d said too much, revealed something she wasn’t supposed to know. they were quiet for a while, mostly because she didn’t know what to say, and satoru seemed quite lost in a place she wasn’t sure she wanted to follow him into. then, he flashed her that signature smile of is, his teeth glinting, and for the first time, she felt like she was seeing it for what it really was all along.

a defense mechanism.

for everyone to stay away, to not get too near him. to be blinded by his beauty and not ask too many questions.

“well, looks like we’re all done here!” he exclaimed quickly, clapping his hands together with a flourish. “wanna go get something sweet?”

satoru didn’t wait for her to answer.

before she knew it, he’d shoved his dark beanie over his snowy hair, and was bounding out of the shop. she watched him briefly through the window, rubbing his hands together, his breath coming out in little wispy puffs. he caught her looking and motioned with his head for her to come on.

she sighed, switching off the heating and locking up behind her.

“you know,” she said, not missing the way he winced. “you can always talk to me, right?”

satoru seemed to think about this for a moment before shaking his head and replying with a far too-cheerful, “of course! now, let’s go.”

the boy was hiding something in his galaxy of cerulean stars.

but then again, so was she.

| Φ |

“what was it like being with her?”

“it was peaceful and she was so beautiful, and god, so smart. like, she could discover something that would change the world, you know?… fuck!”

| Φ |

it was christmas eve.

she was watching the snow falling outside, holding a mug of coffee between her palms. the radio station, with its faint static buzz muffling the words, was the sort that lonely people listened to in movies. the host was chatting away in between songs like they didn’t think anybody was listening, probably assuming that everyone was being festive with their families, and not tuning in to some random station.

i’m listening, though. i’m here.

“it’s a lovely, quiet night, isn’t it? some people hate the quiet, though. like there’s something wrong with it.”

she’d pretended that she absolutely had to work over the holidays to avoid going home, and she didn’t regret it one bit. this was all somewhat… nice, actually. her mind was mostly quiet, focused on the coffee and the radio and the snow falling delicately to the ground below.

she took a sip from her mug, a pleasant, tingling burn on her tongue. there was some truth in that sentiment, she mused.

“but i think that it’s only when things are quiet and still, that you can find out a lot about yourself!”

well, she wasn’t so sure if she had discovered anything new about herself other than pain.

ring! ring! ring!

she nearly spilled her coffee all over her lap.

it was satoru.

for some reason, he hadn’t gone back home either. she hadn’t pressed him on why he didn’t, probably because he wouldn’t have told her the truth anyway, or brush her off with a half-hearted joke instead of a real answer.

slowly, she reached for her phone. “hello?”

it was quiet.

too quiet.

and then, the barest sound of what might have been a sniffle.

“hi,” satoru greeted, his voice filled with broken glass.

and it was like all the light and happiness in the world had gone. her eyes became glossy. he sounded familiar, only because she knew that she had once sounded like that too. she could recognize the sound of a person who had lost everything, and was barely clinging onto this plane of existence.

“what are you doing?” he whispered.

she stifled a sob. “nothing really, you?”

“same.”

there was a gust of wind outside, sending the snow dancing in a large, swooping whirlpool.

“can i, uh-” he swallowed quite audibly. “can i see you?”

she didn’t miss a beat. “sure.”

“okay, right. i’ll see you in a bit.”

her screen went black as satoru ended the call, and she tapped her cheek three times just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. when she realized that she definitely wasn’t, she scrambled up from her warm spot on the sofa, picking up all the random clothes off the floor and shoving them into drawers just for the time being. she was overthinking everything, every little mess, and what satoru would think when he saw her apartment.

should she give the counter a wipe?

was there maybe a smell about?

knock! knock! knock!

there was no time to think about all that.

how had he gotten here so quickly?

she breathed out shakily, wiping her forehead as she hesitantly opened the door.

and there he was with his head bowed low.

there were plenty of snowflakes clinging stubbornly onto his beanie and coat, and she guessed that he must have been outside for a while. when she looked closed at him, she realized with a start that he was wearing his pyjamas – washed-out, grey sweatpants paired with a shirt with a faded superman logo on it. it might have been funny, but when satoru looked up at her, his eyes were rimmed with bright red crescent moons.

she didn’t need to guess that he had been crying.

“hi,” he said softly, his voice cracking like an old mirror.

“hey, come in,” she replied, stepping aside to let him in.

satoru shivered as he stepped over the threshold of her apartment, pausing to puff hot breaths into his hands. she offered him a tea, asking if he wanted it heavy on the sugar, which he shyly accepted. she watched as he took off his boots at the door, expensive black leather dripping with icy sludge, and took a good, long look all around her apartment.

the radio crackled softly, and satoru only seemed to notice it existed then. “huh, you don’t like t.v or something?” he quipped sadly, hardly carrying any bite in his words at all.

“i can’t be bothered getting one,” she admitted with an awkward smile, stirring the teabag in his mug.

satoru hummed and moved to sit on the sofa, sinking into the cushion like he wanted to just melt into a puddle. he rested his neck against the back, long fingers clasping and flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them. she handed him his tea, and then settled on the other end of the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her, and making a conscious effort not to sit too close to him.

for a while, they both didn’t say anything.

the host on the radio was talking again between songs, their voice soft and airy like the snow falling just outside. the next song slowly faded into life, a familiar wistful version of ‘have yourself a merry little christmas’ filling the quiet room. satoru was just staring at the ceiling, the faintest tremor in his hands as he lifted his mug to sip his tea. she didn’t say a word about it, letting herself zone out as she stared at the loose threads in the carpet.

“sorry, i don’t usually do this,” he finally said. “barge in like this, i mean.”

she blinked, and gave him a small smile of reassurance. “it’s okay, i wasn’t doing anything anyways.”

“oh, okay. you didn’t feel like going back home?”

“i could ask you the same thing.”

satoru swallowed, his throat bobbing up and down. then, his shoulders slumped, and his head fell forward in a silent surrender.

she held in a breath.

the angel’s were reaching a key moment in solving their formula, she could feel it in her bones, in her soul. she could hear them and their quills, motions quick and decisive, the noise slowly building like pressure inside a closed vessel.

“his name was suguru.”

the name was a stone falling off the edge of a waterfall, crashing against stone and water and air, and here it finally was – in this tiny, unremarkable apartment that didn’t feel like it was nearly good enough to host such an incredible moment.

it all felt inevitable, really. that she was supposed to be here, in this moment, and that everything in her life had happened just to bring her here. how she fallen in love with a quiet boy with green eyes, and how he had left her. how she nearly faded out of existence, only to be pulled back by a call to work where it all began. how her and satoru met, and how their lives had become so beautifully intertwined.

it was like newton’s second law of motion.

every force that had ever acted on her, every event she had collided into, was all to propel her straight into this moment.

“he was my best friend since middle school, and when i tell you we did everything together, we did fucking everything together.”

satoru paused for a moment, pulling his phone out from his pocket and rapidly tapping and scrolling as he searched for something. when he seemingly found it, he carefully handed his phone to her.

it was a picture of the two of them.

she couldn’t help but smile. satoru was all scruff and awkward teenage smiles, much too tall for his own good. and suguru was… beautiful, really. he was everything his best friend wasn’t – composed and regal, with long, dark hair that looked like it had been dipped in black ink. his eyes were a warm, honeyed chocolate, and she didn’t need to have known him to tell that suguru was kind. the quiet, dependable sort. the kind of person you knew would never leave you behind.

“when we graduated, we even decided to study physics together at uni in tokyo. i mean, i genuinely didn’t have a life without him. but it was like, no matter what happened, as long as suguru was there, it would all be okay.”

tears slipped from his eyes, and he bowed his head low, almost dropping between his knees.

“he died a year ago today.”

oh.

oh, god.

“i thought it was a joke, you know? when i got the call from his parents. i mean, seriously? he’d just gone to visit our old school to help out with some stupid fucking basketball tournament the kids were doing. nothing bad was supposed to happen.”

satoru become incredibly quiet, trapped in a fog of lost memories.

“he’d asked me to go with him,” he admitted, his words dripping in shame. “but i didn’t want to.”

she could hear the unspoken words he wanted to say hovering in the air like a ghost, like the angels whittling away at their little equations.

i should have been there.

“the police said the crossroads were all slippery because of the ice, and that suguru fell over.”

i might have saved him.

“the driver wasn’t even looking properly, but he was going way too fucking fast anyways.”

he could still be alive.

“and yeah, i know it’s so pathetic. i can’t even stay in the same city that he died in. it was just too much for me to handle. that’s why i transferred here, actually, because it just wasn’t the same without him.”

it’s all my fault.

she didn’t know what else to say other than, “i get it.”

because she really did.

her and satoru gojo were one and the same, she knew that now. they might have once been two different variables in the same equation, but now the angels had proven them to be equal to each other, melding them into one and solving for the same outcome.

“you know, you’re the only person who hasn’t tried to lie to me about it,” he mumbled, partly to himself, his fingers tight around his mug. “it never gets easier, no matter how much time passes.”

“i agree. you just get better at carrying it while you try to live on.”

satoru finally spared a glance at her, his pale eyes searching her face, as if he was beginning to realize and understand the person who shared atoms with his soul. that everything had changed for them now, and there was no going back in time.

“there’s a page missing in your book, did you know that?” he said carefully, gently, like it might break her.

“huh- what? no. what are you on about?”

“the one you gave me. i had to look the page up online to find out what it’s about.”

“okay… and?”

“well, why would you rip out a page on relativity?”

oh.

she was flooded with memories she didn’t want to remember. if she looked over satoru’s shoulder, she could almost swear she saw a mirage of a certain dark-haired boy looking at her with a resigned expression, like even the ghost of his past didn’t want to be here. she couldn’t remember even doing it, but she must have torn that page out sometime during the summer. satoru clearly noticed the look on her face, must have seen that familiar, haunted look, and realized he’d unknown touched another nerve.

“you want to tell me about it?” he asked softly.

she looked up at him through lashes heavy with tears, while the ghost’s hazy green eyes pierced into her, silently begging for release, for her to not let him continue to haunt her.

“i will, i promise.”

she blinked, wiping her blurry eyes, and the vision was gone.

“but tell me more about suguru.”

| Φ |

“it sounds like you really did love her.”

“i did, i still do. she was it for me.”

| Φ |

on christmas morning, after satoru had spent the night on her sofa, she told him everything about toji fushiguro.

it was the first time she had said his name aloud after so long, like coaxing death back to where it belonged beyond the veil, and breathing life back into the boy with dark hair and everything that had happened to her. it had been much easier to have pretended that toji was actually dead this whole time.

well, he could have been.

after all, she had no way of knowing, but it was an unhealthy coping mechanism, and she knew it. she couldn’t dare do it anymore either, not when satoru was sitting there right across from her having actually lost his person forever.

so, she didn’t hide a thing.

she told him how it all started. how they fell in love, and all the things that happened in between. the green tea, teaching him about her numbers and stars and the summer of vanilla ice cream. for some reason, she felt sheepish at revealing the trauma that had happened to toji when he was a child, but she had to do it. it was the catalyst for why he had just up and left, and none of it would have made sense to satoru.

much like when she had listened to him the night before, he hadn’t said a word the entire time she spoke. but she knew satoru was listening. in fact, he was completely immersed in her story. like he could feel everything she could. he smiled at the happy parts, even laughed, his expression only turning twisted and sour at the end of it – like her anger and pain was his to bear too.

it made her feel much less alone in all of it.

“i hate him,” she said when she finished, her voice sharper than a knife’s edge, dripping with green, green venom.

but he was looking at her like he didn’t believe that for a second.

she didn’t even know she was shivering until satoru got up and draped a blanket over her shoulders, gently prying the mug that she had been gripping tightly. he looked down at her so kindly it made her chest tighten, an encouraging smile curling his baby-pink lips upwards like it was the only thing holding all her pieces together.

there was something… changed about him.

even with his fluffy hair, a messy pile of snow and stardust, there was something a little more airy and less burdened about him. his shoulders were more pulled back, not slouched like before, which she hadn’t even really noticed he had been doing until now.

“you got any food?” satoru asked suddenly, striding confidently over to her fridge and opening it.

she frowned. “for breakfast?”

“no, i mean for dinner. we have to have some kind of feast don’t we?”

“really? now you want to be festive?”

satoru lazily stretched his back, the skin of his waist peeking out. “festivity is subjective. besides, we just so happen to be celebrating on a day everyone else is.”

“uh huh, and what are we celebrating exactly?”

“well, us.”

he said it like it was totally obvious.

“tell you what, i’ll go out to the store and get us stuff for tonight,” he said firmly, already putting his coat and beanie on. “please tell me you have pots and pans we can use.”

she deadpanned. “yes.”

“hey, i’m only asking because i’m not the one who goes into a 7-eleven every night for dinner.”

she threw a pillow in his direction, but he was already out the door before it could land anywhere near him. sighing, she rubbed her still-tired eyes and glanced around the apartment. whatever satoru was planning for later, it wouldn’t do to have the place messy. she mopped the floors properly and gave the kitchen a good clean, scrubbing all the pots and pans that had been sitting unused in the cabinets since she moved in.

by the time satoru came back with several white plastic bags of groceries, the apartment was spotless and ready for whatever mess was about to unfold in the kitchen.

“you certainly don’t skimp out,” she remarked, eyeing the bags and their contents as he dumped them out onto the counter.

satoru only laughed, rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands. “i’m rich. so, no.”

“pft! well, thanks for all this.”

together, they started prepping for their feast, deciding to make oden with all the fresh vegetables that satoru had bought. soon enough, a wonderfully savory, wholesome scent filled the apartment. she assembled the table while satoru stirred the pot, putting together the sides, the radio merrily playing christmas tunes on and on. when they finally sat down to eat, when she took the first bite of her stew, she almost cried.

she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed this – taking care of her body, cooking something nutritious and homemade. maybe that was why her apartment didn’t feel like home.

how could it be? she had never even made a home-cooked meal in it.

she decided to remedy that from that moment on.

as the evening wore on, they ended up back on the sofa together. a blanket was draped over their legs, a dip between them filled with all the sweets satoru had brought over. the radio switched between more mellow tunes and cheerful ones, and that same host from last night was on again.

but she wasn’t listening in this time.

her and satoru were completely engrossed in one another, talking about what had drawn them to physics in the first place, and about all the stars and planets they wish they could see one day. she felt something warm kindling in her chest. maybe it was the atoms of herself coming back together, little by little. she wasn’t sure, but it felt like a flicker of something familiar.

it wasn’t happiness, not yet.

but as satoru tore a piece of red bean mochi in half, offering her one part with that stellar grin on his face, she thought it might just get there.

| Φ |

“i hope you had a happy new years- ah! yes, of course, it was your birthday as well! how was it?”

“yeah, alright, thanks. was just a quiet night in for me.”

| Φ |

the rest of the school year passed by in a hazy kaleidoscope of colours.

it certainly wasn’t rosy, but it was satoru and her, and all the colors that made him.

mostly, he was dripping in hues of red.

vibrant and lusciously full of life, satoru exuded a sort of confidence that made her want to grit her teeth. she was jealous of him when he was like this – a glorious star of red that burned bright and hot. she wished she could put up her own veil of red to the world, something gushing with so much vitality and mirth that nobody could ever guess she was green with sadness. but it was all a front, a distraction to hide what he was feeling deep down.

because above all, satoru was blue.

she knew it had everything to do with suguru. he would withdraw from the world, hiding away in his bedroom for days. she'd knock on his door, and satoru would answer with heavy bags under his eyes and a glossy sheen in them. he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep either – just lie there and stare up at he ceiling like he wanted to float up through the atmosphere and into space.

but the worst was when he was purple.

an infinity that blended his melancholy and beauty. satoru was borderline cruel, even a touch mad, when he was like this. he’d flash everyone a stellar smile, drawing them in while his fangs glinted, enticing them with the sweetest honey they didn’t realize was dangerous until they were trapped in its sticky depths.

she recognized him for what he was in those moments.

something pretty to look at but never, ever to touch.

still, she gradually came to understand all of satoru’s colors the way he understood hers. she learned how to dip a paintbrush in them all and create something different. there were soft, cooler tones for his burning red to sizzle out against, streaks of yellow through his blue to remind him of the light within him.

none of it was perfect.

it was jagged and messy at the best of times, but it was real. eventually, satoru learned to sit there and take the time to paint too, his hands shaking and unsteady, with an indomitable will to fight through it all.

and now, at the beginning of the summer, she knew satoru gojo was healing when he said to her, “come with me.”

she looked up questioningly. “what?”

“come with me,” he repeated casually, not lifting his eyes from his sheet of messily scrawled calculations. “come and spend the summer with me in tokyo.”

tokyo.

that seemingly faraway place where everybody wanted to end up. where a persons merit was deemed worth enough if they had made it there. the place where love ran away to die a death unseen, still but acutely felt, even through all the distance.

it felt forbidden to her.

that it was toji’s place to hide away, and she would ruin it all for him if she went there.

satoru glanced up when her silence stretched on for too long. his eyebrow quirked up unimpressed. “if it’s money you’re worried about, then don’t. you can stay with me at my place. my parents won’t mind.”

“it’s not that,” she mumbled, rubbing a pink sugar packet between her fingers.

he pursed his lips, shutting his book, and got up from his seat. motioning for her to take his place, satoru set about preparing something. she furrowed her brows, perplexed, but trying to focus on his calculations to avoid staring at him.

and then, a steaming mug of green tea appeared – a pool of pale green staring up at her like a ghost.

“drink it,” satoru ordered, but his voice was gentle, like a helping hand. “if i can go back, you can do this.”

she stared at him for a moment longer, her heart ticking faster like the sound of an alarm clock about to ring. she thought of the law of inertia, and how she had remained motionless, stuck in the same place for so long. maybe it was time to move on, to overcome her own resistance and start moving again. a year had passed, after all, and if he could just run away and live his life, then so could she.

and with that, she took a sip.

| Φ |

“i just want to say that i’m very proud of you and your progress over the last few months. you’re doing very well for yourself.”

“ah, hah! well, thankyou.”

| Φ |

satoru gojo was rich.

she already knew that he was. it wasn’t like he bragged about it often, but she could just tell. it was in the little things he did – or didn’t do. he always wore good quality shirts, the kind that weren’t so prone to wrinkles, and they always looked like they had been pressed by someone else who did it for a living. he never even thought to check his receipts for his grocery shop after swiping his card at the till, and she would click her tongue in amazement at not having to worry about such a thing.

but she didn’t realize just how filthy rich he was until she stepped foot into his apartment.

her jaw had actually dropped.

because of course he had a penthouse, and of course it was like something straight out an interior design magazine. with its floor-to-ceiling windows that hugged the whole space, and perfectly balanced blend of modern and traditional minimalism. there was the scent of tasteful freshness around her, something that was actually much like satoru – linen and eucalyptus, with a hint of peppery sweetness.

she couldn’t help but feel a little giddy.

“satoru,” she whispered with glittering awe on her tongue. “tell me something.”

he hummed questioningly, throwing his two duffle bags onto the floor and collapsing with a huff onto the sofa. “what?”

“why the fuck would you move to our shitty university when you live here?”

“oh, this? my family home is much bigger, actually. just wait til you see that.”

“you- you mean this… isn’t?”

satoru barked out a laugh. “no, this is just my own place.”

