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ripdragonbeans · 1 day

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Not Him, I Swear // Modern!Aegon x Reader // Pt. 3

Summary: You go on your second date with Aegon and it ends up being much more fun that you anticipated.

CW: afab reader, profanity, eventual smut, Aegon being an ass, oh but he has feelings??????

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

The next few days were filled with cute texts and fluffy dates. Aegon respected your wishes and didn't push you to go any further than a make out session. It drove you crazy; you wanted him but you were scared. As much as you wanted to forget all the pain Jason caused you, it was something that stayed. It tainted your views of love, something that can be hard to make new.

Aegon seemed too good to be true.

But you swallowed your fears and pushed on with your relationship with him.

“Hey, man!” Cregan strolled into the room. “How's our bet going? Is she begging for you yet?” He plopped himself down next to Aegon and put his feet on the table.

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” he murmured. “No, she's not begging yet, but I'll get there.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Gods, I almost feel bad.”

Cregan’s eyebrow rose. “Bad? Don't tell me that my best friend is actually catching feelings for someone.”

“No, I'm not catching feelings for anyone.” Aegon got up to grab another beer; his third one already, and it was barely noon.

“The way you talk about her says differently.”

“I haven't talked about her.”

“Not obviously, of course. At any mention of the bet or anything, you tense up. Something’s going on in that head.”

“Whatever, Cregan,” Aegon muttered. “Since you're so focused on annoying me, I'm gonna go to my room.” He gave his friend a mocking wave before leaving the living room to his own.

He put his head in his hands and let out a groan. He couldn't be catching feelings, he shouldn't be falling for her. But he is.

The way she smiles. The way her eyes light up. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. It's like looking into a bright light and being engulfed in its warmth.

But he had to do this. He needed to prove that he could have anyone he wanted. If not to himself, then to his friend. As shallow as it was, he wanted to follow through. He hoped she wouldn't hate him in the end.

“Hel, I really can't believe it,” you gushed. “I know you said not to get too involved with him but he's already so much better than Jason!”

You plopped down on the couch, closed your eyes, and stretched. The wonderful feeling of being loved say well inside your heart. Despite the aching fears and the anxiety that comes along after being cheated on, the feeling of being loved triumphed ever just a tiny bit.

“I wouldn't go ahead and say that, bestie. Please, be on your guard. You know all the stories, all the rumors, and I can even testify for some of them.” Helaena held your hands and looked you in the eye. “Be careful, please.”

A voice came from the hallway. “Yeah, what she said.” Jace walked over to the two of you sitting on the couch. He wore a grim expression on his face. “I don't mean to hurt you but I've heard that he's just trying to get you to sleep with him, all for some bet.”

Your heart sank at the thought but you pushed it aside.

“Very funny, Jace,” you said. “But I don't need that negativity in my life.”

“It's not negativity if it's true.” He looked at you with pity in his eyes.

You shook off the expression and took a deep breath. “Why can't you two just be happy for me?”

Helaena squeezed the hand she was holding. “We're happy for you, we just want you to be careful. We hate to see you hurt.”

“It's a risk, isn't it? All relationships are. I know Aegon and I will either end up together forever or eventually break up. It's up to us, not you two, but me and Aegon, how bad that ending will be.”

Helaena huffed. “Okay, I'll drop it. For now.”

You smiled at her. “Thank you.” You turned to address both Jace and Helaena. “Now, would you two like to know what's happening next?”

“As hesitant as I am, yes,” Helaena said.

Jace nodded his head in agreement.

You pulled out your phone to read the text messages between you and Aegon.

“Our next date is a movie!” You announced.

There was a beat of silence before Jace broke it. “A movie? Isn't that a little cliche?”

You frowned at him. “Shut up, it's something.”

“What movie are you guys gonna catch?” Helaena cut in.

“Oh! Um…” you bowed your head in embarrassment and mumbled your answer.

“I'm sorry? What was that?” Jace leaned in. A knowing smirk graced his lips.

You mumbled your answer again, but a little louder.

“Bestie, I still can't hear you!”

“Shrek 2.”

You look up in shame. The judgment you feel from them was too much.

“...I'm sorry, did you just say Shrek 2?” Clarified Jace.

“It's the best one!”

Helena laughed. “Considering it's you and Aegon, it makes sense. Weird choice, but yeah.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, time to get you date ready!”

“‘Date ready?’ Hel, I’ve got five hours until I have to leave. I have time.”

“For what I have planned for you? Nope, five hours is just enough time for me and Jace to get you set.”

Jace froze hearing his name. “Me? What do I have to do?”

“Shut up, you're moral support,” Helaena rolled her eyes in amusement. “Now, let's go.”

Helaena offered you her hand but you hesitated slightly. What if this is just a plot to convince you to not go? But when you looked at your friends all you could see was the love they had for you.

“Alright, let's get this started,” you smiled.

Four hours later had you sitting in a chair with your back straight and a mirror behind you.

“Annnnnd done!” Helaena turned your chair around so you could see yourself.

You took in the image, your hair all done nicely, your facial features enhanced, all of it. You couldn't help the smile that made its way.

“Helaena,” you started, “my gods, you did an amazing job!”

You turned toward Jace, who was sitting on the arm of the couch.

“Yeah,” he said between handfuls of chips, “you look great. Aegon is gonna shit himself.”

“I don't know about that,” you rolled your eyes. “He's been with a shit ton of other girls before me, I doubt I'm the prettiest.”

A hand smacked your head.

“No. You're the hottest he's ever been with and will only be with for the rest of your lives.”

“Wow, and I thought you were dead set on me not being with him.”

“Only to protect you! But,” she sighed, “if this is how it goes then he better not break your heart. He does that. I'll chop up his dick in his sleep.”

“Yeah, and I'll fuck up his face,” Jace added.

You laughed at your friends, your heart full. “You two are so extra.”

“It's called being best friends,” Jace said as he joined you and Helaena at the mirror.

Looking at the three of you, you thought of all the trials you've been through. All the heartbreak, the laughs, the highs and the lows. Without them who knows what you would be like. You interlocked your hands with both of them and leaned back.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you guys, but I'm grateful for you two and love you.”

Beep beep!

The sound of the honking car was quickly followed by a text. You picked up your phone and couldn't stop the smile. Of course Aegon would do this. As you readied yourself to leave the apartment, you did one last look in the mirror.

You were happy with how you looked; all dolled up for the date. Just enough to be enticing but not so much in your face. With a pep in your step, you made your way to the front door.

Aegon’s eyes went wide when he saw you. “You look…”

You nodded for him to continue.

“Amazing. You look amazing.” Aegon flashed you a big smile.

“You don't look too bad yourself,” you replied as you got in the car.

Aegon’s car was messy but it could be a lot worse. Luckily the trash wasn't food trash but rather random papers and receipts that were strewn across the floor and the back seat. It also smelled vaguely of weed.

“You smoke?” You asked him.

Aegon pulled out of the driveway. “Yeah, and I vape every now and then if I want a flavor or something. You?”