“pft!”

the sun had fallen below the skyscrapers, and she pressed her head against the cooled glass to watch the bustling world below her. the lights were twinkling madly, winking at her like they were trying to entice her out into the streets with all its colorful neon signs and billboards. her fingers twitched with anticipation, and she squealed in excitement.

“let’s go, lets go!” she exclaimed suddenly, feeling a burst of energy to explore in a way she thought she had lost as a child. “c’mon!”

satoru grinned at her, and pushed himself off the sofa.

and so began a new summer, one made of blue and white instead of green, green, green.

there were plenty of late nights spent wandering the streets, savoring all sorts of vendors and restaurants. the occasional bar hop in shinjuku, stumbling and bumbling like buzzing bees drunk on nectar, weaving their way back to a train station to get home and sleep the heat of the day away, only to do it all over again.

tonight was one of those particular nights.

they had their arms around each other, her leaning on satoru much more heavily than he was on her. it was too late – or rather, far too early – to catch a train back to the penthouse. satoru was loathe to call his driver, because of course he just had access to one on call at all times and didn’t bother to use them.

“this is sooo much more fun anyways!” he slurred, a glossy bottom lip protruded in a pout.

she blew a raspberry at him, her feet aching and legs feeling numb, but whether it was from the alcohol or pure exhaustion, she couldn’t tell. it was all fun, really, a memory she knew she would always look back on. something to make her smile and shake her head at the antics she used to get up to.

oh, how growing older was so eerily strange.

one moment, she was playing hide and seek, scraping her hands and knees on the pavement as she learned how to ride a bike.

the next she was crying in a heap on the bathroom floor as the love of her life blocked her number and left.

poof!

like he had never even existed in the first place.

“poof!” she mumbled, feeling her stomach lurch with bubbling anxiousness.

“heyyy! what’re you thinkin about?”

satoru’s voice startled her, and she hadn’t realized she’d stopped moving or that the weight of him was no longer slowing her down. he was peering at her expectantly, two moons of blue shining through the dark and bathing her in his aura.

but he already knew.

satoru always knew.

he sighed, reaching out a hand to her like salvation. she realized that he was, her saving grace, her cerulean light at the end of that infinite tunnel of vacuum and green ink.

she slid her palm in his, their fingers tangling together and fitting perfectly together in each other’s equation.

“can i take you somewhere?” satoru whispered, staring in drunk awe at their hands stuck together.

“mhm.”

the sky was just starting to change, as the sun gently pressed delicate kisses to it, making it blush in strokes of indigo and pale orange. she didn’t know where they were going, and she didn’t care. her brain was far too tired to comprehend anything. all she knew was that she and satoru were on one of the first trains of the day, the rhythmic hum of the train was soothing, and his arm was around her.

and it felt nice.

when they eventually got off the train, satoru never let go of their hands or his arm around her, steadying her as the walked and walked.

until they finally stopped.

they were in the middle of a street, standing against the flow of people brushing past them on their morning commute. the smell of a kfc just behind them tickled her nose, making her empty stomach grumble in protest.

“satoru, what are we doing here?” she asked, voice heavy with sleepiness.

but he didn’t answer.

in fact, satoru was much too quiet, his grip on her hand acutely missing as he stared straight ahead. she followed his gaze to the bold white and black stripes of a pedestrian crossing a few meters away on the busy road beside them.

her mouth suddenly felt dry.

“it’s a strange thing, isn’t it?” satoru mumbled. “we’re in this plane of existence between innocence and death, and we all just continue on.”

the longer she stared at the crossing, the more she could have sworn she saw deep red splatters flashing on the white, staining the deep black with an unnatural dullness.

she wanted to be sick.

“but that’s all we can do, isn’t it? just move on. try to forget everything when you really just can’t, because there’s nothing you can fucking do to change a thing.”

change – a chemical change.

like when paper burns, or iron turns to old rust, or flesh decays deep down in the earth. things that change and never return to what they once were, no matter how hard you tried. that was just it, really. she was something like a cigarette, set alight and burned for all she was worth, only to be stubbed out on the concrete beneath an unforgiving shoe as soon as the hit was over.

she would never be the same.

who could?

“i’ll never forget suguru,” satoru sighed, like he was resigning himself to his fate. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be free of him.”

be free.

she couldn’t imagine being free of toji.

“satoru,” she said, her voice like a feather floating in the wind. “why did you bring me here?”

“because… to show you that if i can be here, in the one place on earth i never want to be, that starting to let go is possible. that if i can do it, then so can you.”

could she?

could she really be free?

she bit her lip, willed herself not to burst out crying in the middle of a very public street. the music was loud here – quite loud, in fact. and satoro was there in a pristine white shirt, holding a match to her, gently setting her on fire in a beautiful green flame, letting her atoms scatter and roam free wherever they wanted to go.

she nodded slowly.

maybe…

maybe it wasn’t so frightening after all.

| Φ |

“so, how did it go?”

“i just couldn’t fucking do it. i choked up as soon as i heard her voice.”

| Φ |

before she knew it, the summer was already coming to an end.

“maybe i could do my phd, then i’d be able to put ‘doctor’ on all my legal documents. wouldn’t that be cool?”

“seriously? you haven’t had enough of academia yet?”

she and satoru were lounging on his pristine sofa. it was so soft she felt like she was sitting on a cloud, sinking into its fluffy depths, drowning in powdered marshmallows and the crisp scent of fabric freshener. even though the holidays were nearly over, the days were still much too hot to venture outside into – a fierce heat that made her feel like a piece of fish sizzling on a frying pan. instead, they would pig out and binge television shows in the cool comfort of the air conditioning, some the peak of entertainment that would spark passionate discussions.

others not so much.

“ok, this is fuckin stupid,” satoru muttered, prickly annoyance lacing his words like cactus spines. “i’m changing this shit.”

she only hummed, absentmindedly scrolling through her social media feed. it had been far too long for her to try and remember the last time she had been on any kind of social app, but there wasn’t much else to do during the day, and the mood had just struck her to see what sorts of things people she barely knew were up to.

it was pretty much what she expected.

a seemingly endless stream of aesthetic travel and lifestyle photos, silly poses with overly wide smiles. the occasional engagement announcement, compilations of sappy wedding posts, and even the odd pregnancy reveal. how funny it was to watch everyone’s lives moving on through pixels on a screen.

until it decidedly wasn’t.

her thumb froze mid-swipe.

oh.

“oh my god.”

satoru tilted his head towards her, his eyes still fixed on the tv screen. “what?”

it was really him.

toji.

there was no mistake about it. he was standing there with his knuckles wrapped in white bandages, his chest bare and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, a minuscule smile tugging at his lips as he posed beside shiu kong. the backdrop was clearly a gym – the mirrors behind them reflecting a sleek array of expensive looking equipment.

hard work pays off! for a limited time only, fushiguro is offering a special discount for new clients 💪 dm us to get booked in with the man himself!

she couldn’t breath.

she stared so hard at the photo that her vision blurred, her chest tightening like a snake had coiled itself around her, squeezing for all it was worth. like toji could see her through the screen and was laughing at her and how crippled she was by such a small thing. this had to be a joke. some sick, cosmic joke that the angel’s were snickering about as they dipped their quills back into their ink pots. her pulse thrummed in her ears, blocking out the world and the music and everything.

until it was just her and her phone and that damn photo.

she hated how the first thought she had was how much she missed him.

and how unfairly attractive he still looked.

upon clicking on shiu’s account, she scrolled through post after post documenting the journey of the gym’s grand opening. it was clear that bucketloads of blood and sweat that had gone into the place, with plenty of videos showing the two of them actively contributing to build it. she didn’t need to be an expert to tell that it was a great place to go, and her chest constricted again.

so, he actually did it.

he went and did what he said he was going to do.

and i’m still here.

“hey, what’s up? you get another weird silent call?”

she flinched.

satoru’s voice yanked her back into the present, a curious lilt in his question. his baby blues were fixed on her, the tv remote in his hand swinging lazily back and forth in his hand as he fiddled with it.

she bit her lip, shutting her screen off with a sharp click.

“oh, it’s nothing.”

why didn’t she want to admit it?

oh right, she was supposed to be moving on from all this.

“uh-huh,” satoru deadpanned, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “what were you looking at?”

there really was no hiding anything from him, was there?

with an exasperated sigh, she unlocked her phone and flipped it over for him to see. satoru squinted at the screen, plucking her phone from her hands for a closer look. a white brow arched in what seemed like a mixture of disgust and recognition as he zoomed in, the sofa creaking softly beneath him as he leaned back into the cushions with a huff.

“well,” he quipped, a strange edge to his voice as he handed back her phone. “you know he’s alive.”

she didn’t say anything, her hands trembling as she set her phone down on the coffee table, farther away than it needed to be, as if it had stung her.

it had.

satoru sighed, and asked much more gently this time, “do you want to talk about it?”

“what’s there to talk about?” she replied far too quickly, the words tasting too much like bile.

the silence stretched on.

somewhere far below, a car honked aggressively, the sound faint and barely audible this high up from the hustle and bustle of tokyo. the beginnings of trailers and clips from shows began to play in the background, but neither of them seemed to be paying attention to it.

“if you ever saw him again, wha–”

“satoru. i don’t want to play that game.”

“it’s not a game if it’s a genuine question.”

“i–fuck! i don’t even know.”

“c’mon, you must have thought about it before.”

she groaned exasperatedly. “satoru.”

“what?”

“can we not talk about this?”

“no, we’re gonna talk about it. what if we bump into him while you’re here?”

“ugh, i just… wouldn’t say anything i guess.”

“seriously?”

“well, what more do you want?”

“you’d have absolutely nothing to say to the guy? you wouldn’t fucking scream at him, hit him? something?”

“no, and why should i? he’s the one that left me, and he doesn’t deserve even one word. he’s clearly moved on, and so am i.”

“right, because you totally looked over it just there.”

her jaw tightened, and she scowled at him.

“fuck off.”

it was quiet for a heartbeat until, “that’s what i would say for a start,” satoru snorted.

she rolled her eyes, rubbed them wearily, and let out a half-hearted laugh. “shut up.”

“that works too if he decides to speak, and then i’d swoop in and deck the guy.”

“are you sure you wanna do that?”

“excuse me, are you implying i couldn’t take him?”

“you definitely couldn’t.”

“uh, yes i could. quite easily, actually.”

he flexed his bicep, tilting his head and nodding approvingly at the taut muscle. she barked out a laugh, despite the churning feeling twisting her stomach with acid.

what would she actually say?

fuck you for leaving me.

what was the point of it all?

you could have at least said goodbye to me. i know i messed up, but i didn’t deserve what you did to me.

or maybe she would she just turn around and run away, just like he had? it was so easy to imagine that she would be brave enough to stand her ground and give him a piece of her mind. but she didn’t think she would. she would always be doomed to dig her roots deeper into the ground, hold her tongue, and silently defend herself against the battering storm.

“let’s not think about that anymore, yeah?” satoru attempted encouragingly, giving her foot a teasing nudge. “out of sight, out of mind, am i right?”

she smiled tightly. “right.”

right?

| Φ |

“you still mean to go through with your plan?”

“yeah. i don’t even know if she’ll be there, but i have to start somewhere, and… i don’t know. it feels like the right place.”

| Φ |

before she knew it, it was the start of winter.

that familiar crisp cold air was settling on her nose and tongue, jolting her tired bones into feeling just a little more alive. it wasn’t snowing, not yet, but it certainly wasn’t far behind. she tucked her hands into the crooks of her elbows, quietly chided herself for forgetting her gloves at home.

as per usual, she was on her way to the cafe.

she had been working a lot more than usual lately. satoru’s final year was significantly busier than his previous years, so he hadn’t been working as much, leaving her and her other colleague’s to bear the brunt of the busy end-of-year season. not that she minded, her brain had been quite preoccupied lately, and actual work was a better distraction than her studies.

she didn’t really understand what or why she was feeling so strange.

it was almost like something bigger than herself. the anticipation of the drop before leaping off a diving board, or the creeping dread that something was coming for you. that things were about to change too quickly for her to even try and keep up.

she hoped it was just all in her head.

the cafe was just around the corner now, its familiar sign flickering and wonderfully colourful against the grey clouds that hung darkly over the afternoon like an omen. she quickened her pace, boots crunching loudly against the pavement, already imagining the comforting blast of warmth that would envelope her as soon as she stepped inside. the windows were fogged over, but she could still make out the warm glow of the lamps and the outline of customers hunched over their drinks.

the doorbell chimed as she walked in, the strong scent of cinnamon swirling through up her nose like an old friend’s greeting. it was predictable and grounding, and the unease that had been chasing her for weeks was left outside to freeze in the cold.

until she walked outside again.

but that was a problem for after her shift.

“oh, thank god you're here!" her manager exclaimed, dashing past her as she shrugged off her coat, a tray of teacups balanced precariously with one hand. "can you handle the to-go's?”

from that moment on, for the next hour, she was thrown into a frazzled mess of oat milk and sickly sweet caramel syrup. her apron was stained within ten minutes, and she kept apologizing profusely for any sort of delay, even if they had only been waiting for a minute or two, or whenever she brushed against a customer's hand with her sticky syrup fingers to return their change.

it was chaos, to say the least.

she felt like a machine on autopilot, firing through order after order, hardly paying attention to anything but the job at hand.

the bell chimed – again.

she tapped the side of the cinnamon shaker against a styrofoam cup, a blinding ray of unexpected sunlight slanting through the windows. the world was suddenly skewed, an equation of pure molten gold weaving together this plane of existence for just one precious moment.

a cup clattered loudly.

huh, the sun must have come out.

a shadow fell across the counter, long and somewhat familiar.

“oh, sorry for the wait! what can–”

she looked up, the words dying painfully in her throat like shards of shattering glass.

and there he was.

the boy with dark hair standing there with his hands in his pockets, just like he used to.

it all felt so frighteningly familiar, like she'd been here before in another lifetime. she would have believed it too, because the moment stretched infinitely, impossibly, dragging on and on. it was him and his green eyes and that perfect golden scar on his lip that warped the world according to his own laws of gravity and time. she'd once traced that scar with her fingers, had once loved it, and brought forth a teardrop of blood from it.

her breath hitched.

the music was frighteningly loud now, as though the angels had been waiting for their beautiful muse to come back to them after all this time. it curled in the space between them, across the counter, beckoning their fingers to reach out and touch each other again.

toji.

she didn't say his name, couldn't. it looped in her mind like the numbers and greek letters she'd pondered over for years, never quite able to solve – maybe not even wanting to. if she did, he might just disappear altogether again. even if a part of her wanted him to, it was unbelievably sickening how her body and soul craved the sight of him.

her fingers twitched uncomfortably.

you can't be real.

no, you're not. none of this is real.

he was equal parts familiar and foreign. his mop of black hair just a touch longer than she remembered it to be, but still in that same messy style that was his. but what struck her the most were his clothes. they weren’t faded or worn, no random holes poking through anywhere. they were all clean and ironed, with a well- structured black coat over it all that looked like had just bought it from a shop and put it on.

he wasn't the same, no. that much was obvious.

but it's still you.

the cinnamon shaker slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the counter, its echo piercing through the void.

she gasped, “oh, s-sorry!”

and then he finally spoke. “s'alright.”

oh, toji.

his voice was rougher, deeper, yet even quieter than it used to be. it struck her chest like a hammer, reverberating throughout her hollowed bones and down the long hallway where the angels scribbled on their scrolls. he was staring at her like he was trying to solve her too, trying to decipher how she was really feeling on the inside.

she hated it.

hated how he was in a position that meant he knew her, even a little bit. hated that he knew everything, and would know that slight change in her face when she was about to smile or about to cry. hated how it took just about everything she had not to run away.

but most of all, she hated how she wanted nothing more than to just go to him.

to reach across the counter and pull him into her. to say how sorry she was and how much she had missed him, even beg him not to leave again.

i don’t want to love you anymore.

i wish, i wish, i wish i never did.

“i didn't think you would still be here,” he admitted, a tone of surprise in his words.

she felt a flash of annoyance.

how dare he acknowledge that she was still in the same place? it was embarrassing – shameful – that he had been able to go off and do what he said he was going to do, and she hadn't. that she was left behind in the dust of everyone else who had moved on.

“i'm doing my masters,” she replied flatly.

toji’s face fell a little at her tone, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “that's great! really. you were always smart. not that you aren't now, obviously.”

she only stared blankly at him. ��would you like to order something?”

toji hesitated, his chapped lips parting, but then the doorbell chimed behind him, loud and jarring.

“hey! it's absolutely freezing outside, isn’t it?” satoru's unmistakable drawl lashed through the air like a whip, larger than life.

her head whipped towards him, an immediate wave of relief washing over her before it was replaced by cold, hard dread. toji turned slightly, glancing at the boy with starlight hair who had strolled in like he owned the place. satoru's easy grin landed on her, dazzling her in his red.

until he noticed who was standing in front of her.

his eyes turned to ice, narrowing into daggers like he was ready to slice toji up into pieces. then, deliberately slow, satoru strutted over, plonking himself behind the counter right beside her, casually leaning forward as if he had all the time in the world.

“you need something?” satoru asked dangerously, his words dipped in a deep purple.

toji looked between the two of them, and something in those green eyes of his made her feel uneasy, even a dash of unwarranted guilt. his fists were tight, fingernails digging his palm so hard it made her own hands hurt. without saying another word, he swiveled on his heels and walked back out the door, disappearing into the afternoon that had gone grey again.

“nice meeting you!” satoru called out after him, a heavy hand resting on her shoulder.

but toji was already long gone.

| Φ l

satoru didn’t want to leave her alone.

“he doesn’t know where i live,” she’d hissed as they walked back to her studio together, a brooding hulk of a guard dog beside her. “satoru! you’re acting like a lunatic.”

“shut up, will you?” he snapped, his eyes darting suspiciously at every person who passing by. “he knows where you work.”

“i think that was just a random chance,” she mumbled quietly, her breath coming out in small, hot puffs, not sure why she was even defending toji at all.

but satoru had just ignored her, ushering her through the door of her building like the boy in question was right behind them, shutting it with a particularly loud slam! she almost felt like she was in trouble for something, even though rationally she knew that absolutely none of this was her fault.

she had just never seen satoru so unbelievably angry.

after firmly making sure she had eaten something wholesome, and after much convincing on her part that she definitely wasn’t planning to leave her apartment for the night, satoru finally left her alone. not before giving her a long, hard look that made it clear that if she needed him, she was to call him immediately.

she might have been touched by it if she wasn’t so utterly consumed by thoughts of toji.

why had he come? why now?

why, why, why?

endless questions swirled around her brain, circling like a goldfish swimming around a perfectly clear crystal bowl. she lay there on her bed, the only light coming from a flickering streetlight outside. sleep was completely out of the question for tonight, so she counted the seconds between each rhythmic flicker of light, trying pathetically to distract herself from it all.

just when she might have been able to slip into the darkness of a dreamless sleep, her phone lit up beside her.

buzz! buzz!

she frowned, not recognizing the unfamiliar number.

“hello?”

“hey, uh- it’s me.”

her heart stopped, then stuttered back to life. she sat upright, gripping her phone tighter.

“sorry, you weren’t asleep were you?” toji continued, his tone slightly sheepish.

she blinked. “no.”

“oh, great!” he cleared his throat. “i didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“it’s late.”

there was a pause. “right, yeah. well, i just… i wanted to call you for a while now, but i don’t know. it just didn’t feel right to talk to you over the phone.”

she waited with bated breath.

“about what?”

she knew exactly what.

“i just wanted to say that i’m sorry.”

of course she knew – in the same way that the universe might have known the big bang was coming. that existence was on the brink of becoming itself after an explosion, stretching and rippling outward like a drop of water in an infinite ocean.

there was another pause, followed by a deep breath. “i don’t expect calling you to fix everything that i did, but i wanted to start by telling you that i’m so sorry for everything.”

did the universe know it was going to hurt this much?

“i'm so sorry,” he continued in a fragile whisper. “for the way i ran away and left you like that. and i'm sorry for being such a coward.”

maybe it had been okay with it. that’s just how something grows, isn’t it? a sudden explosion of growing pains to become something better, newer.

“you didn't deserve it.”

but the universe was born silently when it exploded into existence – a voiceless scream as creation erupted into being. she wondered how long it had been quiet for after it was all over.

“you still there?”

“yeah.”

she wondered if she would be silent too.

“well i-uh, i know that you've probably moved on from all this, but i just wanted to try and make things right.”

“mhm.”

he coughed, and cleared his throat. “you know, i went to therapy.”

“you did?”

“yeah. it was… kinda forced on me at the beginning, but i knew that i needed it to start fixing myself. i learned a lot about myself, and about why i did what i did. and i know that i definitely didn’t deserve you back then, but that i also didn't deserve to come back you if i was still the same.”

“and do you think you're... fixed now?”

“yeah, i’m just trying to be better.”

the light outside flickered again. one, two...

“you know... there's nothing you can say that'll make me forget what you did.”

three.

a sharp inhale, followed by a rough, “i know.”

“and you can’t just expect to walk back into my life like nothing happened.”

“i know.”

she turned over, burying her face in her pillow, the phone pressed against her ear.

“but that's not why i called you,” toji murmured. “i’m not trying to get you to forget what happened, because i can't either. but i’ve changed, and i just want to try and make things a little better, and to maybe be... friends, at least.”

“you want to be friends now?”

he paused for a long time.

“if you'd be okay with that, then yeah.”

“look, toji, i- i don't know.”

“i’d understand if you don't want to, believe me. and if you never want to hear or see me again then i’d get that too. and its selfish of me to even ask you this in the first place, but i have to try and keep you in my life because i still need you.”

holy good god.

“and i think about you all the time, every single day for the past two years, because you're it for me. you’re my person, and even if you don't want the same as me, then that's okay. i’d rather have you as a friend than nothing at all.”

what was she even supposed to say to that?

“and even as a friend, i promise not to leave like that again.”

“but what if i don’t want you as a friend? what if i don’t want you as anything to me anymore?”

“then i’ll leave.”

even the angels had stopped writing, their quills frozen mid-number as they peered over their desks, watching the two little humans they had tangled together in a messy scrawl of numbers and letters.

“say something,” toji said, a sad desperation in his voice. “please.”

“you hurt me, toji. do you know how much i hated you for that?”

“believe me, its not more than how much i hated myself for doing it.”

don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.

don’t you dare.

“okay,” she whispered.

“okay?”

her mind buzzed with thoughts and the consequences of allowing toji fushiguro back into her life. she thought of satoru, and how angry he would be, and how her brain screamed with all the words she wanted to hurl at toji about the true extent of how much he had hurt her.

but that didn’t matter, not yet.

not when he was here and promising to stay – to stay and be there for her, to listen to everything she had to say.

there was time for all of that.

and perhaps it was time to be born anew in a different universe.

“yeah, okay, but i can’t just be around you like that again. it doesn’t work that way, and i need time to get used to… you.”

toji’s voice sounded more hopeful, more positive, like the sun had broken through the clouds and was shining down on him again. “y-yeah, i get that! i’ll wait! however long it takes, i’ll wait.”

“okay,” she said quietly, almost as if reassuring herself.

“well it’s-uh late, i guess,” he said, a shaky cheerfulness in his voice that made the ghost of a smile play on her lips. “goodnight, and maybe call you tomorrow?”

“goodnight, toji.”

the line went quiet.

fuck.

but her mind certainly didn’t.

| Φ |

“it really brings me so much joy to have been able to help you, toji.”

“haha, thanks, but god, i just had so much more to say to her, ya know? but i think there’s still a chance, and i have you to thank for it.”

| Φ |

having toji fushiguro back in her life didn’t seem real.

it was slow and awkward, like dipping her toe into the cold sea again after having forgotten what it felt like. of course, he couldn’t stay in town for too long. tokyo and his work were calling him back, and she understood. so, they mainly kept in touch through texting, which was basically an all day affair. every spare moment they had, whether it was in between her making a cup of coffee, during study breaks, or toji in between training sessions. it would be a lie to say she wasn’t clinging tightly to every text, or that her heart didn’t leap every time her phone buzzed.

but it was also easy.

something she could nestle into, like a gentle wind beneath a bird’s wings.

sometime during the quiet nights of spring, they began calling each other to fill the silence.

“hey,” toji would greet, a bashful shyness in his voice, and she could tell that he was smiling.

she’d bite her lip to keep her own smile from forming. “hi.”

he’d ask her about her day, and all about what she was doing – every little mundane detail, as if toji was trying to collect all the parts of her that he’d missed. she told him about about her course, what she had been up to, and even about the summer she spent with satoru. he’d even ask her to remind him of some of the theories and laws she had told him about all those years ago, and she couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted to genuinely learn them again or if he just wanted to keep her on the phone longer.

she asked him about his life too. she learned that it was only a month after he arrived in tokyo that toji bumped into shiu kong in a random pachinko parlor. they had gotten talking, and before toji could count to three, shiu was already drawing up business plans for their doja on the back of a napkin. it was perfect, really. toji had the physical experience, and shiu had the connections – and, most importantly, the money.

“you know, i don’t think i’ll ever get used to just having money like this,” toji admitted, and she wanted to cry.

one day, after clearly skirting around the topic for some time, toji finally asked her, “so, uh, is satoru your…” he smacked his lips together. “boyfriend?”

“pft! no.”

his relief had been quite palpable.

“what about you?” she returned, chewing the inside of her cheek and tasting acrid metal. “have you been seeing anybody in tokyo?”

“no,” toji replied gently, like it was so silly she even asked in the first place. “not one.”

she knew her pathetic relief was most definitely palpable.

although, it wasn’t always so easy.

more often than not, just when they thought they had slipped into a sense of familiarity, the harsh reminders of the past came knocking. both of them would test the waters, perhaps asking a question that was too deep, too painful – usually about how they had coped in those early days of being apart.

it was just too hard for either of them to hear the answers. toji didn’t exactly enjoy hearing just how much she had hated him, or how utterly crippled she was for the first couple of months after he left. she could tell that it tore him up on the inside, and a part of her liked it. he deserved to feel every ounce of guilt he was capable of, and then some.

“you want to know what it felt like for me, do you?” she hissed, so much venom gushing from her bite that it even surprised her. “well, i’ll fucking tell you then.”

and she did, in great detail.

toji would snap back too, it was only human of him to.

“what, you think i had an easy time trying to fix myself?” he’d say, his voice quaking and breaking apart her resolve. “i didn’t. i was fucking miserable all the fucking time, and everytime i looked in the mirror i had my scar reminding me of my biggest fuck-up to date.”

those conversations usually ended up with her abruptly hanging up the phone and crying herself to sleep.

but she would always wake up to a message from toji, and they were always so incredibly gentle. he’d tell her how he just wanted them both to shed the weight of all their pain off their shoulders, and for her not to worry about how he felt heari all those things. that he could take it all – the pain, everything.

and that he still wasnt going anywhere.

it really struck her in those moments just how much he had changed.

still, there was something holding her back from falling back into him again.

and she wasn’t sure if it was because of satoru, who was less than impressed by it all.

“he called you, didn’t he?” he asked the day after toji called the first time, twirling a sugar packet between his fingers like he didn’t care what her answer was.

she gave him a look, saying nothing, and licked her dry lips.

he let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “so…what? are you two back together now?”

“no,” she admitted quietly, feeling like a child about to be scolded. “but i’ve given him a chance.”

satoru’s eyes flashed a bright cerulean, like a star burning the brightest blue it ever could, before his gaze hardened.

finally, he grunted, “i get it.”

she almost spilled the latte she had been preparing.

he quirked a brow at her incredulous look and muttered, “i can’t sit here and pretend i wouldn’t do the same for suguru if i was able to.”

but before her smile could look too relieved, satoru added rather sharply, “but that doesn’t mean i like this.”

and that was that.

he never once asked how they were getting on or what they talked about. whenever her phone buzzed with a notification, he stared at it like he wanted to burn holes into it, but he said nothing – only a tight grimace appeared on his face, and that told her exactly how he felt about toji fushiguro.

and now, it was the end of her very last semester in the world of academics.

it was really dawning on her this time that her goodbyes would be final. that these last couple of months would be her last at the cafe and at the studio apartment she had eventually learned to love. on satoru’s insistence, she had decided to move on and get a proper job after graduating. he had told her he knew some contacts in tokyo who could hook them both up with decent jobs within the industry, and who was she to say no to that?

besides, it was nice to know that she wouldn’t be alone in this big, bad world.

she slipped through the door of the cafe, wiping the damp from her shoes on the entrance mat. there weren’t many students in studying at this time, the busier hours actually came later, at the start of the all-nighters. the students must have all heard that it was a quiet cafe at night, and now everyone came at the same time. the smell of sweet, buttery pastries made her tummy grumble, and she put a hand over her abdomen, as if that would quiet it down.

it did, because sitting right at the booth by the counter, was toji.

with satoru.

both their expressions were unreadable, but toji was hunched forward, nodding solemnly to whatever it was satoru was saying. her best friend had a towel draped over his taut shoulder, his starlight hair a mess, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.

she hesitated at the door.

what is going on?

satoru noticed her first, and his sentence trailed off like fading music. his gaze held hers firmly, fiercely. she felt that if she looked away, the world would crumble beneath her feet, and she would surely die. then, toji turned too, and the wind was knocked right out of her.

the cafe suddenly felt too small, not nearly big enough for all three of them and the weight of their pasts. satoru moved first, beckoning her over with his hand. her feet moved of their own accord, like she was a piece of metal drawn towards a magnet, helpless in trying to resist his pull.

“well,” satoru said lightly, placing the towel onto the counter. “i was just leaving.”

her throat tightened. “satoru.”

she didn’t know why the thought of being alone with toji felt more terrifying than being with both of them together, but it did. but the look that he gave her stopped her cold. it wasn’t harsh, not in the slightest, but it was mesmerizing – a thousand and one blue stars were exploding in his eyes. it made her heart hurt, her head swim with all the colors that made satoru gojo who he was. and then the stars softened into something warm and comforting, and she knew he was trying to tell her something without words.

he glanced at toji.

then back to her, giving her a barely perceptible nod.

it’s okay.

you can trust him.

she huffed a breath, the relief hitting her all at once. satoru turned back to toji, giving him a brief nod, and then he was out of the door.

a folded sheet of paper lay in front of toji, his large hand placed over it like he was afraid it might flutter away. she stood behind the counter now, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she tied her apron.

“i wanted to give this back to you,” toji said before she could say anything, a dusting of pretty pink on his cheeks as he slid the paper towards her. “i’m sorry for ripping your book.”

she unfolded the familiar paper, noting how the creases were soft and a little worn, and skimmed over the words.

oh my.

it was the page satoru had told her was missing from her book, the one about the theory of relativity, and right there in the corner was the equation for quantum entanglement written in blue ink.

“you once told me that when two particles belong together, they’ll always be connected no matter the distance between them. i’ve never forgotten it, not once this whole time.”

and then his hand was over hers, and the world and her heart was on fire.

“you still believe it?” she asked, her voice trembling, as she stared down at his thumb brushing her knuckles with a tenderness she had forgotten.

“yeah, because everything that i do, and everything that i am, is you.”

she didn’t know what toji fushiguro and satoru gojo had said to each other that day.

and perhaps she never would.

but as she poured toji a fresh batch of green tea into a big mug the way she used to, it didn’t really matter at all, did it?

| Φ |

“take care now, and i wish you all the best.”

“goodbye! and really, thankyou. for everything.”

| Φ |

today was a profoundly bittersweet occasion.

“satoru! i can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“well, you might want to start soon.”

it was her graduation day.

again.

there was some parts of it that felt unnervingly familiar, setting her teeth a slightly on edge at the reminders of the past. her kimono was laid neatly on her bed, exactly as it had been the first time. she was sat cross-legged in front of a mirror doing her makeup exactly the same way as she had on that fateful day.

but this time, it already felt better than it did the last time.

she wasn’t paralyzed with worry over the disappearance of a certain dark haired boy. she wasn’t sitting here working herself into a nervous fit over her future. no, she was here, in a new home with her best friend in the whole world. the one who had held her chin and tilted her head for her to look back up towards the stars. the one who had helped steady her shaking bones, his arms around her as he had called back the scattered atoms of her broken soul.

she looked at him fondly, far too fondly, and her angel of the stars looked back at her, alarmingly perplexed, his cheeks flushed in a bright strawberry red. “what?” he mumbled shyly.

he only got a giggle from her, her knees bouncing off the floor with a rush of excitement. she grinned as she she delicately swiped her mascara over her lashes, and satoru shook his head in confusion. he sat down carefully at the edge of her bed, smoothing out any little folds that had formed in her kimono. it was satoru’s graduation gift to her, actually – the kimono. they had picked out the fabric together, spending hours hiking through ridiculously expensive textiles that she insisted was too much, before settling on a luxuriously silky material with green and blue sakura flowers fluttering down the length of the fabric.

“you should have a piece of me on that stage,” he’d said, pointing to the blue petals, then to the green. “and i guess he deserves to be there too.”

it was then easy for her to decide that satoru gojo must be an angel.

she glanced at him again. “are you going to go and get ready, or what?”

“oh, psht! that wont take me long, don’t worry.”

he was currently in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, hair extra fluffy and untamable, and looked absolutely nowhere near ready to attend a graduation ceremony in less than an hour and a half.

“you better not, or i’ll actually kill you.”

satoru only rolled his eyes at that. “yeah yeah, sure. so you can give toji my ticket? no chance.”

while there had been a fragile peace between the two, and satoru didn’t grimace everytime she mentioned toji, he certainly still wasn’t as fond of the dark haired boy as she would have liked by this point.

“speaking of,” satoru continued with an air of nonchalance. “what is the guy doing today without a ticket?”

it had already been decided some time ago that satoru would be the one to have the spare ticket to her graduation. by the time toji had started getting closer to her, it had been too late to change it, and maybe it was also the faint lingering trauma from what had happened at the last one. she was hesitant to give it to him, and it would be a lie to say that toji wasnt disappointed.

though he had tried his best to hide it, she could see right through him.

“oh, he said he would try and sneak in the back to watch. if not, i’ll just meet him at the cafe later tonight.”

her best friend only hummed, watching with fascinated interested, his head tilted as she put her makeup on.

“sneaking in, huh? doesn’t really seem like his style.”

she shrugged her shoulders, blending an extra touch of concealer with her fingers. “he really wants to try and be there for me this time, you know?”

“as he should. i was sorta worried about you both for a while.”

“huh, you? worried about toji?”

“yeah, you’re right. it’s more of a very bland interest.”

she gave him a hard look.

“okay, okay! honestly though, i felt like the only thing stopping him from really getting to you was me. and that after we had that conversation, he would just dive straight back into what you guys had without a second thought.”

she glanced at satoru through the mirror. “well, neither of you want to tell me what you said to each other.”

“mind your business!”

“pft!”

“anyways, i guess it was more that i was worried about something happening and it tearing you apart again. i can’t watch that happen, not after you’ve just put yourself back together.”

satoru sighed, his knee bouncing rapidly. “and, well… i suppose i can only really ask you about how it's going.”

her hands suddenly felt stiff, and she set down her brush. “it’s not… easy, sometimes. we’ve talked about everything that happened, and its painful, but it also just feels good. there’s a part of me that feels more stitched together than i did before. we’re not perfect yet, but we’re both trying, and it’s nice.”

she added more softly. “we laugh more than we used to. a lot now, actually.”

the blue nebula in his eyes sparkled. “yeah?”

“haha, yeah.”

satoru hummed thoughtfully, “you really think its different this time?”

“yeah, i do, satoru.”

“you know, i’ve never told you this, but you say my name the way suguru used to.”

a shaky, lopsided smile played on her lips, her eyes glossing over. “he must have really loved you then.”

satoru’s pearly lashes fluttered, as if he was startled by the weight of her words, and another bashful blush spread across his cheeks, his lips forming a glossy pout.

“like i do,” she added, more teasingly this time. “in case that wasnt obvious enough already.”

“right, okay,” satoru huffed, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned his head away from her. “don’t get all mushy on me now, miss graduate.”

he got up and patted down his jeans, his fingers slipping into his left pocket to feel for his invitation. “i guess i’ll see you after it’s over.”

she squealed excitedly. “okay! see you later!”

| Φ |

the air outside the auditorium was positively electric.

huh, i must have missed out on this feeling the last time.

there were plenty of nervous, jittery smiles and hand shakes as the waiting room buzzed with static energy. she mingled briefly with some of her classmates, musing with them at how far they had come and all the challenges they had overcome. some of them even talked about what their plans were for the future, a few jaws dropping when she quietly admitted where she would be working in tokyo. soon enough, they were all being ushered in to take their seats on the stage.

the reality of the moment was really sinking in as she took her seat. as she smoothed out her kimono, her eyes scanned the seemingly endless rows, which were filling fast with family members and close friends.

she frowned.

satoru’s unmistakable starlight hair was nowhere to be seen.

he must be running late. hopefully he gets here before it starts.

the lights dimmed, and the doors at the back of the auditorium shut with a decisive thud.

i’m really going to kill him.

her heart panged with disappointment.

and then she saw him.

toji fushiguro.

the boy with dark hair who used to never have much to say, and was perfectly happy with not being liked by anybody – except her. the boy with forests in his eyes and a scar on his lip that he didn’t let anybody touch – except her.

the one who hadn’t been there the last time and almost seemed out of place now.

but he was here – for her.

because she was the unexpected variable, the singular exception that had been thrown into his routine equation just to shake the foundations of his existence. and maybe there would be other inexplicable formulas – there probably would – but that didn’t matter. she knew the angels had entangled them together, and there was nothing more to do or say about it. because no matter what had happened, or what would happen, they belonged to each other.

there was a constant pull for each other souls through the broken skin of a golden scar.

satoru must have given him his ticket.

toji was grinning at her, so proud and perfect, standing up and clapping for her like she was the only person in the room as she accepted her certificate.

the music of the angels played on in her mind, bright and clear, for one last time.

and her equation was finally solved.

| Φ |

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sasheemo · 2 days ago

Text

Friday Thoughts

Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: Sunday morning’s spicy haze gives way to a heartfelt conversation about your future together. But with Agatha’s signature flair, it’s anything but ordinary.

Chapter Tags: Jealous Reader, Domestic Bliss, Nicky is Basically a Tiny Wingman, Happy Ending, Fluff Ending, Slow(ish) Burn Payoff, Smut

Word Count: 8.9k

A/N: Chapter 4 dropped on Christmas Eve, and now Chapter 5 is here New Year's Eve—what can I say, I aim for festive timing! 😬

I know I’m not the fastest writer, and I’m sooo sorry about that, but this final chapter had me second-guessing everything right up until the very end.