“I've been curious about it but no, I haven't done either.”

“Wanna try? We can pull over and I can roll you a joint.”

A smile crept onto your face. There were butterflies in your stomach but you were excited to take the plunge.

Once Aegon pulled over into an unmarked parking lot, he pulled out the weed, the paper, and lighter. He was careful to roll the joint nicely for you. Once he finished he looked at his work and gave you a smile. “Ta-da! One joint rolled for my kitten.”

“Okay, cool. I can do this.” You told yourself.

Aegon looked at you with concern. “You don't have to smoke if you don't want to.”

“No, but I really want to.”

“Okay.” He nodded his head. “I'll light it. Then all you have to do is inhale through your mouth, hold it for a bit then exhale through your mouth. Simple.”

“Simple. Right.”

“Okay, here we go.”

Aegon lit it then brought the joint up to your mouth. You gently wrapped your lips around the tip and you did as he said.

Inhale.

You felt the smoke fill your mouth.

Hold.

You let it sit and go down your throat.

Exhale.

A puff of smoke flew out of your mouth.

As a calming sensation sprinkled through your body you have Aegon a relaxed smile.

“You feeling okay?” Aegon asked you

You laughed a bit. “Yeah, I feel good.”

Aegon took a drag from the joint himself. “Wanna get high before we watch the movie?”

“Hell yeah.”

Before heading off to the movie theater, you and Aegon shared the joint. It didn't take long for you to get high but Aegon finished it off. He was careful not to get higher than just having a buzz since he was driving. The rest of the ride was filled with you babbling about everything and nothing. Aegon smiled and let you go on.

Arriving at the theater, you let out a little giggle. “I'm so excited for this, Aegon.” You slurred his name.

“Yeah.” He couldn't stop himself from smiling at you. Getting out of the car, he circled around to open the passenger door. “Time to get out, kitten.”

You giggled again. “I like that you call me kitten. It's cute and it kinda turns me on.”

Aegon gulped down a breath. “That's great; time to see the movie.”

Letting go of Aegon’s hand, you put both of yours on his chest. “I wanna be with you.”

He pushed your hands down and kept them firmly in his. Aegon looked you in the eye. “And we will but not like this. I want you to be sober when I take you.”

You huffed. “Okay.”

Finally getting you to step out of the car, Aegon went back to only holding one hand as he led you through the parking lot and into the theater.

“Mmm I want popcorn and an Icee,” you said as soon as you walked in. The smell of popcorn immediately surrounded you.

“I'll get you popcorn and a water,” Aegon said.

You stamped your foot. “But I want an Icee!”

He tugged on your hand to get you to look at him. “Kitten, you need water. Trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” Another giggle escaped you.

After buying popcorn and water, Aegon led the way to your numbered theater to watch Shrek 2. At first you wanted to sit up front but he pulled you away to the rows in the back.

“No one needs to know you're high,” he said as you made your way up the stairs.

“But you know I'm high,” you observed.

“I'm the one that got you high, kitten.”

“Oh, yeah.”

As you sat down in your chair, all you could think about was getting as close to Aegon as possible. Thankfully, these were the newer, fancier theater chairs. You reclined your chair and moved the armrest out of the way so you could lean on Aegon.

“You and popcorn,” you said as you snuggled up to him. “The best combination ever.”

“Don't forget Shrek.”

“And Shrek.”

Aegon kissed the top of your head as the lights went down and the movie began.

While Shrek 2 was already one of the funniest moments of all time, watching it high made it even funnier.

“Prince Charming looks like Jason,” you whispered, eyes wide. “I bet his dick is small like Jason’s, too.”

Aegon choked on his water. He stole a look at you but all he saw was a girl high as fuck while watching Shrek 2. Gods, he wanted to kiss you then and there.

The movie continued with your constant one liners about how everything in Shrek related to something or someone in your life. Somehow you were Shrek, Fiona was Aegon (which he was happy about), Donkey was Helaena, and Puss in Boots was Jace. To you, it all made sense. To Aegon, it was simply blabbering that entertained him.

As the credits rolled on the screen, you lolled your head against Aegon’s shoulder once again. “I’m tired, Aeg.”

“You’re coming down from your high, kitten,” he assured you. “Time to get up and head home.”

“I don’t wanna move.” You slunk down in your seat.

Aegon laughed. “They’re gonna kick us out anyway if you don’t get up. What if I helped you?”

You held out both arms. “Yes, please.”

Aegon moved to stand in front of you to pull you up. Instead of letting go, however, he tucked you into his side. Together, you made your way out of the movie theater.

“Can we go to your place?” you asked him as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“No, I’m going to drop you off at my sister’s.”

All of a sudden you wanted to cry. “Why? Do you not like me?”

“That’s not it. You’re high and I’m going to take care of you.”

Your mood instantly switched. “I’d love for you to take care of me.” Heat began pooling in your belly while you placed a hand on his thigh.

Reluctantly, Aegon moved your hand off of him. “Not like that. I’m going to be responsible this one time and take you back to Helaena’s.”

“Come on, be irrisp, irrrrsp, irrisponble this one time.”

“If you want to be in my bed you’re going to have to be sober, kitten.”

You crossed your arms. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

“I know, what a bore.” He turned into the driveway. “Time to go.” He walked over to your side to open the door and walk you to the front. “I loved tonight.”

“I love you too, Aegon,” you yawned.

Aegon stopped, stunned. “I think you mean you loved tonight.”

You hummed. “No, I love you.”

He nodded his head, mouth slightly agape, as he took you Helaena’s room. When he knocked on the door Helaena popped out.

Her eyes instantly went to you, leaning all your weight on Aegon. “What did you do?!”

Aegon shrugged. “She wanted to get high so I let her. I only got buzzed but she is definitely high.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“It’s loud,” you moaned. “And bright.”

“Gods, get her in here.” Helaena motioned for Aegon to bring you into the room.

Immediately, you went for the bed and flopped down. Aegon was careful as he tucked you in. Helanea watched in awe of how sweet he was being to you. As soon as you drifted off to sleep, Helaena took Aegon into the hallway to talk.

“Have you been like this all night?” she questioned.

“You mean like the wonderful gentleman I am? Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you being so kind to her?”

He shrugged. “What can I say, Hel. I like her.”

“No, when you like girls you just charm them and then fuck them. This is the second date you’ve gone on with her. Something is up.”

Aegon ran his hand down his face. “Let me do this, just once, let me be the good guy.”

Helaena looked at him warily. “Fine. But if you do anything to hurt her, I will personally destroy your life.”

#fics by bean #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #modern!aegon #hotd #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen #hotd au #modern au

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taemcains · 2 days

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your faith between my teeth — cainlane

a night, a dawn, and so a different night. ao3

🎧 julia shortreed - taste

The world doesn't die in Rotkov.

It lurches after them like a wounded beast, lugging the guts and gore of all that they've witnessed there. The pursuit is slow but ceaseless on a road laid in blood. It can’t let them go; it will not rest without gagging on their last cuts of sanity.

An abandoned railroad station mercifully swallows them first, housing them in its hushed ribcage, offering them a few swigs of safety, and a tattered blanket of quiet to settle over their shoulders.

Well, it was quiet, Lane thinks sourly, too exhausted to forbid herself this indulgence in petulance.

Night had been washed away like ink, fading without notice, leaving behind a blanched dawn stained by voices of every color. Even the most muted members of the squad argue their case along with the familiar, intense tones of Anna and Noah.

In the end, survival is an individual instinct, and each member had to ensure theirs. Lane's mouth lifts faintly. Does the General know it wouldn't take all that much for his leash to fray?

A tall, muscled woman speaks up, frustration further twisting the scar cleaving the deep brown of her face. ‘We have no way of powering the snowmobiles. Setting off with barely any charge left is suicide.’

A retaliation of ‘We have two injured people with us!’ flung, knocked away by Noah snapping ‘Do you think they give medals for dying ten miles closer to Adam?’

Anna looks up sharply, hand clenched by her side, and Lane sighs inaudibly, falling back into her mind as another bout of squabbling begins anew.

Roused minutes before dawn with a stiff neck and a dull, throbbing ache in her body, Lane has been quietly leaning against a table, haggling with her mind whenever the squad's deliberation went off course. To dissolve every touch stinging like salt on her skin, to send them rippling over her body when moonlight is the only voyeur, to not have them cresting over every moment, eroding the present.

But the material is precious, rarer than a memory untainted by its future, and just as unrelenting. It slithers between the muffled din of the squad, burning fingers tracing her collarbone, the cold of a cross sliding down her neck, so vivid and real she nervously glances at the corner of the room as if his intent eyes are watching her from the writhing shadows.

Her eyes snap back to the squad as Greg rises from where he's been crouched on the floor and squares his shoulders, adopting an unfaltering stance. Though it's a weak specter of the General's vulcanized presence, the squad quietens, their bickering dying to a whisper here and a jab there.

‘Getting stranded without shelter around is riskier. For the injured,’ he swallows, ‘and the rest. The safest option,’ for most, goes unsaid, ‘is sending the coordinates of this station and waiting for the base to get us.’

Calls of protest cut through a fog of relieved sighs, mollified when Greg turns an affable smile on them. ‘Why don't we check out the snowmobiles again if it'll satisfy you?’

The smile cracks when Anna stalks out of the room with a venomous look as goodbye. The tall woman who'd spoken earlier claps him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I'll come with you, let's go.’

Guilt adroitly plastered and painted over in hardly a few seconds, he meets her with a winning grin, draping an arm over her shoulder. ‘Why freeze out there? Imagine the kind of things you can find in these drawers.’

‘Of a station? Get out of here,’ she says, laughing as she pulls away.

Watching them, Lane recalls an old feeling; her first friend, the most loyal of them all, of being wrong. Born too cold, too aloof, too asleep to this world, she could do nothing but peer like a berated child from the back rooms as the rest of them tangoed through life, switching between partners, comfortable in the arms of pain, misery or happiness.

As she'd grown older, she'd managed to snatch a table for herself, watching with shark eyes as her peers stole away into the crowd, dancing and fighting and falling, and she convinced herself it need not matter to a person with ambition like hers.

But someone had come for her, come to her, graceless and inept that she is, holding out a hand with the promise of a turn around the sky itself as their ballroom. Who had seen her among a bevy of buoyant dancers, who had picked her out from a cast of white capes, who had sat by her side, looking ahead as their boots quietly kissed and kissed.

Lane sighs irritably as self-awareness oozes in like rancid oil, blistering under her skin. He can't allow her a single thought without tailing it like a comet.

She pushes herself off the table, intending to find a spot obscured to all but sunlight, when she pauses, eyes snapping up in unison with the squad, as an abrupt thud sounds from the floor above. Hands creep to their sides, relaxing as feathers sweep past rusty walls, an eerie shushing noise echoing with every step.

Wings large enough to brush the walls. Her heart misses a beat. Not Anhea.

She swallows, mortal eyes vainly trying to scatter the dark of the doorway as her heart skips impatiently, zero point eight seconds lavish when he’s not around. A new shadow bolsters the existing gloom. She inhales sharply, lungs taking in the last sips of air before his presence siphons them, only to deflate as the immortal steps inside.

Red is garishly bright in a room abandoned so carelessly.

Lane watches with distaste as Pileon saunters upto Greg, ignoring the squad who visibly shy away from his path. ‘Anhea and I are done with our shift. I hear you're choosing to stay?’

Greg nods. ‘We'll be sending the coordinates after checking on the snowmobiles. Tell Cain to take over patrolling.’

Pileon eyes him disdainfully. ‘Do I have any more duties after an entire night of flying?’

A short, obtrusively muscled man grumbles as he gets to his feet. ‘We spend half our time looking for that angel.’

Cain's deadened eyes, the labyrinth of his mind they invite her into locked and shut, and the exhausted set of his shoulders jostle their way to the front of her mind, and an odd sting of irritation shoots through her, shoving past reason or rationality.

She speaks before she could think. ‘I'll let him know.’

Greg turns to her with a confused smile, pleasantly surprised and vaguely suspicious of her volunteering for a cause that does not concern her. Pileon looks at her with mocking amusement, going as far as to gallantly sweep an arm out.

‘Go on. The prince needs his frog. Or is it the other way around?’

Ears burning in humiliation, Lane does something she wouldn't have dared to under the General's sovereignty, and dismisses herself, wrenching past them without a second look, chased into the shadowed passageway by the demon's knowing gaze.

The further she retreats, the more her shoulders slump, until she pauses, exhaling soundly as the squad's chatter dwindles to a faint buzzing. The relief doesn't last long; on her subsequent inhale, the dust motes from the air transmute into hundreds of moths inside her, fluttering in anxiety, scattering the words she had torn apart and thrown away.

Remember this. Look and don't forget.

She scoffs as she nudges a door open. She hadn't ever forgotten. How does one forget divinity, when it glints through gleaming white feathers and eyes laden with the weight of time? It had simply… faded into the background like the hushing of the sea to a coast dweller. What would be a staggering roaring to the others, terrifying in its unknowable depths, was a quotation hum to her.

But to get used to the sea is a fool's wisdom. His rage crested over them, and she was left blinking through the fear drenching her at the savage aftermath. But maybe the destruction wrought by three pairs of wings and incinerating eyes is not more than what he broke in her, for her to look at a seraph and see a metamorphosis instead: Beautiful. Petrifying. Beautiful.

She peers into yet another ransacked room, reliving last night. Gone. Here. Gone, she'd thought, still as a sacrifice, left at the altar of his hands. Humanity is scant in her, but his fingers were greedy on her skin, leaching what he wanted, and thoughtlessly, callously brimming her with need.

No, what she had forgotten is this: that for all his sins, he is still an angel, and for all of hers, she is only a mortal.