It was supposed to be short and sweet. No smut. No Rio cameos. Just a heartfelt conversation to wrap everything up neatly. But… well, apparently I can’t resist a little extra spice and some fluff. So instead of “short and sweet,” you’re getting “long and indulgent.” You’re welcome.

Oh, and fair warning—this chapter has a lot of dialogue. But I promise I did my best to make it… engaging wink wink 😏

This is my first-ever completed multi-chapter fic, and honestly? I’m a mix of proud and devastated to be saying goodbye to it. These two have been living rent-free in my head for a while now, and I really hope this ending does them justice.

Thank you to everyone who’s been along for this wild ride—it’s been a joy writing this story, and your support has meant everything. As always, I can’t wait to hear what you think! Here’s to the happy ending these two (and you, let’s be real) deserve. Enjoy and Happy New Year! 💜🥳

Chapter Index

Read on AO3

All you can hear is the relentless pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud drowning out your thoughts as you search for the words.

Agatha’s watching you, her gaze sharp but not unkind. Her hand rests lightly on your arm—a simple, grounding touch—but it might as well be a flame branding your skin, its warmth sending waves of tension rippling through you.

The weight of her presence, the intensity of her eyes, the way her touch seems to anchor you in place, it all builds to a point where you feel like you might snap. You take a step back, breaking the connection, though the movement is hesitant, almost reluctant.

Agatha lets her hand fall without protest, her brow lifting slightly in curiosity as she watches you retreat.

Your feet begin to move instinctively, pacing back and forth across the room as you try to untangle the storm of thoughts in your head. The soft sounds of your bare feet against the hardwood floor create a rhythm, something tangible to focus on as you walk a short line, turn, and walk it again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Agatha shifting her stance. She takes a couple of steps back and leans casually against the dresser, crossing her arms over her chest with an ease that contrasts maddeningly with your spiraling.

Her hair falls loosely over her shoulders, the soft light catching on its dark waves. Her expression is calm, almost amused, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips as she tracks your movements.

After a couple of minutes of incessant pacing, you don’t even need to look at her to know she’s probably fighting the urge to laugh. She sighs, low and exasperated, though there’s no real annoyance in it.

“Come here, hon.” her voice cuts through the fog in your mind like a blade, steady and commanding.

You freeze mid-step, glancing toward her, your pulse quickening at the simple authority in her tone.

Slowly, you approach, hesitant but unable to resist the pull of her presence. You stop just short of closing the distance, leaving a fragile sliver of space between you—a barrier you cling to, as much for your own composure as for a chance to steady the storm inside.

Every part of you aches to close the gap, but you hold back, convincing yourself that this small distance is the only way to face her with a clear mind.

Agatha doesn’t push, doesn’t reach for you. Instead, she stays where she is, leaning against the dresser, her eyes fixed on yours with piercing intensity. Her stillness feels intentional, as though she’s giving you space to breathe, to think, while still holding you firmly in her orbit.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice a velvety blend of calm and command. “Whatever’s got you pacing like a caged animal, it’s time to spit it out.”

You let out a sharp breath, your shoulders slumping slightly as the tension inside you finally breaks.

“Doesn’t this worry you?” you ask, your voice tight with nervous energy.

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, hon.” she replies smoothly, her tone effortlessly confident. “What part of this is supposed to worry me?”

You gesture vaguely with your hands, the words tumbling out clumsily as you try to give shape to your thoughts. “I mean… all of it? Us. Nicholas. What if—what if this gets messy?”

Her smirk deepens, and she tilts her head, studying you with that maddening, amused expression, like she’s already figured you out and is just waiting for you to catch up.

“Messy?” she repeats, the word rolling off her tongue with a teasing lilt. “Sweetheart, the only thing messy about this is how you’re tying yourself into knots over it.”

“I’m serious, Agatha.” you scoff defensively, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So am I, hon.” her voice sharpens slightly, firm but not harsh. “Look, I’m not saying there won’t be challenges. But whatever they are, they’re not anything two grown women can’t handle.”

“So… what exactly is it that’s worrying you?” she presses, her tone softening just a fraction.

Her question hangs in the air, and the weight of her gaze settles over you like a warm, steady pressure. You glance away, trying to collect yourself, before meeting her eyes again.

“It’s everything.” you admit, your voice quieter now. “I just… I don’t know how this works. How we work.”

Agatha doesn’t respond. She just watches you, but there’s no rush in her gaze, no impatience—just a quiet expectation, as if she knows the words are there and trusts you to find them on your own.

Her unexpected steadiness makes something inside you loosen. For some reason, you thought Agatha might struggle with conversations like this—emotional topics, deep and vulnerable. It never seemed like her thing, at least in your mind.

But now, seeing her so composed, so unshaken by the storm you’ve brought to her, you realize that maybe she was expecting this, maybe she’s known this conversation was inevitable long before you did.

And somehow, her calm confidence makes it easier to breathe.

“I just…” you trail off, running a hand through your hair. “I need to know. When did this start? When did you start… feeling like this about me?”

Her brows lift slightly, and for a moment, genuine surprise flickers across her face. It vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by that familiar smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“That’s a tough one to answer.” she begins, her voice carrying a thoughtful edge. “It wasn’t some grand epiphany. More like… a collection of little moments, each one adding up until I couldn’t ignore them anymore.”

There’s a faint trace of annoyance in her tone, not aimed at you but at the sheer audacity of the realization itself. Like the idea that you’ve been occupying so much space in her mind is a personal affront she’s still coming to terms with—and even now, it seems to bruise her pride just a little.

“Like what?” you press with quiet insistence, a thread of determination woven through the words.

Agatha tilts her head, her smirk softening as her gaze narrows, calculating. For a moment, she looks almost reluctant to speak, as if she’s weighing how much to tell you.

“You remember that afternoon a couple of months ago,” she starts, her tone deceptively casual. “when you showed up drenched from head to toe? It was pouring outside, and you still walked in here grinning like an idiot, dripping all over my floors.”

You blink, caught off guard by the memory. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I thought to myself,” she murmurs, her eyes drifting as if replaying the scene, “how does someone look that damn happy while freezing and soaking wet? And why the hell can’t I stop staring at her?”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, your cheeks heating as your gaze darts away from hers. Instinctively, you feel the urge to take a step back, a reflexive retreat from the intensity of the moment.

But this time, Agatha reaches out, moving as though she’s read your mind.

She leans forward slightly, her hand grazing your wrist as her fingers curl lightly around it, tugging with just enough firmness to pull you a fraction closer to her.

“And then…” she continues, her voice gaining that teasing edge that always leaves you off-balance, “You’d leave those little treats from the café on the kitchen table. Like some saintly delivery girl, making sure Nicholas had something sweet after school and I had something waiting for me after work. You didn’t think I noticed, did you?”

“I just thought—” you begin, stammering slightly, but she cuts you off with a wave of her hand.

“You thought I was too busy to notice, or that I didn’t care.” she says, her tone mockingly serious now, though her smirk never wavers.

Her fingers trail from your wrist to your hip as she speaks, and it takes a moment for you to realize you’ve unconsciously taken a step closer, the space between you narrowing with each passing second.

“And you,” she continues, her voice dipping lower, “always smelled like coffee after your morning shifts. That scent… it stuck with me. Sometimes I’d walk into the kitchen at night, hours after you left, and I could still smell it. God, I started to notice it everywhere. It drove me insane.”

Your breath catches at her words, and again as her other hand joins the first, both settling firmly on your hips. With a final, deliberate tug, she guides you into the space between her legs, her warmth radiating against you, drawing you into her orbit completely.

“And then there was last Friday night.” she breathes, her voice steeped in an intimacy that makes every word feel like a secret. “I came home and found you on the couch with Nicky curled up next to you. I stood there just staring at you both. I couldn’t stop thinking about how… safe he looked with you. How much he trusts you. How cute the two of you looked together like that.”

The weight of her words leaves you momentarily stunned, but before you can process them fully, a darker thought claws its way to the forefront of your mind.

“And the other Fridays?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

Her brow arches, and the sharpness in her expression returns, a glint of mischief sparking in her eyes. “What about them?”

“You know what I mean.” you say, crossing your arms tightly, trying to shield yourself from the sudden vulnerability you feel. “All those nights you came home late, looking… like that.”

Agatha sighs, the sound low and laced with mock boredom, yet the gentle squeeze of her hands on your hips betrays her true feelings—anything but indifferent. It’s not real annoyance, more a carefully crafted exasperation tinged with amusement, as if, deep down, she’s savoring how your relentless, probing questions are playing perfectly into her hands.

“Most of them were business dinners.” she says, her voice firm and matter-of-fact. “Clients, potential partners. Necessary evils, nothing exciting.”

“But not all of them.” you press, your voice sharper now, frustration lacing your words.

“No.” she remarks dryly. “Not all of them.”

“How many were dates?” you demand, the jealousy you’ve been trying to suppress bubbling to the surface hot and fast despite your best efforts to tamp it down.

“Does it matter?” she counters smoothly, her tone cool but not dismissive.

“It does to me.” you snap before you can stop yourself.

“Fine, a few. But none of them were serious, hon.” she says, and you could swear her voice is playful, almost teasing, as if she can sense the jealousy burning you alive and is enjoying every second of it.

“Define ‘serious.’” you scoff, your hands coming up to push lightly against her shoulders, but she doesn’t budge an inch.

“One dinner.” she states with a shrug, her tone infuriatingly calm and offhand. “Maybe some fun at their place afterwards, but that’s it. It was never anything more.”

Her honesty stings, even if it’s what you wanted, what you asked for. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the jealousy from overtaking you.

“And last Friday night?” you press, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy as they leave your lips, your pulse quickening with a mix of apprehension and the need to know. “What happened before you came home and found me and Nicky on the couch?”

Her grin turns inexplicably wicked as her hands slide lower to firmly your ass. With a deliberate tug, she pulls you flush against her, your hips colliding in a way that sends heat racing up your spine.

“Last Friday night was a date, sweetheart.” she begins, her tone maddeningly casual, like she’s recounting a a dull anecdote rather than making your blood boil. “She tried to kiss me outside the restaurant and invited me to her place.”

She pauses just long enough for the words to sink in, her eyes glinting with amusement as she gauges your reaction.

The words hit you like a cold gust of wind, and your chest tightens, jealousy fizzling hot and insistent in your stomach. Her nonchalance feels like a knife twisting, and you’re sure she can sense it, her smirk widening ever so slightly as her eyes lock onto yours.

You force yourself to hold her gaze, but the casual edge of her tone, the way she seems so unaffected, is almost too much to bear. A hundred thoughts race through your mind, each one more unbearable than the last. You’re not sure whether to scoff, snap, or step away, but before you can decide, Agatha’s voice cuts through the tension again.

“But…”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, and her expression shifts, the confidence that usually cloaks her like armor faltering ever so slightly. It’s subtle, but enough to make you feel the weight of whatever she’s about to say.

She exhales through her nose, the hesitation palpable as though she’s debating whether to say the words out loud.

When she finally does, her voice is lower, dipping into a gentleness that catches you completely off guard, each word laced with a quiet vulnerability that makes your heart stutter.

“When I politely declined her offer… I called her by your name.”

You blink. Once. Twice. your brain firing on all cylinders yet somehow managing to stall completely. Surely, you must have misheard her.

And then she winks. And it’s game over.

Your eyes widen to comical proportions, your jaw drops like it’s auditioning for a slapstick comedy, and you’re pretty sure your entire face is now brighter than a chili pepper under a spotlight.

At your reaction, Agatha’s smirk blossoms into its full, mischievous glory, positively dripping with wicked delight—a clear indicator that she’s savoring every second of your mental implosion.

“You what?!” you practically squawk, the words bursting out louder and more incredulous than you thought humanly possible.

Agatha chuckles, low and rich, the sound rolling over you like a warm wave. The sheer satisfaction glinting in her eyes is almost maddening, and her hands, still resting on your ass, shift slightly—her fingers brushing against the loose fabric of your shorts in a way that feels far too casual given the bombshell she just dropped.

“No, no, wait.” you stammer, still trying to process. “You’re telling me you, Agatha Harkness—confident, poised, never-misses-a-beat Agatha Harkness—actually called someone by the wrong name? My name? On a date? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type to… you know… trip over your own rizz like that.”

She tilts her head, one brow arching in mock warning as her eyes lock onto yours, a look that clearly says, Careful, hon, don’t push your luck. It’s playful, yes, but there’s just enough edge in her gaze to make your breath hitch, like she’s daring you to test her patience.

“Trust me, sweetheart, no one was more surprised than me.” she admits with dry amusement as the faintest shrug rolls off her shoulders.

But there’s a betraying flicker in her eyes, a glimmer of self-deprecation, and you can tell she’s trying very hard to hold back laughter herself at this point.

“So, you’re standing there, at the end of your very hot date or whatever, and just—what? Randomly blurt out my name?” you ask, the teasing edge in your voice growing sharper as you fight the urge to giggle.

“It wasn’t quite like that.” she corrects, “We were outside the restaurant, and she leaned in—clearly angling for a kiss. I… stopped her before it went that far.” she continues as her smirk deepens. “But then she still invited me back to her place, and… well, that’s when it happened. Your name name came out instead of whatever hers was. Clear as day.”

The image plays out in your head: Agatha standing there with some impossibly glamorous woman, utterly composed until… she isn’t. The thought sends a strange mix of emotions swirling through you—jealousy, disbelief, and something dangerously close to triumph.

“Why didn’t you…?” you hesitate, your voice faltering as the question comes out before you can stop yourself. “Why didn’t you just go home with her?”

“It wouldn’t have made much sense, would it?” she replies with a shrug, as if you’ve just asked the most obvious question in the world.

“Why not?” you push, your heart pounding now.

“Because it wouldn’t have mattered. The whole date was a lousy attempt to stop thinking about the fact that I wanted my hot, younger babysitter.”

Your breath hitches, heat rushing to your face at her words. They land between you, heavy and electric, making it impossible to look away.

“And I knew,” she continues, her voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial, “that if I’d gone home with her, it wouldn’t have changed anything. I’d have spent the whole night imagining it was you. Hell, I spent the entire dinner doing that.”

The honesty in her words steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you momentarily stunned. Her confession is playful and teasing, but it’s also raw, stripped of any pretense, leaving no room for doubt.

“You’ve been in my head, sweetheart, for longer than you realize. Last Friday night just made it impossible to keep pretending otherwise.”, her words come out almost in a sigh, laced with exasperation, like this whole ordeal has been just as maddening for her as it has been for you.

Your thoughts are spinning, a chaotic swirl of emotions you can’t quite untangle, but the way she’s looking at you—steady, unshaken, and utterly sure—anchors you in place. Her gaze is magnetic, pulling you toward a singular truth that feels impossible to ignore, and there’s only one thing your mind is screaming at you to do.

Your hands fly to her neck, fingers tangling in the soft waves of her hair as your lips crash into hers. The kiss is anything but gentle—urgent, unrestrained, a collision of pent-up tension, jealousy and raw need.

Agatha stiffens for a second, caught off guard, but the hesitation melts as quickly as it came.

She responds with equal fervor, her lips moving against yours with a commanding urgency that steals the breath from your lungs. When she finally breaks away, it’s not in retreat but with a low, surprised laugh that vibrates against your lips.

“Well.” she drawls, her voice roughened with amusement and provocation, her lips still brushing yours, “If jealousy makes you this needy, I might just make it a habit to mention my Friday nights more often.”

Your face burns as you glare at her, though the heat in your chest only intensifies.

“Don’t even try it.” you snap, tugging slightly at her bottom lip with your teeth as your voice drops to a playful warning. “I mean it, Agatha.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound rumbling through her chest as one of her hands drifts from your hips to the front of your shorts, her fingers toying lazily with the waistband.

The casual, almost absent motion ignites a wildfire beneath your skin, leaving every nerve alight and your body coiled tight with anticipation.

She slips one thigh between yours, nudging gently to widen your stance, and your hands instinctively clutch her shoulders for balance. Before you can steady yourself, her fingers dip beneath the fabric, brushing the edge of your panties.

Her smirk deepens, her eyes gleaming with sinful intent that sends a tremor through your knees, as if she’s already savoring the exact moment she’ll make you fall apart.

“But baby…” she murmurs, leaning in until her lips brush the shell of your ear, her voice dropping into something dark and honey-sweet. “Needy looks sooo good on you”

Her voice alone sends a pulse straight to your core, and when her fingers dip lower, slipping past the edge of your panties to press against your soaked folds, the moan that rips from your throat is nothing short of pornographic.

You’re drenched, embarrassingly so, and the slick sound of her fingers gliding through your arousal only makes it worse.

She doesn’t even try to conceal her delight, letting out a throaty, satisfied hum that vibrates against your skin. It’s a sound of pure indulgence, as though she’s reveling in the way your body responds so eagerly, so quickly, to her words, to her touches.

“Agatha—fuck!” you gasp, your voice trembling with a mix of need and protest as your hips buck involuntarily against her hand. “We’re not… we’re not done talking.”

Her lips curl into a grin as she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes gleaming with a challenge as her fingers slide deeper, spreading your wetness with excruciatingly languid strokes.

“Oh, I know.” she purrs, her tone dripping with faux innocence as her fingers tease your entrance. “Go on, baby. Keep talking.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to—”

The sentence dies in your throat, replaced by a strangled moan as two fingers slide into you effortlessly. The sound of your wetness fills the room, obscene and loud, and you can’t stop the strangled cry that escapes when she curls her fingers just right.

“I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” she asks smoothly, her smirk widening as her thumb brushes a lazy, maddeningly light circle over your clit. “I’ve let you ask all your questions, answered them, and I’m still here for the rest. But…”. She punctuates her next words with a deep thrust, her palm grinding against your clit in a way that makes your breath hitch. “It’s time you start giving me something back, don’t you think?”

“Oh my God—fuck!” you groan, your head dropping to her shoulder as your hips grind against her hand, chasing the pleasure she’s so expertly coaxing from you.

Your legs tremble, barely holding you up, and the wet, filthy sound of her fingers moving inside you makes your face burn with humiliation and need.

“That’s it.” she hums, her voice low and approving as her free hand moves to tangle in your hair, tilting your head so her lips graze your ear. “Be a good girl and try for me, mmh?”

“Agatha, please.” you whimper, your nails digging into her shoulders as your walls clench around her fingers. “I can’t—I can’t focus when you’re—mmh—when you’re doing that.”

“Sure, you can. And you will.” she murmurs, her thumb pressing harder against your clit in rhythm with her thrusts. “You’ll think, talk, listen, and take everything I’m giving you, just like the clever girl I know you are.”

Her praise is a double-edged sword, both a balm and a brand, sending warmth flooding through you while also igniting a stubborn need to meet her challenge. Gritting your teeth, you force your voice to form a single, coherent thought.

“N-nicholas.” you stammer, your voice barely intelligible as pleasure and worry collide in your chest. “What about—oh, fuck—what about Nicholas? What if— what if this messes everything up for him?”

Agatha’s smirk softens just slightly, though her fingers don’t falter, their pace steady and relentless.

“Nicholas is smarter than most adults, baby.” she murmurs, her voice impossibly calm and confident even as you whimper against her shoulder. “He’s practically a human lie detector. Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already picked up on something.”

“Besides, he adores you.” she continues casually, as if you aren’t completely falling apart in her arms. “As long as we handle this carefully—and don’t, you know, start fucking in the living room while he’s watching cartoons—he’ll be fine.”

You let out a strangled laugh, though it quickly dissolves into a moan as her fingers curl deeper, hitting a spot that makes your entire body tense.

“But—but what if he—oh my God—doesn’t take it well?”

“Sweetheart.” she murmurs, her free hand tilting your chin up to meet her gaze, her eyes impossibly tender yet razor-sharp. “Stop overthinking. We’ll handle it. Together.”

You nod weakly, unable to form a rational response as she quickens her pace, driving you closer to the edge with every thrust.

But before you can let yourself fall completely into the haze of pleasure, another thought claws its way to the surface.

“And Rio?” you choke out, though your voice is barely a whisper now, trembling with the effort of holding on. “What happens when she—fuck—when she finds out?”

“Rio doesn’t have a say in my life anymore.” she drawls, her smirk widening into something downright predatory as her fingers thrust deeper, harder, drawing a strangled cry from your throat. “Sure, we keep things civil for Nicholas’s sake, but beyond that? She can think whatever she wants. It won’t change a damn thing.”

“But—but what if—mmh yes—what if she makes it hard for us?”

“What’s she gonna do, huh?” Agatha arches a brow, her free hand gripping your waist to steady you as your legs start to tremble. “Get all huffy and judgmental? Let her.”

Her confidence ripples through you, grounding and infuriating all at once, even as her pace grows brutal. Your walls clench tighter around her, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable height. Yet one last question remains lodged in the back of your throat.

When it finally tumbles out, your voice cracks under the weight of it. “And what if you… what if you get tired of me?”

Agatha freezes for a heartbeat, her gaze pinning yours in place with a fierce, almost dangerous intensity that takes your breath away.

“I won’t.” she snaps, her tone so firm, so unshakable, it’s as if the very idea is offensive.

Her gaze drops pointedly to where her fingers disappear into you, sliding out glistening before thrusting back in with a wet, filthy sound, over and over again.

“If you could see yourself right now—falling apart on my fingers, so perfect, so mine—you’d know just how impossible that question is.”

Her words land like a thunderclap and your body shudders violently, your legs trembling so hard you’re certain you’d collapse if it weren’t for the firm, possessive grip she keeps on your waist.

And then, as if to punish you for your suggestion, or perhaps to drive her point home with devastating clarity, she slides a third finger into you without warning. The stretch is intense, toeing the line between pleasure and overwhelming, and you let out a strangled cry that tears through the room.

Her thumb presses harder, faster, against your clit as her fingers work you open. It’s deliberate, merciless, as though she’s staking her claim in every possible way, daring you to question her devotion again.

“That’s it, baby.” she hums, her voice dark and velvety, her satisfaction palpable in the way her lips curl into a smirk against your temple. “Taking me so well… so fucking perfect.”

Her words only add fuel to the fire blazing inside you, and you’re helpless to stop the wrecked, broken moans spilling from your lips as her pace quickens.

Your body arches involuntarily, seeking more, needing more, as the pressure builds impossibly higher, threatening to snap with every flick of her thumb and thrust of her fingers.

You silently call on every divine entity, ancient force, or cosmic fluke you can think of, just to ensure she’ll grant the desperate plea teetering on the edge of your lips.

“Please!” the word escapes you as a desperate sob, raw and aching as your hands clutch her shoulders. “Please, Agatha—fuck, I need to—”

“Come for me, baby.” her command cuts you off, slicing through the haze like a blade and shattering you completely.

Your body seizes, the coil in your belly snapping violently as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, relentless and all-consuming.

Wetness gushes from you, coating her hand and soaking the fabric of your shorts as she continues to work you through it, her fingers dragging unrelentingly along your walls, sending shivers through every nerve.

“Fuck, look at you.” she breathes, her tone edged with awe and sinful pride as your walls spasm around her fingers, gripping her so tightly it’s a wonder she can still move. “So messy for me.”

The intensity is almost unbearable, your cries escalating into a scream that rips from your throat as the pleasure crests in waves, each more powerful than the last.

Agatha doesn’t let up, her movements steady and calculated, prolonging your pleasure until the last waves finally begin to ebb.

Her hand on your waist tightens, grounding you as her lips press soft, soothing kisses along your jaw, a stark contrast to the raw intensity of what she’s just done to you.

As you collapse against her, your breathing ragged and uneven, she slows her fingers, her touch gentler now as she carefully withdraws, her hand glistening with your release.

She presses a lingering kiss to your temple, her voice impossibly tender despite the smug satisfaction lacing it.

“See? I knew you could do it. Such a good girl for me.” she murmurs, her words a caress that feels like velvet against your frayed senses.

Her free hand strokes slow, appeasing circles against your lower back, grounding you as the tremors in your body begin to ebb.

The room feels impossibly quiet now, the only sounds your labored breathing and the warm, satisfied chuckle that hums through Agatha’s chest.

“You’re insufferable.” you mumble weakly against her neck, your voice hoarse and cracked, though there’s a stifled laugh buried beneath the exhaustion.

“And yet….” she purrs, lifting your chin with a single, deft finger until your gaze meets hers. Her piercing eyes hold yours captive, but there’s a glimmer of something softer beneath the smirk curling at her lips—something achingly tender, almost reverent. “Here we are.”

Her thumb brushes over your cheek, the simple, affectionate gesture robbing you of what little breath you’ve managed to reclaim.

You blink up at her, still dazed, a faint, incredulous smile pulling at your lips.

“Here we are,” you echo, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of a moment that feels suspended in time.

It’s a connection that needs no embellishment, one that feels intimate and inevitable, like it had been quietly waiting for the two of you all along.

The rest of Sunday unfolds in a blissful, lazy haze.

After the emotionally charged conversation in the morning, the day slows to a gentle rhythm. Agatha suggests a walk to clear your heads, and the two of you meander through a nearby park.

The air is crisp, the sun peeking through the clouds as you stroll side by side, talking about nothing in particular—favorite seasons, forgotten childhood stories, ridiculous hypotheticals.

It feels easy, natural, like you’ve been doing this forever.

Back at home, the afternoon fades into evening. You help Agatha prepare a simple dinner, and she insists on pouring you a glass of wine while you work.

Later, the two of you curl up on the couch, a movie playing on the screen, your head resting on her shoulder. The sound of her quiet laughter at the film’s witty dialogue makes your heart ache with something sweet and new.

But the serenity is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. Nicholas bursts in, his bag slung over his shoulder, his cheeks flushed from the cool evening air.

Rio follows, her gaze sweeping briefly between you and Agatha, lingering just long enough to convey a subtle curiosity, before she offers a polite nod. Bending slightly, she presses a kiss to Nicholas’s cheek, her voice soft as she wishes him goodnight.

Without another word, she straightens, casting one final glance in your direction, then strides out the door with the same poised elegance she carried in.

“Hey, kiddo!” Agatha calls out, sitting up slightly but keeping her arm draped over the back of the couch, her fingers brushing your shoulder.

Nicholas closes the door and freezes the second he turns, his eyes darting between the two of you.

His brow furrows, and then, with his hereditary dramatic flair, he lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Finally!” he groans, dropping his bag on the floor with a thud. “I was wondering when you two were gonna figure it out.”

You blink, startled. “Wait—what?”

Agatha’s smirk is instant, her lips curling as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What do you mean, ‘figure it out,’ Nicky?”

He rolls his eyes with as if the answer is painfully obvious.

“I mean the two of you! You’re always talking about each other and asking me stuff.” he quips, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You’re like, ‘What’s your mom’s favorite breakfast?’, and Mom’s like, ‘Do you think she likes scary movies?’. Ugh, it was soooo annoying.”

Nicholas shakes his head, letting out another dramatic sigh as if he’s been a long-suffering martyr to your mutual pining.

From beside you, you hear the unmistakable sound of a small snort escaping Agatha.

Heat floods your cheeks as you glance at her, but it only makes her grin widen. She arches a single, perfectly smug eyebrow at you, her expression dripping with satisfaction.

“Told you.” she says simply, giving an exaggerated shrug.

You cover your face with your hands, groaning. “This is mortifying.”

Agatha’s laughter fills the room, warm and unrestrained. She reaches out to tug one of your hands away from your face, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture so casual yet affectionate it leaves you breathless.

After that day, You and Agatha decide to take things slow, despite the months you’ve already spent orbiting each other. You want to step out of the roles you’ve occupied—Nicholas’s babysitter, his mom—and discover who you are to each other beyond that.

At first, you were almost afraid. Afraid that someone like Agatha, who seemed so independent and unapologetically confident, might be all fire and intensity, with little space for tenderness beyond fleeting moments.

But slowly, carefully, she proves you wrong.

When Agatha loves, you realize, she doesn’t hold back. She loves with her entire being, fiercely yet gently, as though nothing outside the world she’s built around you truly matters.

Sure, the sex is breathtaking—raw, unrestrained, and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. But with Agatha, it’s so much more than that.

She doesn’t just make you feel wanted, she makes you feel profoundly seen, utterly cherished. Every touch carries intention, every kiss a pledge of devotion.

She quickly learns your body like a map, her fingers and lips tracing each curve with reverence, savoring every discovery as though unveiling a hidden treasure meant only for her.

But beyond the fiery passion, there’s an unexpected warmth, a softness that takes you by surprise.

Her teasing sarcasm and sharp wit—cornerstones of who she is—remain ever-present, capable of making you groan in exasperation one moment and laugh until your sides ache the next.

And yet, as new facets of her emerge, they gradually begin to share space with so much more.

At night, when the world is quiet, Agatha reveals a rare, thoughtful vulnerability, speaking of the things that scare her or the mistakes she’s afraid of repeating.

In the evenings, she pulls you onto the couch, wrapping you in her arms as she teases you about your movie choices, only to stay glued to the screen the entire time.

In the middle of an argument, even when her irritation is clear and the sharpness in her tone feels like a shield she’s reluctant to lower, her gaze softens. Against her own nature, she takes a breath, letting the frustration ebb just enough to say, “I’m listening, go on.” It’s not easy for her, you can see that—but she tries. She chooses to stay, to listen, to understand, even when every instinct might tell her to close off.

Each moment is a small glimpse into a side of her that feels like a gift, a quiet affirmation that she is so much more than you ever imagined.

You also come to realize, that Agatha, for all her snarky remarks and commanding presence, craves affection too.

She’ll never say it outright, of course, but the way she seeks those little moments of closeness gives her away every time.

The way she tucks you closer to her chest in the morning, long before the rest of the world is awake. The way her hand brushes your hair back as you lean over a book, a casual touch that lingers just a second too long. The way she kisses your temple absentmindedly as she passes you in the kitchen. The way her fingers trail down your arm before settling on your waist as you both stand in the backyard at night, watching Nicholas excitedly point out constellations while Agatha murmurs their names with a quiet smile. The way her fingers softly brush against yours when she hands you a cup of coffee.

These aren’t grand gestures—they’re quiet, unspoken reminders of how deeply she cares. They’re Agatha’s way of saying what she can’t always put into words, of reaching for connection in ways that feel achingly sincere.

Agatha surprises you constantly.

She starts showing up at the café during your morning shifts, always impeccably dressed, her heels clicking against the tile floor as she strides in like she owns the place.

“I’m between meetings” she claims casually, though you notice she always stays just long enough to leave your coworkers flustered and whispering about ‘the gorgeous older woman’ who sits at the corner table, sipping her black coffee and glancing at her phone like she has nowhere better to be.

When she catches you watching her from behind the counter, her smirk is instant, as if to say, Yes, hon, I know I’m distracting you. And it never fails to make your pulse race.

She spoils you shamelessly, too. Thoughtful gifts appear with alarming regularity—books she’s noticed you eyeing, a beautiful scarf she swears “just screamed your name,” or your favorite pastries from a bakery across town.

“Stop fussing.” she says one evening as you eye the expensive wine she’s ordered at a rooftop restaurant. The city lights glitter around you, and the cool night air brushes your cheeks. “You deserve it.”

You roll your eyes but lean in to kiss her anyway, her hand slipping up to cup your cheek. Her smile softens, that guarded edge melting just enough to reveal the depth of her affection, and your heart aches in the best way.

For Agatha, you could have stopped working altogether if you wanted to. She made it clear from the beginning that money would never be an issue, brushing off the idea as though it was laughable.

Still, you hold onto your job at the café. It keeps you busy in the mornings, gives you a sense of independence, and lets you stash away some savings of your own. Besides, you’ve worked there so long it feels strange to think about leaving.

At the same time, you insist on keeping your part-time babysitting job, though you flat-out refuse to let her pay you anymore.

That particular conversation becomes a recurring battle. One day, however, you reach your limit.

It’s the umpteenth time Agatha offers to pay you for the hours you spend with Nicky. She leans casually against the doorframe as you fold Nicholas’s laundry, her voice calm but insistent, a mix of exasperation and charm she wields far too well.

You freeze mid-fold, the heat of your frustration bubbling over.

“Agatha, I swear to God, if you bring this up one more time…” you snap, throwing a pair of socks straight at her chest with uncharacteristic force.

Her smirk falters as she catches them, her eyes widening at the sharpness in your voice.

“You’re seriously yelling at me over socks?” she quips, clearly thrown off but still managing to sound incredulous.

“I’m yelling because I’m done with this conversation.” you fire back, your voice louder than you intended. “I’m not taking your money for this anymore. Period. End of story. Got it?”

Agatha blinks, stunned into silence. It’s not often you raise your voice, and judging by her expression, she doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

After a long, weighted pause, she finally lets out an exaggerated sigh, her shoulders slumping dramatically as she tosses the socks back at you.

“Well, you’re impossible.” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans back against the doorframe with a look of mock irritation. “I can’t win with you.”

You narrow your eyes at her, still fuming, but the hint of a grin tugs at the corners of your mouth.

“You already have.” you mutter, chucking another pair of socks her way.

This time, her smirk returns in its full glory. She catches the socks with ease, her expression relaxing as she throws them back with a playful flick of her wrist. “Flatterer.”

After that conversation, the balance you strike feels so natural, so effortlessly right, that it’s hard to remember a time when things were any different.

You spend your mornings at the café, while most of your afternoons are dedicated to Nicholas. Over time, Agatha begins working from home more often, and those afternoons blend seamlessly into dinners shared around the table, followed by evenings that melt into cozy, lazy hours on the couch.

Even if you don’t see her much while she works—her door often closed as she immerses herself in work—there’s something undeniably comforting about knowing she’s just upstairs.

It’s in the faint hum of her voice during a call, the creak of floorboards as she shifts her chair, or the brief moments when she steps out to grab coffee, check on Nicholas, or steal a quick kiss from you in the kitchen.

Her presence lingers throughout the house, steady and grounding, offering a quiet reassurance you hadn’t realized you craved.

The roles you once played haven’t disappeared, but they’ve shifted, harmonizing gracefully into this new dynamic that feels equal parts exciting and comforting.

Agatha doesn’t push you to redefine everything overnight, doesn’t demand more than you’re ready to give. Instead, she meets you where you are, and together, you explore the space between who you were before and who you’re becoming now.

Five months in, Agatha brings it up over breakfast.

“You know…” she begins casually, buttering her toast with the kind of ease that suggests she isn’t about to change your life forever, “it’d make a lot more sense if you just lived here.”

You nearly choke on your coffee, coughing and setting the mug down with a sharp clink. “Are you—are you serious?”

She looks up from her plate, her expression calm but her eyes warm, filled with a certainty that grounds you even as your heart races. “Of course. It feels right, doesn’t it?”

It does. Deep down, you’d known for a while now that this was where you belonged. Still, hearing it aloud, from her, catches you off guard. But there’s no hesitation when you answer.

“Yes.” you say, the word coming out soft but steady. “It does.”

Everything falls into place with an almost disarming simplicity and, by the end of the weekend, your things are integrated seamlessly into her home.

Your favorite mug finds a spot on her kitchen shelf, your books line the living room walls alongside hers, and the faint scent of your perfume lingers in her bedroom.

Nicholas adjusts effortlessly, almost as if he’d been waiting for this to happen all along. The three of you settle into a domesticity that feels natural, filled with laughter, shared meals, and quiet moments.

Even Rio seems unbothered when she comes to pick Nicholas up on the weekends. She exchanges polite words with you, her demeanor perfectly cordial, before whisking him away for their outings.

Whatever tension you’d feared never materializes, leaving you to wonder if Agatha had talked to her privately or if Nicholas, in his own way, had smoothed the path between you.

On Saturday mornings, Nicholas claims the kitchen as his domain, declaring himself “Head Pancake Chef” as you and Agatha lounge at the table, sipping coffee and exchanging amused glances while he works.

In the evenings, after Nicholas has gone to bed, the two of you often find yourselves curled up together on the couch, her arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you share quiet conversation, watch a movie or simply sit in comfortable silence.

Every day, every moment, strengthens the sense that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Yet, for months, you’ve held onto your old apartment, keeping it as a safety net—a place to retreat to if things fell apart, if Agatha ever grew tired of you, if it all turned out to be too good to be true.

You’d told yourself it was practical, that it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, you’d known it was fear keeping you tethered to the space.

One random evening, everything changes.

It’s late, and the house is quiet. You and Agatha are curled up on the couch, one arm draped around your shoulders as you trace lazy circles on the back of her hand. There’s an ease between you, the kind that has grown naturally over the months.

Out of nowhere, she murmurs, “I love you.”

The words land softly but powerfully, knocking the air from your lungs.

You freeze, your hand stilling on hers as your mind races. For a brief moment, you think you’ve imagined it, your own thoughts playing tricks on you.

But then you glance up, and she’s watching you. Her expression is open yet achingly vulnerable, her lips slightly parted as if she’s bracing herself for your reaction, the faintest flush coloring her cheeks.

Agatha Harkness, who exudes confidence and poise in every other moment, suddenly looks almost shy.

Your heart swells, the response spilling out without hesitation. “I love you too, Agatha. So much.”

Her eyes widen briefly before a slow, radiant smile spreads across her face, lighting her up in a way you’ve never seen before.

She leans in, her movements deliberate yet tender, and when her lips meet yours, it’s as if the world tilts on its axis.

The kiss starts soft, her lips warm and gentle against yours. But it deepens quickly, her hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, her thumb brushing your cheek.

You feel her smile against your lips, a small, unguarded curve that sends warmth flooding through you. When she finally pulls back, her forehead rests lightly against yours, her hand lingering on your cheek as if she’s reluctant to let go.

Her eyes search yours, glowing with a mix of joy and relief, and you realize that this moment, this love, is as real as it gets.

The next morning, you list your apartment for sale.

Weeks later, it sells, and it’s time to clear it out for good. Agatha insists on coming with you to help despite your protests that there isn’t much left to do, since most of your things had already made their way to her house when you moved in.

Together, you sift through the last remnants of your belongings—forgotten trinkets in the back of drawers, mismatched furniture that doesn’t fit anywhere anymore, and boxes filled with things you can’t remember why you kept.

As you bend down to pick up one of the boxes, you feel the weight of her gaze on you. By the time you straighten, she’s right there—closer than she was a moment ago—her hand curling possessively around your waist, her presence electric.

“What if…” she murmurs, her lips grazing your ear as her fingers slide to the small of your back, “We give this place a proper send-off.”