The last door in the hallway springs upon her as if in ambush, cracked open and leaking dark like the waiting maws of a wolf. She's allowed a fortifying breath before it swallows her, and spits her out onto a chessboard of shadows and struggling daylight, with archive boxes, overturned chairs, and her, she supposes, the pawns to the angel lucent and quiescent in the corner of the room.

She makes her move, cautiously stepping around office paraphernalia like a thief in the night, trying to think ahead, not to win, but to challenge, to put up a fight, only to slow and then stop entirely.

He's… sleeping.

A few ghostly steps and she's in front of him, close enough to coax out deception, close enough for her knee to brush his in a way that an excuse of ‘accidental’ would be met with pinched skepticism. She gets to work, casting her scrutiny on him.

The sun falls back in its rising, to linger and worship him in a pour of light like white wine. Unmoved by its adoration, he dreams in a bare office chair, legs crossed carelessly, wings arcing over the armrest and flowing to the floor like a heavy veil. Truly, assuredly asleep.

The verdict lays out the next course of action. Step back to a safe distance, rouse him, deliver the message, and leave. Clear, efficient, and rational, all of which would appeal to her in any situation, so why does she hesitate now?

She glances to the side, as if sharing a look of disbelief with a stranger over an act of public idiocy, except both the idiot and the onlooker in this scenario is her, before sighing softly, stirring the wisps of his hair as she leans down.

Just this once, she thinks in a heedless rush of curiosity-apprehension-longing, inflamed by an achingly familiar voice laughing in the back of her mind. I just need some ammunition, anything.

The first shot is fired at her, by her own useless observation that Cain is almost too beautiful to bear from this proximity, too beautiful to watch and not want.

Strands of silk-white hair fall over his eyes, fitting them with a frayed blindfold, shrouding the webbing of translucent blue veins on his eyelids. His temple rests on an uncurling fist, fingers skimming his cheek like slender branches. His lips part innocently for steady exhales, oblivious to the kind of thoughts they set off in her.

Despite his unearthly beauty, catching him in such a vulnerable position almost feels like evidence. For all his perilous power, he too requires rest, implicating him in the same weakness that plagues mortals. Almost human, she thinks blasphemously.

Her mouth twists wryly. What is she doing? Her hand rises of its own accord, fingertips hovering over the spill of moonlight over his ear. Trying to knit his veins to hers, to make them of the same blood? Her finger follows the orbit of a stray lock of hair, silk sliding against her skin. Trying to make him human? It slips and grazes the delicate shell of his ear, her touch so light she can only confirm its reality when her entire arm trembles.

So close, she thinks, suddenly hollow, empty. Close enough to feel you breathe, mind eons away.

His eyes slit open.

Her heart leaps and she almost follows its wake, too panicked to worry about tripping over his feet, before going boneless, meek as a rabbit sagging dead between the jaws of a fox, when Cain lifts his hand, lazily catching her wrist.

The seconds draw out as if slogging through honey, and it's twice as sweet when he leans his face into the palm of her hand, nuzzling into it like a sated stray cat with a soft sigh of reprieve.

She stays limp in his feather-light grip, mind and body in agreement for once, to be a mute witness to his tender spot, his soft underbelly, the way the faint heat of his skin leaches into her cold palm.

Miraculously, her mind tolerates the warmth budding through her veins and blossoming in her chest for all of five seconds, before hissing and clamoring over why, to stretch the moments of his weakness, or to memorize the feeling of his skin, her softness?

She can tell the exact moment his scheming mind catches up to his gentler body, and sweeps away the last vestiges of sleep, already spinning new webs. His lashes flutter like a baited bird, tickling the sensitive skin of her fingers, sweetening the parting as he draws his face away.

He releases her hand like an afterthought, so nonchalantly it could be nothing less than calculated. An insouciance mirrored in the slow routine of running a hand through his hair, and shaking off sleep, silver cross briefly catching fire in the sunrise.

‘What?’ He doesn't grace her with his gaze as he speaks, voice lower and rougher than usual, dredged from his throat where sleep was holding it in shackles.

‘The squad asked you to take over patrolling,’ she replies, mouth emptying words mechanically, even as her mind scrambles, grasping at the fire illuminating what she had assumed to be a shameful fantasy.

He sighs, dropping his head back. Distantly, she admires the strong, graceful line of his throat, a serene backdrop against her violently overspilling thoughts. When he straightens and his eyes finally catch hers, it's not by being garbed in one of his thousand disguises, but honestly, tiredly.

He lifts a brow when she stays rooted to the spot, still blindsided by her dream confessing to be a memory. ‘Planning to let me go?’

She shoves what would be a deeply satisfying retort into an armoire of other worse things she's held back around him, and wordlessly steps aside, her real gratification the brief, confused flit of his eyes as he rises, strolling to the center of the room.

His wings stretch out, curling and uncurling, a field of moonflowers blooming in front of her eyes with every motion, as their owner twists his shoulder with a hand, wrestling with the consequences of a night spent in discomfort.

Lane watches his back, the familiar loose, languid lines now distorted as in a nightmare, shoulder blades pressed high and tight together, tensed.

Did he realize that I remember? The mystery of why, or how, her flimsy, threadbare blanket had held her tightly till dawn, entrusted to her to solve with only the barest wisps of hints. A flash of white spiked through her lashes, a kiss of cold against her neck, a whisper of feathers in drift.

She'd thought it was a dream.

‘Better not linger.’ His voice steals into her memories. She looks up as his head turns slightly, offering her the slashes of his cheekbone and jaw blade first. ‘I might’ve heard squeaking.’

He doesn't look at her.

Lane has always felt curiosity like an itch, aggravating and intolerable until she could find an answer she deemed satisfactory. But this feels new. Different. Sharper, stronger, violent like the sea, more useless than the anger it cowers behind.

But no. She's only curious. Curious about why her mind follows him like he's North Star. Curious about why she needs to look for him in every room. Curious about why she's always the fool here, on her knees to a god deafened to all but his own solitude. And angry, angry that her heart won't beat for her own pain but twinges when he's discomforted, his unease echoing in her chest.

She just has to know–

Maybe that's what possesses her.

‘Cain-’

He swivels around in a sunburst of feathers and as her vision clears, her stomach plunges. Wings fanning out behind him like a crucifix, the sunrise lending a lethal blade of crimson to his eyes, his image is of deity, angel, and sinner in synchrony. If God still lived, he would’ve walked in his shadow. Her fingers snaked around his wrist almost feel like desecration, if only she had the power to touch him.

Reverence settles over her like the hush of first snow, smothering all her gasping worries, soothing all her lacerating feelings. Her insignificance isn't a burden, but a nave she walks to faith. Her fingers slacken, unable to bear the burning perfection of divinity, when he speaks.

‘Yes?’

His voice is low, wrong, disorienting as a note missed in a fervent oratorio. Her knee jerks and she takes an unconscious step back as he arches his hand, sending her fingers sliding over a swathe of bare skin evading his sleeve. His wrist bones strain to kiss her fingertips through ludicrously soft skin, and his eyes anchor to her face, twin wreaths of fire hardly quelled by the snow of his hair falling into them.

‘What is it?’

Her nail snags on a seam, and she watches with horrifying desire unfurling claws in her stomach as his sleeve inches back. A flash of tantalizingly smooth skin marbled with sculpted blue veins, hot to the touch. When it's swallowed by night-black fabric, it feels like punishment.

When her eyes rise back to his, she finds them still, still as the air before lightning. Dimly, she realizes she should be afraid. Killing her isn't the worst of what he can do to her. He could hone and hand over her own desire like a dagger, annihilation without a touch of blood on him.

‘You're not answering me.’

His tone remains carefully flat, a void coming up to meet her hands when she reaches for a clue to predict his next move. A drop of disquiet finally rolls down her spine and this time, she's overly conscious of the distance between them as she shuffles back, stretching like a fraying cord long past its limit, a sharper tug from either side enough to snap it irreparably.

He tests it.

Lane's eyes widen as he follows her lead, a slow, perfectly overestimated step barely grazing her knee with his, before drawing back to position, locking them in a strange dance. She doesn't know the steps, but she knows she's tithing her hand to a cunning partner. She knows her body will only glide to the melody his fingers play.

She jolts as he resumes their game, forearm gliding against the loop of her fingers, firm muscle and chiseled veins straining against the obscenely thin material. His rapt eyes track every twitch and exhale of hers, pulled by the allure of even a simulation of his skin and all of it just verges on the edge of too much.

Cain tilts his head in an uncanny imitation of genuine curiosity. ‘Should I take your silence as an invitation to guess?’

He doesn't wait for her reply, accurately assuming she would need far more than a few minutes, or the distance of more than a day, to pry out coherent words.

‘You want something from me.’ The hypothesis, spoken so plainly, spoken like the truth, is shockingly crude from the mouth that spins half-truths and full lies with the prosaic ease of a spider. He cocks his head, considering her without seeing her at all.

‘No, not want.’ He leans closer and she tenses, praying his teeth would be gentle on her neck, conned into faith by his intoxicating scent. ‘Something worse.’

The sun, now seething and glorious, bleeds all over him. Two memories twine in her head, backlit by flame; the two times he's alluded to his priesthood, but only now does she see. His eyes are enough to extricate your worst sins from the bars you trap yourself in, to lay them bare on your body and flay them with a single word.

He wouldn't need to do much, she thinks, lightheaded, flushed down to her throat. Anyone would willingly sink to their knees if condemnation sounded like this, voice dipping suggestively, almost rasping the words out. ‘Need, maybe?’

Hardly able to think past the dizzying fog of something both heady and subtly sweet emanating from his skin, she makes a miserable attempt at shaking her head, silenced by his hand arcing up to brush her cheek, fingertips sliding into her hair.

Silver ensnares her peripheral vision. Though her eyes flit back to him when he draws in a silent breath, uneven around his own abstinence, a thought won't let her go, provocatively dangling in her mind.

The crimson of his eyes deepens to sanguine. Lane swallows painfully, stomach folding it on itself, anticipating the climax, the crescendo, the cuts his cunningly bladed tongue would leave.

She'd expected words. She should've remembered his touch, its fatal softness.

She jerks minutely, stifling a gasp as his hand lightly trails over her hip. ‘Are you confused?’ Waist, ribs—her heart stops—the faintest brush over the side of her breast. ‘Hopelessly excited for nothing?’ Higher still, till his slender fingers collar the side of her neck. Eyelids slipping, he presses slowly, until her pulse is whimpering against his fingertips. ‘Is your godless body always starving?’

In dazed snatches, she wonders why. Why no blood wells up now. Why, if he meant it to hurt, it feels like a confession instead, given to be absolved by her own whispered sins.

The idea of Cain miscalculating a single word, look, or touch, much less a bacchanalia of all three is what gives her pause.

He wouldn't. He wasn't.

She slumps in his dreamlike hold, delirious and preening from the victory of finally, finally sneaking up to where he schemes, the second wave of intoxication sent by the thought of what he was insinuating exactly, submerging her inhibitions, suspending the consequences.

She twists in his grip. Lightly, just enough to turn her head and catch the drooping cross in her mouth, feeling it sink into her bottom lip and indent it.

He stills.

His wings shrink and flare, flare and shrink, but he remains frozen like a god amidst the myths that keep him alive. He exhales slowly, a sigh of soundless agony, rippling the air anticipating them.

Her teeth instinctively bite down on the metal clutched between her lips as his thumb brushes her jaw, turning her back to face him, interrupting her hazy fantasy of tasting the skin it kisses religiously.

Under half-lidded eyes, she watches as his eyes rove over her face, brow furrowing in a look of almost pain. She wonders if this is his one face that isn't painted on, naked as it can only be in a moment of undiluted agony or unrestrained ecstasy, and shivers.

His thumb slides over her bottom lip, hot against the warming metal, as his tongue snakes out to wet the corner of his mouth. Watching her eyes track the movement, lips parting unconsciously, he murmurs, gentle. ‘You might be.’

Tenderness was his mistake. She could reluctantly accept her body betraying her for the worship of an angel—understand it even, when she treats it like a tool at the best of times—but the quiet affection in his voice, real as blood, nothing like the cloying pity they'd glazed as love, sends something in her skittering.

Maybe it's fear. Scared of what lurks in his eyes, scared of what she would have to dredge up within herself and hold to light. Scared enough to stumble.

Lane flinches as a storage box home to obsolete equipment skids across the floor, clattering like her mind trying to process that it was her who was the catalyst for this turn of events. Even Cain starts, looking so much like a lover booted out mid argument that she lets out an entirely inappropriate breath of laughter. I’m definitely in shock, she thinks as his unblinking eyes fall on her.

He looks at her for a long moment over the rabid pounding of her heart, before stalking out of the room and taking the sun with him, wings shooting past her like neat rows of white-flamed arrows.

She moves to follow him, body and mind working on autopilot, but staggers, identifying, recognising his parting look.

Because he didn't look like the deity from last night filled with empty curiosity, or the angel from dawn reaching for her to rest, or even the priest from sunrise touching selfishly for once. The table catches her hip, steadying her. He looked like a common sinner, just as lost as her.

✟

The night is a courteous host to whoever knocks at its door. It welcomes her into an alcove of time where obligations cannot find her, taking her worry lined coat and hanging it onto the next sunrise's hooks. Lane sits on the edge of the roof, letting the wind titter and caper around her dangling legs, playful in her fragile, exquisite peace. Silence isn't the same as emptiness apparently.

So spellbound by the tranquility drifting through her like snow, she only notices her deification, the shadow-feathered wings resting on the ground, a second before he speaks. ‘What is it about this bleak view that inspires brooding?’

He sounds less far away than last night.

Her body straightens subtly, not moths, but fireflies flitting about her spine, tiny flash fires set where his fingers strayed.

‘I wasn't,’ she replies, eyes trained onto the star-pricked sky.