Before you can respond, her mouth is on yours, claiming and insistent. The kiss is searing, a collision of teeth and tongues that leaves you breathless as she presses you back against the nearest wall.

“Agatha—fuck!” you gasp as her hands wander, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against her. “We’re supposed to be clearing out, not—” your voice falters as her lips graze your neck, stealing your train of thought entirely.

“Oh, we will.” she purrs, her voice dripping with wicked intent. “After.”

What follows is nothing short of ruinous. She doesn’t just touch you—she consumes you, her hands, mouth, and body working in perfect, devastating harmony to claim every inch of you.

She starts in the kitchen, bending you over the counter with a commanding ease that makes your breath hitch. Her nails dig into your hips as her fingers slide into you, relentless and thorough, her mouth hot and demanding against your neck. The slick sound of her movements mixes with the sharpness of your cries, echoing off the bare walls as her pace quickens, leaving you breathless and clawing for the edge.

In the living room, she pushes you down onto the couch—the same one where you once sat alone, overthinking everything. Now, it’s where she strips you bare and buries her head between your thighs, her tongue working with maddening precision. She doesn’t stop, even as your hips buck against her mouth, her grip on your thighs unrelenting. When you fall apart, her name breaking from your lips, she takes it all, her smirk sinful as she looks up, licking her lips like she’s savoring every second.

Even the bedroom—now a sparse, nearly empty space that offers no distractions—doesn’t escape her attention. She pins you to the mattress with a ferocity that leaves no doubt as to who you belong to, her name a broken mantra on your lips as her pace builds, her body pressing against yours in a way that demands surrender. Her fingers push you over the edge again and again, each climax leaving you trembling and weak, her breath hot on your skin as she praises you through the haze of pleasure.

By the time she’s done with you, every surface bears the evidence of her passion, and you’re left spent, boneless, and utterly wrecked in her arms.

Later, as you sit on the floor together eating takeout amidst the remaining boxes, she looks over at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So…” she says, her voice a lazy drawl. “Think you’ll miss this place?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean into her side. “Not even a little.”

Because your home isn’t a space anymore—it’s her.

Exactly one year after that Sunday morning when everything changed, you find yourself reflecting on how far you’ve come.

It’s Friday night and you’re sitting at a cozy restaurant, the golden glow of candlelight reflecting off Agatha’s beautiful features. Her hand brushes against yours on the table, her touch as natural and grounding as the rhythm of your breaths.

Fridays used to be a minefield, an endless loop of questions you were too afraid to ask, feelings you didn’t dare name. You remember those nights vividly, steeped in quiet agony, where every thought, every fleeting moment tied to Agatha—her voice, her gaze, her very presence—was laced with an ache so consuming it felt impossible to escape.

At times, you can still taste the bitter certainty that nothing you longed for could ever be within reach. Looking back, though, you almost laugh.

Agatha had nearly driven you insane with her looks, her touches, her maddeningly unreadable smirks. You’d been so sure you were imagining it all, you’d almost lost your mind trying to figure her out.

But now, Fridays have transformed into something else entirely. They’ve become a ritual of joy and love.

They’re your nights. Date nights. Moments stolen just for the two of you while Nicholas stays with Rio or a babysitter. Whether it’s a fancy dinner in the city or a quiet evening at home, these Fridays are sacred.

You glance across the table at Agatha, who’s sipping her wine, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Her smirk curls in that way you know will always make your stomach flip, no matter how many times you see it. But there’s a softness behind it now, a tenderness she doesn’t bother hiding anymore.

“What’s that look for?” she asks, her voice low and familiar, the sound of it wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

You smile, bliss flooding your chest. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes in mock disbelief, but the way her thumb strokes the back of your hand betrays her.

“You’re insufferable.” she mutters, though her tone holds no bite.

“And yet…” you tease, leaning forward slightly, your voice dipping conspiratorially, “Here we are.”

Her lips twitch as though she’s fighting a full smile, and for a moment, you both laugh, the kind of easy, unguarded laughter that fills every quiet corner of your heart.

And as you sit there, her hand in yours and the echoes of your journey fading into the warmth of the present, a quiet certainty blooms within you: you can’t wait to see where this love leads.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness fanfic #aaa fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha x y/n #agatha all along au

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c0llisiion · 2 days ago

Text

— End of the world (cb)

★ npr, f!reader, angst , bsf!chan , pining , both of them are stupid, slight crack — lmk if i missed any!!; W/C: 1,620

A/N: a lil angst to close off the year <3

Final year was coming to an end in just a week. 4 years of constant fun, happy, and sad moments were all going to be memories soon.

Your final semester exams were over. Your dorm mates are already packing their things up to move out. Preparations for your graduation were all that was happening on your campus. It was bittersweet in a way.

But you couldn’t shake off this one feeling. The one that you have been procrastinating on for 4 years now. The feeling you tried to push away but never could.

“So… are you going to confess to him…?” Your dorm mate asked as you helped her pack her things. You looked at her slightly confused by the sudden question. And then it clicked.

“Nah.” You gave a vague and straightforward answer, which was not reciprocated.

She turned and looked at you with her furrowed eyebrows. “What do you mean, ‘nah.’? How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?” She asks in a longing tone.

That last sentence hit. You halted all your movements and replayed those words in your head. Seriously, how long were you going to keep it a secret? How long were you going to keep gaslighting yourself into believing those emotions aren’t real? For how long are you going to hide away from your strong feelings for Chris?

It was a repeated cycle. The moment you would get some form of confidence, you would promise yourself or others that you would go and confess to him. But that never happened, of course.

And you blame your insecurity. Your paranoia. Your overthinking tendencies.

‘What if he hates me?’ ‘What if he thinks I'm stupid?’ ‘What if he rejects me?’ All going through your head as the long paragraph expressing your feelings for your best friend stayed unsent.

But a part of you justified that. What if he actually rejects you and then there’s this awkward tension that would always linger whenever you guys meet? Then you would have lost your dignity and a best friend.

You let out a deep sigh. And plopped on the pile of clothes laid out on the bed. “I really don't know, man… I really don't... fuckkk..." you rubbed your face with your hands.

“What is there to fear, girl… his rejection or the embarrassment?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“Both; I just don’t want to look stupid in front of him,” which was actually stupid of you to think.

You had this crazy-ass scenario where the moment you confessed to Chan, he would start yelling at you, disgusted, and call you a dumb bitch before spitting on you and walking away. Which was insane and stupid.

But for Chan it was different…

“Dude, you gotta confess to her, like actually call her up and ask her to meet somewhere,” one of his friends commented as they played Mario Kart on a beat-up old TV.

“You think so?” Chan added.

“Yeah man, it's high time; I think you should,” his friend said nonchalantly.

Chan thought about it. Maybe he should. What could possibly go wrong?

“Yeah… but I don’t know how to, though… and like… she has connections with people I'm close with too… Don’t you think it will be awkward once we break up?” He asked, expecting some hard advice from his friend.

“You live once, man; if you like that girl, then go for it. Ask her friend for advice on what to ask or something…” And that’s exactly what he did.

After 45 minutes of your dorm mate convincing you to go talk to him and confess your feelings, you agreed. What could possibly go wrong if you did?

“I’m telling you, just do it! Even if he rejects you, you could always ignore him afterwards; it’s not like you’re going to see each other after graduating, right?” She says excitedly, giving you some form of hope.

You nod, the same confidence building up.

“I’m going to do it.” You say with determination. Your friend squealed in happiness. She leaned in closer. “You know what would be crazier? If he called you right now. Like that would be the biggest omen-"

Your phone rang.

Yours and hers eyes go wide. You both glance at the screen together and see Chris’s name.

Like little girls, you both jump and scream in excitement before shakily picking up the call.

“Hello...?” Your voice was slightly out of breath.

“Oh hey, are you free right now? I've got something important to ask you…”

Your eyes widen at his response. Is this finally it?

You quickly reply. “Yeah… yeah… What's up? Do you like…want to meet up somewhere? I, too, actually wanted to say some things…” You ask, praying that he actually agrees.

“Oh? Yeah, sure… Let's meet at our usual place; how about that?” You could practically see his smile as he said those words.

You quickly said your goodbyes before turning off your phone and looking at your friend.

“It's time.” You say with playful seriousness.

“IT'S TIME?!” She responds with the same tone.

You get dressed in your best casual outfit, your hair and makeup slightly done, as you walk down the path and see Chan sitting on one of the benches, his one leg bouncing anxiously and his head looking around.

Once he spots you, he immediately rushes over to you with a bright smile. His curls softly bouncing and his cute dimples prominent on his cheeks.

“You came!” He said excitedly.

You smile widely and nod. “Of course! What's up? What did you want to say?” You ask cutting right through the chase.

He takes a deep breath.

Your excitement starting to bubble up.

“You know… I always wanted to ask you this”

Oh my god, you couldn’t believe that it was happening.

“And we have been friends for a really long time, and I trust you very much…”

Shit. No way. Is it happening?!

“I kept it to myself because I didn’t want to offend you…”

Offend you? What does he mean by that?

“You know you are friends with her and everything…”

Oh no. No way THIS was happening.

You held your breath as you waited for his final words, just hoping that he does not say what you were dreading.

“I really… I really like f/n…”

Your heart shattered. Your eyes went wide, and a shocked look was plastered on your face as you tried registering his words. Your mind went completely blank, and you couldn’t see or hear anything, just your heart beating extremely fast. That paragraph that you always wanted to say was quickly swallowed down back to where it belonged, you thought.

He continued rambling. But it was all muffled. Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you didn’t even realize he had stopped speaking.

“Y/n?” It was when he finally called out your name that you were brought back to earth. Your eyes fluttering before looking at his face. Trying not to cry.

“Is everything alright, y/n? You didn’t say anything…?” He asks with uncertainty. Searching your face to gauge your reaction.

“H-huh…? Oh, im sorry…” you mask a fake smile. “…I just- *chuckle* i just was in shock yeah cus…” your brain’s gears working over time to come up with a believable lie. “Cus… i actually thought you liked her and hearing it from you definitely confirmed that… haha”

You tried putting on your best front, but your body was shaking. Your eyes brimming with tears and your heart was… hurting.

And Chan wasn’t dumb. He knew something was wrong.“Are you su-“ Before he could continue, you cut him off, trying to get over the situation as soon as possible.

“So is that what you wanted to say..?” You ask kind of passive aggressive.Chan shook his head. “No… no… I just wanted advice… but are you sure you ar-“

“Advice?! Of course I can give them to you! I will send you an essay if needed!” You cut him off again, your voice unusually excited to cover up your pained voice.

He knew something was off but acted oblivious, not wanting to press the topic more. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again.

“So yeah, I will send you some advice and tips on asking her out. if you need anything else, im just a text away got it?” You try to keep the atmosphere normal. You put on a tight lipped smile as you looked at chans confused expression.

It was unlike you to cut him off so much. He wanted to know why-

“I will see you around then.. i gotta go now.. I have some packing to do..” you say as you start walking backwards, the tears finally starting to spill but you hoped with your distance chan never saw them.

Chan looked at you, still confused and slightly stunned at your behavior. He knows something is wrong, but he also knows you’re stubborn and won't say anything to save your face.

He let out a deep sigh as he watched you turn around and walk away, not even being able to say goodbye or ask what you wanted to say.

You couldn’t believe what just happened, honestly. Your tears were uncontrollably flowing down your cheeks, and it was making you mad. You prepared for his rejection too, but why did it hurt? Was it because he is in love with someone close to you or because he didn’t choose you? It shouldn’t be like this. This is not the script.

All kinds of emotions ran through your brain. Humility. Dejection. Worthlessness. It was a mess. All those years of pining. Just gone with a single word.

If only Chris knew.

A/N: IM SOERY FIR THE AMOUNT OF CHAN FICS AHHH 😭😭 anyways this was supposed to be a short drabble but i got carried away. Lolz. Inspired by ariana’s end of the world so listen to it while reading <3 tysm for reading!! HAPPY NEW YEARRRRRRR

#౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ yun’s silly fics #straykids smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #stray kids bang chan #bang chan x you #straykids bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #christopher bang #bang chan #straykids angst #stray kids angst #skz smut #skz angst #skz chan x reader

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charlesslut16 · 19 hours ago

Text

-New Year's Eve-

summary : you and charles celebrate into the new year

PAIRINGS : charles leclerc x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i hope that you start good into the new year and have a great next year with your loves ❤️❤️

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

The night air in Monaco was crisp and cool, the city twinkling with the lights of countless celebrations as the clock ticked closer to midnight. The harbor was lined with extravagant yachts, their lights reflecting off the shimmering water.

The sound of laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses filled the streets as the world prepared for the arrival of a brand new year. And amidst it all, there was a sense of magic in the air that seemed to surround you and Charles.

You stood on the balcony of a lavish penthouse overlooking the city, a glass of champagne in hand, Charles by your side. His arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him as the two of you gazed at the scene below. The night felt perfect, everything aligning just as it should.

"I still can't believe we're here," you said, your voice quiet, as you leaned against his chest.

Charles smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Me neither. But I'm so happy we are. It feels like the start of something incredible, doesn't it?"

You nodded, turning in his arms to face him. The warmth of his gaze melted the coolness of the evening. Charles’ hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing along your skin as he looked down at you. There was a quiet certainty in his eyes, an unspoken promise that made your heart swell. You had been together for a while now, and everything about your relationship with him felt so effortless, so right.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” Charles continued, his voice soft but full of emotion. “To be here, with you, starting a new year together.”

You smiled, your heart racing as you reached up to cup his face. “I feel the same way,” you whispered. “You make everything feel like it’s meant to be.”

The crowd below began to get louder as the final minutes of the year ticked away. The countdown was near. You could feel the excitement building, the anticipation of the moment when everything would change, when the calendar would turn, and the world would begin anew.

But for you, nothing felt as significant as the moment right now—standing with Charles, in his arms, with the promise of the future ahead of you.

“Five... four...” the voice of the host echoed from the party inside. The crowd joined in, their voices rising in excitement.

Charles looked at you, his hand still resting gently on your cheek, and his thumb brushed your lips. "This time last year, I would never have imagined I'd be here with you, in this moment."

You chuckled softly. "Neither would I," you admitted. “But now that we're here, it feels perfect.”

“Three... two... one..."

The crowd erupted into cheers as the new year arrived, and in that instant, Charles leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like it was meant for the very first moment of the year. It was tender, sweet, and full of all the love that had been quietly growing between the two of you. The world around you faded, and in that kiss, it was just you and Charles. No more waiting, no more wondering if things would fall into place. Everything was exactly where it needed to be.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, and you both laughed softly, the sound of fireworks bursting overhead filling the night.

“Happy New Year, mon amour,” Charles whispered, his voice filled with warmth.

“Happy New Year, Charles,” you replied, your heart full as you looked into his eyes.

The night carried on with laughter, dancing, and moments of quiet connection between the two of you. But no matter what happened, no matter how many people came and went, you knew that this moment—this perfect, beautiful moment with Charles—would be the one you carried with you into the new year.

And with him by your side, you knew that whatever the future held, it would be nothing short of extraordinary.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #masterlist #f1 imagine #christmas #charles leclerc oneshot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female oc #Spotify

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sylvesterelle · 1 day ago

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Meditations in an Emergency

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 1 of 2, 5,857 words, mature, tw: alcohol, cannabis

Read on A03

"I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. "

Frank O'Hara, "Meditations in an Emergency"

“I just think people should compliment each other more, that’s all,” you declare, biting the cherry off plastic sword that Kat, the bartender, had stuck in your Dirty Shirley. “Like we think these things all the time. Her scarf is pretty, or that guy’s got a cool haircut or whatever. We notice them, we think about them, but so rarely do we say it, you know? Even though being complimented is the best,” you say emphatically, using the tiny sword to punctuate your words.

Kat nods and gives you a second cherry, because Kat is good people. Kat serves you doubles while charging for singles and listens to you ramble and lets you spread your notebooks and laptop on the bar when it’s slow, like tonight.

It’s early on a Friday evening which means you’re supposed to be writing. You pay the bills as a researcher and ghostwriter during the week and you like it, you do—the flexibility to work strange hours, typing late into the night, remote so you write wherever you want like coffee shops and cocktail bars and anywhere noisy enough to drown out the more distracting of your thoughts. But you spend so much time devoted to other people’s work that you promised yourself you’d set weekends aside to work on your own ideas.

Easier said than done, when there isn’t a irate publisher on the other end setting deadlines and demanding pages. And the problem with your own ideas is that you just have so many of them; find it hard to devote yourself to one without getting distracted by another, a graveyard of drafts in various states of completion littering your hard-drive.

But routine helped, so there you’ve sat every Friday night for almost two months—even if you’ve spent proportionally less time writing than people-watching and sweet-talking Kat into making you interesting drinks off-menu (“This is a dive bar,” she’s told you more than once. “We don’t even a menu to be off of.”)

It’s not not part of your writing process, you reason. You’re a firm believer that life is stranger than fiction, and many of your best ideas have come from observations and unusual interactions. It’s what got you started on the importance of compliments in the first place, after all.

“I just think we should be more intentional about finding joy in each other. For example, what would you say, darling Kat,” you begin, batting your eyes at her sweetly, “if I told you that you look fucking incredible now and always, you’re so hot it gives me hives if I look at you straight on, and more specifically that little curl that’s coming out of your ponytail is particularly fetching and I like it a lot?”

Kat rolls her eyes, which is as good as a smile. “I would say you should slow down on the Shirleys,” she says long-sufferingly.

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends, not really, but there was a familiarity and ease in the relationship now that warmed you. You’d met her your very first night, taking your normal ramble to learn a new town, begin to make sense of its curves and corners and spirit and mentally mark interesting places to return to. The neighborhood you’d found an apartment in wasn’t the best, but it was furnished and month-to-month and good enough for you. Best of all, you had only needed to wander in the snow a couple blocks before you’d struck gold; drawn like a moth where a plain, unmarked door had opened, spilling warm light and the sounds of overlapping laughter into the night.

Inside it really was a dive, all sticky floors and old dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, a jukebox that took dimes and a blonde bombshell behind the counter who served with a decided lack of smile. But a week of you showing up and chattering at her had cracked that icy shell enough to get a name and a few raised eyebrows instead of complete silence. By the time you’d earned your discount as a regular around the third week, she would venture to occasionally comment on your more interesting trains of thought, offer some searing observations and insights of her own if she was in a good mood.

A couple more weeks, and you knew her well enough to bring a second iced coffee with you when you arrived for the evening, Kat already pulling a bottle of Irish cream from the well as you removed the lids in a dance that had become comforting in its routine.

Yours sat mostly untouched, abandoned in favor of the syrupy-sweet mess Kat had waiting for you, while Kat slurps the last of her own, one hip propped against the other side of the bar as she issues her verdict on your…unique compliment.

“I don’t know if I’d particularly appreciate a stranger saying that to me. Don’t want strangers saying anything to me, really,” she frowns, “but particularly the bit about the hives.”

“Okay, I might have gone too hard out the gate with that one,” you admit. “More importantly, I think you might be in the wrong profession for strangers not talking to you.”

She flips you off, heading to where two regulars had slipped into place at the other end of the bar. It was still early enough in the night that the place was mostly empty, only a few singles and two-tops stopping for an after-shift drink, giving you and Kat plenty of time to talk. It’d get rowdy enough later on, the voices louder, the jukebox queue a little more violent—but you’d found that among the chaos was often when you did your best writing.