‘Already have your answers then?’ His voice is blank as glass, glued together from words like shards, warping the real meaning behind them.

She inhales slowly, siphoning courage from the unsuspecting stars, before raising her head, turning to look at him. Standing against the night, all of him in shadows. The god, the man. The angel, the sinner. She gives him the only truth she can afford.

‘I might.’

She does. She'd been so desperate to fill the singular blank in her mind, furiously circled and underlined in red, so as to shelve it and let it fade forgotten, that she overlooked what has always been right in front of her eyes: Cain exists in duality. Helping and hindering, savior and ruinous, the holiest thing her hands have held, and sometimes more human than she has ever been.

Not her perfect answer, not an answer that will allow itself to be shelved and forgotten, not an answer at all, but so right it could almost be called the truth.

Lane can't read his eyes through the veil of dark.

He's still for a heartbeat, two, before dropping down next to her, wings fanning out and sinking into the dirty snow, in a motion so smooth she wonders how she wound up in his distant embrace again. He leans back on his palms, tipping his head up to the sky, and heaves out a soft sigh, heavy as time. ‘Good for you.’

‘You sound bitter.’ She peers at what he offers of his face, a flash of an eyelid, the slope of his nose, soft pink lips, all caressed by moonlight's pearlescent sheen. ‘Are you still struggling?’

‘Not in the way you're thinking.’ His words float to the mirthfully twinkling stars, following the line of his stare. ‘More so with how I chose to be blind for such a long time. And of course, the consequences taste bitter now.’

She considers him thoughtfully, angling her body to his and tucking her knees to her chest. Rare that Cain pouring words like water into her hands is, she wants to savor it. Underneath that, a smaller, stupider reason. She just… liked listening to him.

‘Long, even to an immortal?’

‘Time doesn't always exist in a straight line.’ His head tilts, gaze sliding to her. Not empty, but haunted. He looks through her, at a past neither can touch anymore and when he speaks, she's not sure if it's to the her trapped in the present. ‘Some moments run in circles, for all of eternity.’

Lane thinks of her own life. She thinks of the glowing, heatless thing in her chest after an achievement that she named happiness. She thinks of the silence ringing in her childhood house, the gaze that seemed heavier when it was turned away. She thinks of the daze of awakening as something new and seeing him, not knowing a thread of blood and snow bound them. She thinks she understands.

‘I see,’ she says quietly.

His gaze sharpens, red splintering the opaque ice of his eyes, emotions finally whirling up in them. ‘Do you now?’ he bites out, almost accusatory, somehow brittle.

Her first contention is that she understands now, what he's really asking.

Her mind reminds her that one cannot understand someone without knowing them. And how can you know a person who disappears like a card trick between your fingers, there and then wholly new when you flip it?

But a smaller, startlingly insistent part of her tells her to wait, to look. And so she does, catching all that sloughs off of him like raindrops in her hands. When they flower open, in lies a mirror, reflecting what haunts her own nights.

Forsaken and forsaking their own kind, nowhere and never to call home, the humanity gouged out of her heaped onto him. Sometimes, in her weakest moments, she believes they'd fit like two halves of a pomegranate if they let each other.

Or perhaps—her eyes flick to him—it's only the strange logic Cain lives by, and therefore pulls her into.

Leaving her cold, and then burning. His fingers on her forehead, gently chilling the feverish skin, and the heat radiating off him in an inferno, hands reaching to crush her head. The closest anyone has come to the rotten thing inside her, and so far her hands would only brush air if she reached out.

So impossibly sweet and so inexorably dangerous.

She has him—her eyes flutter shut briefly—and she doesn't.

It's so quiet. It's only the two of them in the falling universe when she speaks. I want to. ‘I can.’ Better presumptuous than incriminating.

His eyes narrow. The only warning she's conceded before he's leaning in slowly, bracing a hand dangerously close to her thigh.

‘Anything?’ he asks, red eyes boring into hers, impenetrable to the moonlight hammering weakly against them. ‘Whatever it is?’

He's turning the same look on me, she realizes with a bolt of recognition. Rooting for the trick in her words. Absurdly, her next thought is I want to touch him.

Cowardice cannot be shed in a day. Lane only gazes back into his hollowed eyes steadily, hoping what she can give would be enough for now.

Adequately chastised, he sighs, lowering his head, and she counts his breathing silently. She blinks when the rhythm breaks, stopping with a faint shudder. Her eyes follow his line of vision and her own breath catches, an odd intermingling of shame and something hotter coiling in her stomach.

She'd needed to cut into something, cling onto someone, to draw out the restraint to hold still and not surrender a single gasp last night. The aftermath of which manifested on her palm, in a trail of half-moon red marks.

When he falls back, it's with the loot of her hand with him. Cradling it delicately in one hand, he traces the testament to his effect on her, written plainly on her skin. A barely there touch, half apology, half prayer.

He speaks when the motion has eased from stirring to soothing, still watching their hands.

‘Another promise? Besides my protection and kindness?’ Lane barely has the time for incredulity to rear its head before he continues, eyes shadowed when he glances at her. ‘Don't you know greed is a sin?’

Her eyes fall to the rosary guilelessly skimming her palm. Not my worst.

Cain smiles. While it's not his usual infernally soft one, there's a tremulous quality to its edges, a frailty in his eyes too light for her to recognize. ‘I'm joking.’ He squeezes her hand gently, yielding to her more than just his words. ‘You'll have to teach me this too.’

The idea of him entrusting her with teaching something she hasn't even crawled up the steps to makes her breathe out laughter, along with real honesty. ‘I'm not the right person for either.’

His reply comes soft as a breath held, swift as a hope dashed, both impossibly full of possibilities like raindrops suspended in time. ‘Then we'll learn together.’

Lane isn't quite as delusional to believe this isn't an aftereffect of needing her in his own esoteric pursuit; not his path, but only a detour. But leeched from that look he let slip like porcelain, shattering at her feet and dissipating the haze she was wandering in, she knows that if his words bloom like wisteria in her lungs, she'd at least be a thorn in his heel. He wouldn't be able to stagger away from this untouched either.

Even so. The thought that however briefly it, this, lasts, it wouldn't be Cain, or Lane, but CainandLane is tart and bright as biting into a berry, bursting sharp on the tip of her tongue.

Together.

She turns her hand in his wordlessly.

Not his perfect answer either, but his shoulders relax minutely, fingers tightening around hers, the rosary kept warm between their skin, and she wonders if summer will be sweet this year.

#romance club #rc hsr #heaven's secret requiem #rc cain #rc lane #cain x lane #*mine

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thiniceofeternalyouth · 2 days

Text

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BETELGEUSE

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~15.7k

⊲ previous

[May 11, 2022, 06:54pm, Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Restaurant X]

Rei couldn't feel the cold granite beneath his hands, only your heated skin. You were malleable for your age, and he could mold you into anything he wanted. Besides, you absorbed everything he told you like a sponge. As he washed his face with cool water, he tried to regain his senses so as not to lose face before his guest, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the drawings he had made on your body.