“Hives aside, you know what I mean though, right?” you continue when Kat returns. “Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.”

You ignore this, already imagining renting a sailboat somewhere sunny, tropical. “I always thought it’d be fun to be a sailor,” you say dreamily. “Kerouac was a Merchant Marine, did you know?"

Kat makes a face.

“What, you didn’t like the book?” You’d loaned her a copy of The Dharma Bums the week before, slim and beloved enough that you carried it with you instead of getting it from the local library, like you normally did. You had a collection of library cards now, rattling around in an old Altoid tin—the only souvenirs you kept from all the various cities you’d visited in your travels.

“It was fine. Good, even, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she said, swirling her coffee around. “He’s just so fucking mopey. I wanted to shake him, like c’mon man, you need to stop thinking about your life and actually fucking live it.” It was the most animated Kat got, which was just slightly more expressive than usual—eyes narrowed a little further, three degrees more derision in her tone.

Kat preferred nonfiction. History. Facts. Still read everything you recommended, but rarely had finished one where she didn’t get frustrated with protagonists making dumb decisions or whining about their life choices. And while some of the books she recommended to you were a little dry at times, they were certainly interesting—and the last one about organ harvesting had been surprisingly catalytic for story ideas.

You shrug, acknowledging the point. She’s not wrong, but you tended to live most of your life in your own head and your own worlds, so it didn’t bother you in quite the same way. Although, now that she mentions it…“You know, that’s kind of my earlier point actually, giving someone a compliment is like the ultimate shortcut to living outside your head. You’re not all wrapped up in your own issues and thoughts, but appreciating something around you. Even if you don’t say it—which you should—it means you’re paying attention. Noticing.”

You drain the last of your Shirley, swapping it out for the iced coffee and swirling around the diluted ice. “Proposal: we make a game of it, tonight. We notice.” It wouldn’t be that different from what you and Kat normally did; sharing little observations on other patrons, trading theories on this person’s job or that person’s backstory. They’d just be a little more…intentional about it. "Keep your eye out for any interesting hats or weird pins or extremely sexy noses and come tell me. That way we can both enjoy it,” you conclude, clasping your hands together.

You knew better than to suggest Kat actually compliment anyone; you were optimistic, not delusional.

“What constitutes an extremely sexy nose?”

“Oh Kat, that’s something you feel in your heart,” you shake your head pityingly.

She rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar where a nicely-dressed couple are sinking uncertainly onto the cracked vinyl stools, looking around like they might be feeling a little out of place. You meet the woman’s gaze, smiling broadly. “I love your dress,” you say, and feel the joy of her blush bubble sweet and bright in your veins.

..........

You pride yourself on having a lot of good ideas, but this is one of your best. You get more writing than usual done, unusually productive while riding the high of giving out compliments left and right. Not so many that it feels insincere and never any you don’t mean. But Baader–Meinhof was a real sonofabitch because it’s true that the more you look, the more you see to appreciate.

Like Bobby, the union electrician with his first name embroidered on the pocket of his work-shirt. It caught your eye because it wasn’t machine-printed but carefully done by hand, illuminated when he leaned over to order a Schlitz. His wife’s work, he shares when you comment on it. She’s paid special for her embroidery, but still makes time to do his name on all his shirts, “so I can carry her love around all day,” he tells you, unabashed even when his friends tease him good-naturedly.

Then there was the lady whose cheetah-print nails matched her furry coat, who winked at you when she caught you looking admiringly from across the bar. Right after her was the burly biker who sat down to show you a Halloween photoshoot of his toy poodle when you complimented the cute photo on his lockscreen. Others in between, some you spoke to, some you didn’t—but all you appreciated in a way you vowed to do more in the future.

Inevitably, little bits of what you observe throughout the night trickle onto the page, helping flesh out bits of characters and sparking ideas you jot down for later. You wouldn’t know until later if you’d end up keeping any of it, but it’s a nice thought to know you’ll always have some part of this moment—the people, the place, the time—woven into your story. A little souvenir in-and-of-itself.

Though the night gets progressively busier, Kat swings by from time to time to share her observations: money fished from strange locations, custom bank cards, or funny pins she got close enough to read when customers leaned over the bar to shout their orders over the sounds of the music—partially your fault, after you complimented an old geezer’s song choice and spent twenty minutes with him combing through the catalogue and cackling as you fed dime after dime, queuing enough dad-rock to last a fair few hours.

All told, you’re feeling fucking incredible as it nears midnight and the synth solo from Toto’s “Rosanna,” has you wiggling in your seat. You’ve a few thousand words under your belt and the high off of all those little moments of kinship is making you feel sparkling and happy and well, which—historically speaking—is sometimes a challenge for you.

You grin at Kat when she slumps next to you, enjoying a brief reprieve from new customers.

“Whatcha got for me, killer?” you ask, fishing in your bag for a granola bar for her. She takes it with a grateful look, shoving half of it in her mouth and talking as she chews.

“You’re gonna fucking love this. A mohawk, dude. In 2024.”

You perk up, looking around the room. It was pretty packed now, but you couldn’t believe you’d missed a cut that attention-getting. “Liberty spikes?” you confirm. You adored the punks of your acquaintance; always had interesting thoughts and insider tips on the local music scene.

Kat shakes her head. “Nah, it was cut short. Gym rat type, I think. Good tip, nice accent. Scottish,” she clarifies while inhaling the last of the granola bar. “Talked some shit about the ‘natural supremacy of whisky over bourbon’ when he ordered a Maker’s for his friend.”

You hum, still craning your head. “See where they sat?”

She shakes her head. “Asked about smoking though, so probably on the patio.”

Calling it a patio was generous—a small bit of grass with a couple plastic chairs and an ashtray, mostly. But there was a heat-lamp that worked roughly sixty percent of the time, which made the bar very popular with those in the know on cold nights like this.

“Speaking of, ‘bout time to take your break?”

If it wasn’t too busy, Frank, the doorman, often agreed to watch the bar while you and Kat split a joint in the back, sitting in companionable silence and pointing out shooting stars and passing satellites—clear skies a benefit of the city’s frigid nights. Kat knew a startling amount about astronomy but nothing about astrology; could tell you the history of the visible universe up to the surface of last scattering, but just blinked at you when you had asked if she was a Scorpio or a Capricorn.

Kat checks the clock then whistles to get Frank’s attention while you shove your laptop into your bag. You don’t bother with your coat—your cheeks are flushed the warmth of the crowded room and you don’t mind the cold, not really.

The patio looks abandoned, silent but for the wet sound of car tires moving through the snow-choked alley. Not totally surprising; most balk at below-zero temps even with the lamp. Snow clumps heavy and wet on top of the plastic chairs and overturned garbage pail that serves as a footrest but the air is crisp and clear, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light visible in the heavens. You breathe in the cold, night air and feel clean and sweet and cracked open wide, just pouring out love into the world.

Movement in your periphery catches your eye and oh, Kat was right, not a punk at all.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the two men standing half-shadowed near the lamp. Big is the first word that comes to mind and perhaps that’s sufficient for now, since you can’t seem to stop looking at the breadth of their shoulders and the curve of those strong thighs long enough to notice anything else. Kat had thought gym-rat but you’d put money on those bodies not just being for show—there was too much power, too much potential for carnage disguised in the plush softness that comes from muscles in repose.

“Why hullo there, barkeep,” the man with a shaggy, soft-looking mohawk greets Kat jovially, the Scottish accent just as charming as promised. “And barkeep’s friend,” he says, nodding to you as you come close enough to finally get a good look at his face. To latch on to details like the too-blue shade of his eyes and the too-sharp canines in his smile, the silvery-white starburst of a scar across his chin.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you hear yourself say. This happens sometimes, your mouth just venturing off on its own to get you into trouble.

Kat groans, used to it, as the man laughs warmly. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” he purrs, propping the lit cigarette between his lips and sticking out a hand. His palm is warm and callused against your own as you properly introduce Kat and yourself.

“I’m Soap, this here’s Ghost,” the man offers in turn, nodding towards his friend who steps forward, murmuring a quiet greeting. He’s enough in the light now to reveal dark eyes shadowed under a hood, a skull-print mask balaclava pushed up far enough to accommodate a lit cigarette.

“Fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” you grin at him, immediately charmed by the weirdness of it all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man says affably, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t smile but there’s a little twist of his mouth that could be amused, if you squint.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat mutters next to you, eyes shutting briefly in second-hand embarrassment. “She’s on a mission about compliments tonight, noticing people,” she explains with bemused emphasis as she clears off the chairs and kicks snow off the garbage can.

“I just think it’s important to be more open with our affection, even with strangers. Especially with strangers,” you argue, dropping into one of the seats and pulling out the battered Altoid tin that holds your stash and a few pre-rolled joints. “Will this bother you?” you ask the men, holding up the joint.

They shake their heads, amused.

“Good, because it’s my fucking bar,” Kat snorts, grabbing it from your fingers and dropping into the chair next to you.

“What, you own this place?” you say, flabbergasted. “And you never told me?”

Kat holds the joint in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter, coaxing it to life despite the wind. She takes a deep drag, tilting her head up before releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

It looks wicked cool until she collapses in half, coughing a little desperately on the tail end of the exhale. You can’t fucking blame her; you’d bought it off your teenage neighbor, a science prodigy who claimed to have developed the perfect strain. Ivy League, he called it, since it had paid for his entire college fund.

Kat straightens up, red face feigning composure as she passes you the joint. “You never asked,” she finally says.

And that was just…well, fair, actually.

“Huh,” you say, trying futilely not to cough on your own exhale and kissing away any dreams you had of looking cool in front of all the fashion models around you. “You know, I did wonder when you’d ever get in trouble with your boss about the free drinks thing. And the drinking on the job thing. And the this on the job thing,” you say, frowning as you contemplate the joint.

You offer it up to the men and Soap takes it, your hands brushing long enough to send a little fizz through your blood.

“You’ve known each other long, then?” Soap asks, taking a puff. Turning a vibrant shade of red as he heroically--and futilely--tries to hold in a cough.

“Oh, we go waaaaay back,” you tell them very sincerely. “I helped her bury the body of her ex-husband years ago, a mafioso named Jimmy the Janitor because he cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

“I met you two months ago. And I’m a lesbian,” Kat contradicts blandly.

“I didn’t know that, either!” you exclaim, smacking her in the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude, I would have been flirting with you from the start.”

“You’re not my type,” she says devastating, and Ghost snorts when you mime stabbing yourself in the heart dramatically. The joint glows red between his full lips, crossed with scars that shine silvery in the moonlight and trail up beyond his mask. Exhales in one long, smooth breath and looks suitably smug about it, the fucker.

“I do seem to remember you saying something earlier about me being ‘so hot I give you hives.’” Kat reminds you. “You telling me that wasn’t flirting?” she asks with an arched brow.

“Nah, that’s just being neighborly,” you beam.

“Then I shudder to think what your flirting does look like.”

“That’s the appropriate response, honestly.”

Ghost barks out a laugh and you shoot him a cheeky wink before turning back to Kat. “Alright killer, gimmie the goods then. What is your type?” you prod her with your foot. “Is it a black cat, golden retriever thing? I can bark, babe, just say the word.”

Soap damn near chokes on his drink but Kat just sighs, sounding more fond than exasperated. She takes the joint and leans in, bringing your faces only a few inches apart. You watch, riveted, as she brings it to her cherry-red lips and inhales deeply. Holding your gaze, she leans ever so slightly closer, the moment stretching into eternity before she blows a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke directly into your face. You touch your mouth absently, wonder if you might be drooling.

“MILFs,” she says finally, devastatingly, before tucking the joint between your fingers and heading back inside—as good as a kiss on the mouth from anyone else.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap's voice is rough and low as the door closes behind Kat.

“You’re telling me, pal,” you say, sinking comically in your chair. “I think she broke me.” You’d already been drunk off the night’s joy but now you felt lightheaded with desire, literally dizzy with it.

This is not an uncommon response to Kat, you suppose. Nor, you expect, to the pretty lads that remain.

You summon your forces and sit back upright, kicking over the newly empty chair over in offering. Ghost takes it, the plastic frame creaking under his bulk while Soap drops down on the garbage can, resting his elbows on jean-clad knees. You pass around the rest of the joint in companionable silence, and it’s just…nice, all of it. The cold at your back and the heat of the lamp on your face, the fading alcohol buzz replaced by the sweeter, steadier high of the weed, always better at gentling your nerves and clearing your head. The easy camaraderie of smokers cast out into the cold, the same thing in almost every city and country you’d ever seen. You smile, thinking back on all those shared lighters and bummed cigarettes over the years. All those ships passing in the night.

“Getting’ us a refill,” Soap finally says, standing up and snagging Ghost’s empty glass, hooking their fingers together briefly in the action. You note it and immediately drop the thought, scalded. Know you will literally, actually combust if let your brain run-rabbit imagining the two of them together. All that muscle, all that strength, curved around each other, curved around you…

“What’ll it be, bonnie?” Soap’s warm voice snaps you out of your reverie and you flush, sure from his smirk that he can read the direction of your thoughts. You were legendarily bad at poker—couldn’t keep a neutral expression if they paid you to.

“Dealer’s choice, please and thank you,” you grin at him despite your embarrassment; turning down a free drink was against your moral code.

He gives you that shark-like smile again and Ghost tsks as he heads inside. “You’ll probably regret that, birdie. Johnny’s got atrocious taste.”

“Aye can fucking hear you, you Manc twat,” Soap calls from the door, a little extra Scottish in his snark. Ghost chuckles lowly, stretching his feet out into your space.

“It’s Manchester then, our kid?” you tease, kicking your foot playfully against his combat boot. Leaving it there when he lets you. “Whose your fighter then, Liam or Noel?”

He thinks for a moment. “Liam. I like his spunk.”

“’A man with a fork in a world of soup,’” you quote, nodding approvingly. “I get that.”

You toy with the Altoids tin and debate lighting up another one.

Ghost fishes a pouch of rolling tobacco out of the kangaroo pocket of black hoodie and holds it up, raising an eyebrow. “Clever boy,” you praise, and he leans forward to pass it to you, pale hands dwarfing your own. When he settles back in his chair, he tangles his feet with yours properly and you feel the blush rise on your cheeks.

You prep the blunt in a practiced motion, balancing the tin on your knees as you sprinkle the peaty tobacco overtop the flower. “I’ve always been more of a Blur over Oasis fella, myself,” you finally offer to distract from the weight of his gaze. “Damon Alburn, the man you are,” you say fervently.

“Oi, we talking about the Gorillaz then?” Soap calls out, juggling glasses as the door closes behind him, muffling the chatter from inside. “Fucking choon after choon, them,” he declares, dropping back onto the pail.

He passes Ghost a rocks glass filled with an inch of amber that matches his own, gaze locked on where your tongue runs across the filter paper, wetting it. He trades you the finished smoke for a glass with something alarmingly orange in it, another plastic sword stuck with three cherries laid across the top.

You sniff skeptically, all sweet and citrusy and strong. “This must be off-menu.”

“Dive bar innit, no menu to be off of,” Soap points out, and you smile at the familiar response.

You take a curious sip, looking up in surprise when you taste a bright splash of orange and vanilla across your tongue. “That’s fucking incredible,” you say, eyes wide. “What is it and why haven’t I been having it all night?”

Soap grins at you, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Had a feeling you were a lass that enjoyed a slow, comfortable screw against the wall.”

Ghost groans, and you squint suspiciously at Soap. “Who doesn’t, what’s that got to do with my drink?”

Soap laughs, delighted. “That’s the name of the drink, bonnie. A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” he says with emphasis.

Ah. Well. That’s—oh, motherfucker. “Does Kat know that?” She’s probably laughing her ass off at you inside, the sadist.

“Oh, aye. She seemed amused. Though she made an unnerving amount of eye contact while stabbing the wee cherries,” he says, eying the garnish. “Scariest fucking thing I’ve seen in a minute. Rather like someone we know, actually,” he says, giving Ghost a wry look.

Soap pulls out his own lighter to coax the blunt to life, a battered bic with his name scrawled in thick, Sharpied letters. He lets out a pleased sigh as the smoke curls through the cold air, then leans forward to rest his elbows back on his knees.

“Now, as for why you weren’t getting it slow, comfortable or otherwise before now I couldn’t say,” he says, blue eyes glinting with mischief when they light on yours. “But I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than happy to provide for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right L.T.?”

“Right enough there, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is closer to a growl, setting off a delightful curl of heat in your belly.

You nibble on your straw as if their attention wasn’t going straight to your head, twice as intoxicating as the drink or the drugs. “You know what they say about variety and spice of life, though. Might get bored with just a screw against the wall. Got any thoughts on horizontal surfaces?” you tease, enjoying the way Ghost smirks around the blunt.

But oh, is that a dimple you suddenly see carving out of one scarred cheek? Before you’re even conscious of it you’re leaning in to get a closer look, propping one hand on his knee. “I adore your dimple,” you tell him very seriously, undoing any hope you had of appearing cool and hard-to-get. “It is very cute.”

You give him a businesslike pat on the thigh and start to pull away, but he catches you gently around the wrist.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he purrs, petting over the soft skin of your wrist. You try to play your delighted shiver off as one of chill. “We’ll keep you plenty entertained, don’t you worry about that. Bored is the last thing you’ll be, right, Johnny?” Ghost squeezes gently before releasing you.

“Oh, I fuckin’ swear to it, L.T,” Soap says, winking at the other man before unfolding his big bulk from the garbage can. “We’ll give you what need, bonnie, promise. Starting with this.” Then he’s got an arm around your waist and you’re in the fucking air and—

Oh, that’s not so bad, actually.

Soap sinks into the lawn chair and settles you across his lap, surrounding you with delicious warmth and a scent like peat and sea air. Your brain goes a bit soft and cottony for a moment and you latch on to the gentle pressure of his arms. Manhandling has always been a shortcut to your most devastated self, the kind of stupid and sweet and sated that you’ve only found once or twice through chemistry or luck or sheer fucking determination, and it bodes very well for the night to come.

Besides, for all he wears only a bomber jacket, the Scotsman is radiating heat like a furnace and it’s the perfect sensory foil to the plummeting temperatures, a few clouds beginning to fleck the sky.

“Saw you shiver. Couldn’t let our girl be cold now can I?” Soap says, chucking you under the chin like a kid. Should be stupid but you fucking like it, can’t help but smile up at him. Can’t remember the last time someone treated you so sweet, like you were something to protect. To treasure.

Ghost’s eyes are fond on the both of you, reaching out to trap Soap’s feet the same way he had yours a few moments before, big hand reaching out to cup possessively around your knee.

There’s no reason it should be as easy as it is, getting all wrapped up in each other as the night stretches on and the clouds continue to gather, chatting quietly and smoking through the rest of the blunt and finishing your drinks just as the first fat, fluffy flakes of snow begin to fall.

You watch, delighted, as it comes down in a sudden flurry, a magical, glimmering coat that turns the world into one whole thing. Untouched and perfect and silent except for the tides of your breath and the slight hum of the heat lamp, small sounds within a vast, quiet night.

You sigh in Soap’s arms, totally and unexpectedly content, luxuriating in the way your blood hums in anticipation of the night’s inevitable conclusion.

People asked if you got lonely, sometimes, travelling the way you did. Never staying anywhere for more than a few months, only occasionally breezing through past towns for a few effusive, loved-up reunions before the wind starts pressing at your back.

And though it’s true you’ve been seeking a place of your own, a place where you could belong, this, too, means something. To have these beautiful, fleeting moments of connection with once-strangers, to lose yourself completely in the headiness of such quick intimacies, no less passionate or kind or devastating for their brief duration. All those countless moments of connection—romantic, physical, platonic—coalescing into a kind of soft sweetness to hold on to long after you’ve forgotten a name or had a face grow fuzzy with memory.

All of that sweetness is swirling inside you as you nudge Soap’s chin with your head, drawing his attention from where he’d been conversing softly with Ghost, his hand petting gently, absently, along your waist.

“Take me home?” you ask softly, and his eyes melt at the question, his hand coming up to thumb a little desperately at your mouth.

“Oh, the Cap’n would love that,” Ghost snorts. “Fall arse over tits over a sweet thing like you walking through the door.”

“My home,” you clarify, though you’re not opposed—especially if their friend (captain?) looks anything like them. “I live like four blocks that way,” you say, chucking a thumb over your shoulder.

“Well why didn’t you say so, darlin’,” Soap says, standing up and dumping you on your feet. Before you can be too offended, he grabs your chin and presses his lips firmly against yours, searing hot and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. You look up at him a little dazed and he pets his thumb across your chin, grinning. “Ghost is right. Too sweet for your own good, bonnie. T’wouldn’t be right for us to let you walk home alone, sweet thing like you. Not in neighborhood like this.”

“Au contraire mon frère, I’m fast as shit,” you tell him. This occasionally happened when you got crossfaded in particularly the right way—went tearing off down the darkened street, drunk on the feeling of wind against your face and your heart hammering in your chest. Feeling like you could fucking fly. “No bad guy’s gonna catch me, no way.”

“That right, little rabbit?” Ghost moves as silent as his name, a sudden warmth at your back without you even noticing he left his chair. He curves that big body around you, nipping at the soft skin at your neck and caging you in against the firmness of Johnny’s chest. “Gonna let us chase you?” he teases.

The thought sends goosebumps rising along your arms. To be wanted, to be chased, to be caught. You shiver again and Ghost groans when you lean back against him, tipping your head back to nip at his jaw in return. “Home. Now,” he commands lowly, pulling down his mask.

You can’t help your shit-eating grin as you tug them both through the door and through the thinning, late-night crowd to collect your long-abandoned things from the bar.

Kat eyes the three of you suspiciously. “If I find cum anywhere on that fucking patio I will have your balls in a bear trap,” she threatens.

“No promises,” you wink at her, laughing as she flips you off. You shrug on your coat and pick up your bag, but Ghost immediately appropriates it, slinging it over a shoulder. Ignores your amused tug on the strap, already looking over your head presumably to plot the swiftest exit.

“Don’t wait up, babe!” you say, blowing a kiss to Kat as Ghost tows you and Soap toward the door.

“Call me if you need help burying the bodies,” Kat offers in response, and you cackle at the uncertain looks the late-night crowd shoots you both.

And then it’s just the three of you and the cold and the night, pressed together like you’re one body in the snow-crowned streets.

#call of duty #ghoap #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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onebadassunicorn · 2 days ago

Text

All I Want Is You

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining

word count: 3.7k

Taglist: @firefly-forest @salvatoresister1 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @batboyslutt @tiredsleepyhead

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media

Read previous chapters here:

Chapter 1

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

Chapter 2

Y/n POV

You stood on the balcony of Azriel’s townhouse, staring out at the glittering city of Velaris as the first rays of dawn painted the Sidra in gold. The view was breathtaking, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

Azriel.

Still sleeping inside.

Unaware.

Your fingers trembled as you tightened the belt of your coat, the morning chill doing little to distract you from the ache in your chest. You could still feel his touch lingering on your skin, the intensity of his hazel eyes haunting you. He was unlike anyone you had ever met—dark, brooding, and yet so tender in the way he held you, as though you were something precious.

For the briefest of moments last night, you had allowed yourself to imagine a life with him. But it was a fleeting dream, one you knew you couldn’t have.

Your gaze dropped to the streets below, bustling quietly as the city woke. Velaris had been your escape, a place to spend your holiday away from the responsibilities and expectations of your home in Montesere - a territory far removed from the freedom of this vibrant city. Montesere, a land of wealth, opulence, and endless responsibilities. It was your home, but it was also your cage. Your family owned one of the largest trading empires in their territory, and your obligations to their legacy consumed your days and dictated your future. There was no room for deviation, no room for a life of your own.

You had come here for a holiday reprieve, to forget the weight you carried back in your own city. But Velaris wasn’t yours, and neither was Azriel.

You pressed your fingers to your lips, remembering the way he had kissed you, the way he had looked at you as though you were the center of his world. It had been real, what you both shared last night. You couldn’t deny that. But it couldn’t last.

Montesere was waiting for you—a city full of obligations, promises, and a life your family had built long before you ever knew Azriel existed. You couldn’t uproot everything for a single night, no matter how much that night had changed you. Your father simply wouldn’t allow it. You had responsibilities, family, and commitments that tied you to Montesere. Staying in Velaris, staying with Azriel, would mean abandoning everything your father had built for your family and worked so hard to maintain.

And yet… the thought of leaving Azriel felt like a knife twisting in your chest. You closed your eyes, willing the tears back.

You thought of his hands on your waist, his lips murmuring your name like a prayer. You had seen something in his eyes last night, something more than desire. It was as though he had found something in you he hadn’t known he was searching for. You knew the mating bond snapped for you, but you couldn’t be certain it did for him as well.

And that made leaving all the harder.

As you moved back inside to his bedroom, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

What could you offer him?

A few fleeting moments?

A connection that could never truly be fulfilled?

You knew you couldn’t stay, and you couldn’t ask him to leave his world for yours. Besides, he was an integral part of the Night Court.

He couldn't leave and it wouldn’t be fair to even ask him.

With trembling hands, you picked up the note you had left on the pillow next to him, your heart breaking as you read your own words. You had tried to keep it simple, to explain just enough without giving him false hope. But the truth was, you had felt something for him, something deep and undeniable. And leaving him now felt like ripping a piece of yourself away.

As the sun rose higher, you pressed a kiss to your fingertips and ran your fingertips softly down his cheek. He stirred in his sleep, and you took a deep breath.

You had to leave.

Montesere was your home, and whatever had passed between you and Azriel had to remain a beautiful memory, one you would cherish for the rest of your life.

But as you turned away from the bedroom and back to the balcony, your green eyes shimmering with unshed tears, you couldn’t shake the nagging thought: What if Velaris wasn’t just a holiday? What if, for one night, you had found something—or someone—you didn’t want to let go of?

Pushing the thought aside, you stepped through the balcony doors, looking down at the city below, the dawn’s light casting long shadows across the cobblestones. You glanced once more toward the city, your green eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rustling of the leaves.

And then, with a deep breath, you winnowed.

The air around you shifted, bending and folding in on itself, and a moment later, you were standing in the grand estate of your family’s home in Montesere. The contrast was immediate—where Velaris was vibrant and free, Montesere was polished and cold, the weight of responsibility pressing down on you the moment your feet touched the marble floors.

Your father’s voice echoed faintly from another room, discussing business as always, and you straightened your shoulders, burying the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. This was your life, your duty.

There was no room for longing.

No room for Azriel.

But as you walked through the halls of your family’s estate, your heart ached with the truth you couldn’t ignore: you had left part of yourself behind in Velaris.

******

Azriel POV

For four long years, Azriel searched.

The morning Y/n had disappeared from his bed, leaving only a note and a hollow ache in his chest, he had sworn to find her. She was his mate—his, the other half of his soul—and the thought of living without her was unbearable.

At first, his search was methodical, driven by the determination that had carried him through centuries of missions for the Night Court. He scoured Velaris, questioning anyone who might have seen her, piecing together her movements in the days before she vanished. The name “Y/n” was all he had to go on—a name that, to his growing frustration, was far more common than he had realized.

Weeks turned into months, and still, he found no trace of her. No one in Velaris seemed to know “a Y/n” who matched her description, and even his shadows—his constant, loyal companions—were silent, unable to find a thread to pull. It was as though she had disappeared into thin air, leaving only the ghost of her presence behind.

Azriel expanded his search beyond Velaris, traveling to other territories, questioning travelers and merchants in bustling marketplaces and quiet taverns alike. But the world was vast, and Y/n’s name was just one among thousands. Every lead he followed ended in disappointment, every hopeful moment crushed under the weight of reality.

He replayed their night together over and over in his mind, clinging to the memory of her laughter, the way her green eyes sparkled when she teased him, the softness of her touch. But as the months dragged on, even those memories began to feel like a cruel taunt.

She was his mate.

How could he live without her?

By the second year, the search had taken its toll. Azriel, once unshakable, began to unravel. The fire that had fueled his determination dimmed, replaced by a growing sense of despair. He withdrew from his friends, his duties, and even his shadows. He had always been reserved, but now he was quiet in a way that alarmed those closest to him.

Cassian tried to draw him out, suggesting drinks at Rita’s or sparring matches to shake him from his brooding. Mor offered to help with the search, her tone light but her eyes filled with concern. Even Rhysand, his brother and High Lord, spoke to him in private, urging him not to lose himself in the search. But Azriel waved them all off, his responses clipped and distant.

“I can’t stop,” he told Rhys one evening, his voice raw. “She’s out there. She’s my mate.”

“And what happens if you never find her?” Rhys asked gently, his violet eyes filled with a rare softness.

Azriel didn’t answer. The possibility of failure was one he couldn’t allow himself to consider, even as it loomed larger with each passing day.

As the second year came to a close, Azriel’s despair deepened. He rarely slept, his nights spent staring at the stars and wondering where she was. The name “Y/n” haunted him—a name so painfully common that it seemed to mock him at every turn. How could the universe give him his mate, only to take her away with no trace?

He returned to his home one evening, exhausted and hollow, the shadows around him eerily silent. The note she had left two years ago sat on his desk, the edges worn from his constant handling. He unfolded it for what felt like the thousandth time, tracing her words with his fingers.

Let me live in your memory as the woman who shared this night with you, because you will always be in mine.

Her request felt like a dagger to his chest.

How could he let her live in his memory when she was his very heart?

How could he carry on knowing she was out there, somewhere, beyond his reach?

Azriel sank into a chair, his head in his hands. He had always been a creature of shadows, but now they consumed him entirely, their whispers turning into a mournful echo.

For the first time in centuries, he felt truly lost.

He whispered her name into the quiet, his voice breaking. “Y/n.”

And for the first time, he allowed himself to consider what he had fought so hard to avoid: that she was gone, and he might never find her.

And he began to sob.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel sat in the garden of the River House, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the gentle murmur of the Sidra. The world around him seemed peaceful, serene—a stark contrast to the storm that churned within him. For two years, he had searched for Y/n, and for two years, he had come up empty.

Halfway through the third year, the bond thrummed faintly in his chest, a constant reminder of what he had lost and could not find.

He was drowning in despair, and it showed. His friends had noticed the shadows deepening around him, his brooding silence becoming heavier with each passing day. It was Elain who finally reached out, her soft presence a tentative light against the darkness consuming him.

At first, Azriel had resisted her gentle attempts to draw him out, her kind words and quiet companionship. But eventually, the loneliness became too much, and he let her in—or at least, he tried. Elain was kind, beautiful, and sweet in a way that soothed his raw edges, if only briefly.

One evening, as the sun set over Velaris, they found themselves alone in the garden. Elain’s laughter was soft, her voice warm as she told him about her latest efforts in the greenhouse. Azriel listened, or at least he pretended to. His thoughts were far away, his mind always circling back to Y/n, to green eyes that weren’t Elain’s, to a voice that no longer echoed in his world.

When Elain reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand, he didn’t pull away. She looked up at him, her brown eyes filled with something hopeful, something he didn’t deserve.

“Azriel,” she said softly, her voice hesitant, as though afraid to push too hard. “You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

He stared down at her, his heart heavy with guilt. He wanted to feel something for her—anything that could drown out the ache in his chest. She leaned closer, her hand sliding up to his shoulder, and he let her. When she stood on her toes, her lips brushing softly against his, he didn’t stop her.

But the moment their lips met, everything unraveled.

In his mind, it wasn’t Elain he was kissing. It was Y/n—her taste, her scent, her voice filling his senses. He closed his eyes, giving into the illusion, and when he pulled back to murmur her name, it slipped out before he could stop it.

“Y/n.”

The word hung in the air like a shattered glass. Elain froze, her eyes widening in shock, hurt flashing across her face. She stepped back, her hand falling from his shoulder. “Y/n?” she repeated, her voice trembling.

Azriel’s heart sank. He ran a hand through his hair, his wings shifting restlessly behind him. “Elain, I’m… I’m sorry.”

She took another step back, her hurt expression cutting him like a blade. “Who is she?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel couldn’t meet her gaze. He looked down at the ground, shame washing over him. “I can’t do this,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m kidding myself. And I’m hurting you.”

Elain’s brows furrowed, her hurt giving way to confusion. “Azriel, what are you talking about?”

He looked up then, his hazel eyes filled with guilt and pain. “When I’m with you, I’m not really with you. I’m… picturing her. I see her. I hear her. I’m sorry, Elain. You deserve better than that.”

Her lips parted as though she wanted to speak, but no words came. She simply stared at him, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You deserve someone who can give you all of themselves,” Azriel continued, his voice breaking. “I can’t. My heart… it’s already hers. Even if I never find her, it will always be hers.”

Elain swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “I see,” she said softly, her voice tight.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his wings sagging in defeat. “I thought… I thought maybe I could move on. But I can’t. Not like this.”

She nodded again, her face a mix of understanding and heartbreak. Without another word, she turned and walked back into the house, leaving Azriel alone in the garden.

He sat there for a long time, the silence of the night wrapping around him like a shroud. The bond thrummed faintly in his chest, a cruel reminder of what he had lost—and what he might never have again.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel found himself on the streets of Velaris as they buzzed with life as Solstice approached, the air crisp and filled with the scents of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon. He walked among the throngs of people, his wings tucked tight against his back, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. He had spent the last hour wandering the shops, selecting gifts for his family and friends, though his heart wasn’t fully in it.

Almost a full four years had passed since she had left him, and though he had tried to move forward, the bond remained a constant ache in his chest. The search for her had eventually ceased, not because he had given up, but because there was simply nothing more he could do. Her name, her face, her laugh—they haunted him, even now.

He turned a corner, stepping into a quieter side street where a few small shops lined the cobblestones. The crowds thinned, and he took a deep breath, trying to shake the heaviness that always seemed to linger around him this time of year.

A blur of movement caught his attention, but before he could react, a warm liquid splashed against his chest. He stopped abruptly, looking down at his coat now stained with coffee.

“I’m so sorry!” a female voice exclaimed, hurried and flustered. “I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

Azriel’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice. It was a voice he would know anywhere. His hazel eyes locked onto her face, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

It was her.

She stood before him, her green eyes wide with surprise and embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. She looked exactly as he remembered—her long black hair spilling over her shoulders, her beauty undeniable even in her obvious distress. She clutched an empty coffee cup in one hand, her other hand hovering as though unsure whether to help him or retreat.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying her name too loudly might break the fragile moment.

Her eyes widened further, recognition dawning as she looked at him. “Azriel?” she breathed, her voice filled with equal parts shock and disbelief.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, as the bond in his chest surged to life, thrumming with a fierce, undeniable pull. She was here, standing before him, after all these years.

“I-oh-Gods, your coat,” she stammered, gesturing helplessly at the coffee stain. “I’m so sorry-“

“Y/n,” he interrupted, his voice steadier now. He stepped closer, his gaze searching hers. “It’s you.”

She froze, her hands falling to her sides as she met his eyes. For a moment, she looked like she might turn and run, but then she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “It’s me,” she said softly, her voice tinged with something he couldn’t quite name.

Regret?

Guilt?

Relief?

Azriel swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. “You’re here,” he said, his words coming out almost accusatory, though he didn’t mean them to be. “After all this time.”

She nodded, her green eyes flickering with emotions she clearly couldn’t hide. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she admitted, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the city around them.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at his sides. “I searched for you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “For many years, Y/n. I tried to find you.”

Her expression softened, but there was still a sadness in her eyes. “I'm sorry” she said quietly. “I… I thought it was better this way. For both of us.”

His jaw tightened, his shadows swirling faintly at the edges of his being. “Better?” he repeated, his voice low, raw. “You’re my mate, Y/n. How could leaving ever be better?”

Her breath hitched, and she looked down, as if unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I had my life in Montesere—my family, my obligations. I thought… I thought it would be easier for both of us because my life was there, and your life is here.”

“Easier?” Azriel took another step closer, his wings flaring slightly. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like, not knowing where you were, not knowing if I’d ever see you again?”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his then, glistening with unshed tears. “And do you know what it’s been like for me?” she countered, her voice shaking. “Living with the bond, feeling it every day, knowing I left you behind? I thought I was doing the right thing, Azriel. I thought I was sparing us both.”

Silence fell between them, heavy with the weight of their shared pain. The world around them faded, leaving only the two of them standing there, staring at each other as though trying to bridge the years that had separated them.

Finally, Azriel spoke, his voice softer now. “You’re here,” he said again, as if trying to convince himself. “You came back.”

Y/n nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I did.”

Azriel stared at her, his chest tightening as her words hung in the air. Living with the bond, feeling it every day, knowing I left you behind.

He took a step closer, his voice low, raw with disbelief. “You knew about the bond?” His hazel eyes searched her face, desperate for an answer, for the truth she had kept from him.

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground as though she couldn’t bear to face him. “I felt it that night,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling. “I felt it snap into place, just like you must have. I—” She choked on the words, lifting a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Azriel felt the world tilt beneath him, her confession hitting him like a physical blow. He reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I felt it too,” he said, his voice breaking. “That night… I knew you were my mate. I’ve known ever since.”

Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her breath hitching as she leaned into his touch. “I thought I was protecting your life here,” she whispered. “I thought it would be better for you if I stayed away. I didn’t want to burden you with my life in Montesere—my family, my responsibilities. I knew you had your life here as part of the Night Court. It was an impossible situation. I thought… I thought you’d move on.”

“Move on?” Azriel’s voice rose slightly, the pain and anger he’d bottled up for years spilling over. “You’re my mate. There’s no moving on. I searched for you for years. I—”

“Mommy!” a high-pitched voice interrupted, small and cheerful, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Azriel froze, his hand falling away from her face as a little girl came running toward them. She was small, her black hair tied back in long waves, and as she looked up at Y/n with wide, excited eyes, Azriel’s breath caught. She had wings. Tiny, delicate Illyrian wings that flared slightly as she came to a stop beside Y/n, clutching the edge of her coat.

“Mommy,” the girl said, tugging on Y/n’s hand. “I saw a toy dragon in the shop over there! It looks like the one you read to me about. Can I have it? Please?”

Y/n’s face turned pale, her lips parting in silent shock as she glanced at Azriel. She placed a gentle hand on the little girl’s shoulder, her movements stiff. “Sweetheart,” she said softly, her voice unsteady. “Just… give Mommy a moment, okay?”

But Azriel was already staring at the child, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Her wings, her dark hair, her delicate features. And then her eyes—hazel, flecked with gold.

His own eyes.

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

Chapter 3

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