"Eyes can fail you," he told every time he blindfolded you, and afterward all you felt was a blade cutting into your flesh. "You must learn to perceive the world through your other senses."

Before you could squeak, he liked to inject you with new doses of black orchid - he enjoyed watching you squirm and squeal in pain, and then go limp and docile, listening to his every word. At the very least, Rei expected you to thank him for the opportunity to be his favorite canvas, but you were so immobile and paralyzed that you wouldn't even look at him.

"You should rely on your surroundings," he instructed softly, cutting the skin on your back. "It will tell you exactly where the enemy is at all times."

The demon didn't care if you trusted him, if you followed his teachings - what mattered was that you were getting stronger every day, and more importantly, you were already struggling to keep your essence under control. He scrubbed his hands in the sink with irritation like he was washing away the sins your terrified gaze had left on him. There were no vices in the demon that required confession - he just wanted to show you who you really were even if you resisted it.

"Oh, does it hurt?" asked Rei affectionately, deliberately overdoing the dose of orchid. You shook, nearly throbbing from the flames that flowed through your veins instead of blood - like tiny shards of glass, the flower's extract cut you from the inside out. "If you want, I can take your pain away," he whispered, taking you by the chin. The closer his face got, the more your aching body tensed, and before he could kiss you, you sank your teeth into his lip with force, nearly tearing it off.

Rei was almost resigned to the way he looked now, his frail body a constant reminder of his lack of strength. He couldn't drag you down or strangle you with those hands, but seeing you in agony was the most beautiful picture. He had to do something.

"Oh, really?" the demon hissed, spitting saliva and blood. "Not into fucking with me anymore?" he laughed hysterically, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you across the dirty floor. The realization that you couldn't resist him, but only whimpered pitifully, spilled over him with a warm, sticky honey that he didn't want to wash off. When he opened the doors and saw his hungry parts, he tossed you to them. "Do what you want with her. Just bring her back at least half alive," he paused in the doorway, almost walking out - the demons didn't dare move until he was completely out of sight. "Oh, yeah, and don't touch her face. It's a pretty one," he grinned, watching you shake with panic, unable to do anything. "Have fun," Rei knew what would happen as soon as he left the room - where there were no windows and the doors were forever closed, tears would start to drown the paper airplane. And he stepped out.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so cruel to you, and you would have stayed by his side forever. Or at least on his side. There would have been no need to play catch-up, plotting and scheming to get your head off his shoulders - Rei really didn't want that, but you were poisoning his life and his parts a lot. "You're surprisingly calm," the voice in his head said.

"Is there any reason to be angry?" wondered Rei sincerely, looking at himself in the mirror - he was annoyed by the human tendency to blush due to emotion, physical exertion or stuffiness.

"Four, at least."

"Oh, you mean the cores?" he chuckled nonchalantly, tearing off the paper towels and rubbing his hands together maniacally. "Come on, what's to worry about?" the demon shrugged, dumping the papers into the bucket one by one. "You think I don't realize this little fool is just provoking me? Anyway, she doesn't have long left, how many more can she destroy? Three more?"

"Anyway, it's our land. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"Oh," he clicked his tongue in satisfaction and smoothed his black, disheveled hair. "That's what I'm doing right now. I thought it might be a good idea to return the favor," he smiled, frantically adjusting his tie - Rei couldn't leave his already faultless appearance alone. "God, she should be here by now!" the demon exclaimed worriedly, glancing at his watch.

As he stepped out of the men's room and into the restaurant's lounge, Rei saw the silver-haired girl at his reserved table. Straightening his back, he smoothed his suit with his hands one last time, and walked over and sat down across from the woman. "I hope you didn't get me out from overseas for nothing," Mei-Mei purred, giving him a hand.

Leaning down, he took her palm and kissed it. "Certainly not, my lady. I hope we work well together."

Grinning languidly, she pulled back her hand. "Don't misunderstand. I'm only here because Gojo told me about you. And also about the fee you promised him."

"Believe me, I'll offer you many times more," the girl's interested look excited him, interested him - the demon liked a compliant person with passion who was capable of going to over the heads for the sake of their desires. "You won't even have to move your dainty fingers, much less get them dirty," Rei assured her, and the more he told her, the more the girl counted the money in her head. "All I'll need is your powers of observation."

Mei-Mei gently tapped her fingernails on the table and decided to test the man sitting across from her. Rei had lived here for a very long time and he had no trouble reading her emotions - he uncorked a bottle of wine without hesitation. Smirking, she muffled her laughter embarrassedly against the palm of her hand. "To meeting," she cooed seductively, raising the glass filled to the brim.

[May 11, 2022, 09:09pm, Hopetown]

The smell of late spring mingled with the scents of peach and nectarine - the immersion blender whirred quietly in the kitchen, the refrigerator door opened every now and then, and the glasses clinked quietly, unhappily, when they were touched. You watched Ieiri with curiosity, and as you saw how she handled the fruits, berries and alcohol, you thought for some reason that many doctors were probably alchemists in past lives. If those existed, of course. Shoko looked like she was in the operating room, the honed and deft movements of her hands making it impossible for you to see how she was getting the strawberries into the bowl.

You shivered as the wind blew into the room and disturbed you, shamelessly grabbing your wet body and tugging at your wet strands. You couldn't even get up to close the window, and from under your half-closed eyelids you could only watch the insolent raven that perched on your eaves and pecked at something.

A quiet exultation crept into your head as you felt the soft couch beneath your body instead of the hard, cold ground covered with black sand. Having completed another raid and destroyed the core, you tried to enjoy the delights of this world - the warm spring air, the cool but endless water, the allure of all the various colors of this world that reminded you of itself by knocking on the window with the hands of the sunset, and Shoko, eternally impenetrable and cold. She hadn't looked in your direction before, and you felt an unfamiliar alienation every time you passed her, but now Ieiri had not only come to Hopetown with you, she had silently volunteered to spend time with you and Rachel.

Your happiness was only hindered by the fact that Rei didn't show up even when you destroyed the fourth core.

"I'm so tired," your sister sighed wearily, coming down from the second floor and rubbing her wet hair with a towel. There were dark circles under her green eyes, so heavy was the blow of the disembodied hand of exhaustion. "Next time, I'm going to the bathroom first," she huffed, sticking her tongue out at you and flopping down on the couch next to you. You, before you could wrap yourself more tightly in your terrycloth robe, were taken captive as Rachel unceremoniously sprawled on the couch, resting her head on your lap. "And how did doc let ya go?" wondered Rach, glancing at Ieiri. "We've got a lot of people out, and the infirmary's a busy place right now."

"I didn't bother asking," Shoko said nonchalantly, pouring the potion into two glasses. "It's simple."

You and your sister tightened your lips and looked at each other warily. Shoko seemed so unperturbed that she wasn't afraid of any consequences. Approaching you, the girl handed you a glass filled to the brim with ice and red-orange liquid and garnished with an orange slice - in her hands was the exact same one and another dark bottle. Rachel, snorting resentfully, crossed her arms over her chest. You took the glass and looked at your sister sympathetically - it looked like you all had to stick to a non-alcoholic diet, so as not to stir her soul. "And this is for you," Ieiri said to your sister, setting the non-alcoholic beer on the table.

The offended snort was immediately replaced by a pitiful whimper. "Thank ya," you chirped, comfortingly stroking your sister's head and sipping from the glass - what a relief it was to know that Rachel would never try it or else this temptation would have turned into another binge. The sweet pulp of the peach that coated your tongue, the warmth of the tequila that warmed your heart, and the aftertaste of the orange zest that completely obscured the flavor of the alcohol, making it unapparent - Shoko really was either a sorcerer or a witch.

Kicking the chair closer to you, Shoko sat down, relaxed, sipping her cocktail slowly under your sister's desperate gaze - she seemed to enjoy torturing people. No matter how much the girl had not praised Gojo, she seemed to have unconsciously adopted some of his habits. "What are your plans next?" she asked, throwing her legs straight over Rachel.

"No raids yet!" exclaimed Rach exhaustedly but quickly, trying not to let you get a word in edgewise. "We'll wait until Mike's birthday at least, and then we'll see."

"It's still a month away," you objected, frowning unhappily.

"And?" Rachel didn't even have the energy to argue with the enthusiasm, she spoke sluggishly and quietly. "How much can we accomplish in a month? Start without me if ya want, and I've run away from my parenting duties for too long as it is."

Earlier in her soul, conscience had played the role of a small, almost invisible mentor - Rachel easily brushed it off and quickly extinguished the outbursts that it caused, but now, with a sober memory, shame took the dominant position and did as it pleased. She was angry at her father for not being around most of the time, and if the reflection in the mirror told Rachel that she looked nothing like him, her conscience told her otherwise. Mike's room was littered with expensive gifts and toys, but there was no hint of Rach's presence - no scent of perfume, no red hair on the floor, no her son's smile.

Rachel wondered - how could children love their parents despite all their faults? The girl thought that she was unworthy of such gratuitous love of a little person, and instead of wallowing in self-defeat and alcohol, she decided to do something else - brave, courageous, maybe even a little boorish because that was what she had always done. To leave behind the regrets, the thoughts that it might be too late. It wasn't as bad to be late as it was to not show up at all.

With a sigh, she pulled out her phone. Seeing her face softly contorted with longing, you rubbed the top of her head. "What's up?"

"Oh, man," she whined, staring at the screen. "Mike kept wanting that expensive model of the Boeing, and it's not on sale. See?" she turned the phone toward you, and you just caught a glimpse of 'sold out.' "I've been following this stuff for a month."

"Is this model only fish in the sea?" Ieiri wondered, skeptical. She didn't understand Rachel's whining or the despair on her face. Couldn't she just replace what was missing with what was there?

"Anyone can tell ya're childless," Rachel muttered, taking the phone from you and continuing her search. "Better get me a beer."

"Take it yourself," Ieiri grinned.

Rachel gave her a threatening look, but then smiled wryly. Her fingers deftly began dialing a number, and she gave one last warning glance at Shoko, who was sitting there, nonchalantly sipping her cocktail. "Hey, Doc?" Shoko's eyes immediately flew open, "Do ya know where your coworker is right now-" Ieiri, unable to remember herself, grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it into your sister's face - her loud voice was replaced by a muffled scolding, and the phone fell out of her hands. Ieiri immediately picked it up and frantically punched the disconnect icon several times.

The pressure point was found unhindered - no matter how unperturbed Shoko seemed, she was still afraid of something. Or rather, someone. The big man in the white coat who was in the infirmary and demanded the same of Ieiri, but as much as she loved money, she wasn't a robot. Fear was literally read on her face and in the way she pressed the icy glass to her flushed cheek. With a relieved exhale, Shoko tossed the phone to Rachel and tiredly plopped into a chair. "Ya forgot something," Rach extended slyly.

Rolling her eyes, Shoko stood up and handed her the bottle. Perhaps if you weren't here, Ieiri would have just smashed it over your sister's head. "That's better," Rachel sent the girl an air kiss and uncorked the cap, but as soon as your sister took a sip, she wrinkled her nose squeamishly. "God, what a shit."

"Get used to it," Shoko hissed, pleased with Rachel's ordeal.

"That's it, get off me," you whimpered, lifting your sister's head. "My leg fall asleep," you stood up from the couch and picked up Shoko's empty glass from the table and went to get a refill.

Rachel, pressing her lips together, stood up and lay down on the other side of the couch, her whole face showing her resentment at your neglect. Only now the girl remembered how much love she really had in her, which couldn't be showered on Mike alone - an immature boy could just be blown away by this wave, and you, as it happened, remained an impregnable fortress. You shied away from long hugs and kisses and avoided tactility as much as possible, but Rachel couldn't be angry with you; she was angry with the situation as a whole.

At such moments the girl remembered her husband. Rob may have been a slovenly lazy man who couldn't even put cotton swabs on place, but he'd always gladly accepted her obsessiveness and loveliness - for lack of an opportunity to give them to him again, she'd begun to choke them down with wine, and her son served only as a reliable reminder that she'd never fall into her husband's arms again. "Ya know," she chuckled wistfully, putting the phone aside. "Ya can't imagine how many times in the void I've thought about running across my husband's corpse right now," shy tears glistened in her eyes, and all she could see was Rob's face. "And even more I thought about how he could have come out of the void and just left me and Mike," his features began to drown in with dark sand - she couldn't see the wrinkles or the color of his eyes anymore. "I didn't know whether to cry or be angry, and now... When we finished this roundup, I suddenly felt relieved. I don't know if he's still walking this land or if he's been buried under strange one for a long time, but I accept it. May God be with him," she sobbed, taking a sip of non-alcoholic beer, hoping to soften the lump lodged in her throat.

Your hand nearly trembled as you filled your glass. As your tongue became more and more tied in a knot, in your sister's imagination, the sand increasingly covered her husband. Would you ever find the courage to admit it? "But I have a tiny bit of him left," Rachel wept, smiling bitterly. Walking over to the girls, you handed Shoko her glass - she nodded gratefully, blurring the estrangement between you all the more. Sitting down on the couch, you threw your sister's legs over your lap and began stroking her ankles, though you realized it wouldn't atone for your sin. "And now I'll do anything for Mike. Buy him every model airplane in the world, take him wherever he pokes on the globe, kill for him or die myself. "As long as he's happy."

There was silence in the living room, with only a modest, brief sniffle of the nose. Shoko wondered, and she was frightened at the thought that there might be someone in her life who would make her think that way. Self-sacrifice and bravery were not qualities that Ieiri praised; she was content to be practical and sensible, but as she heard Rachel's ragged breathing, she shamefully brushed away a tear.

Rachel, hastily wiping her wet cheeks with her terrycloth sleeve, sipped some more from the bottle - she could only justify her dizziness as a placebo effect. "Geez, did I ask for much?" she laughed, trying to lighten the dreary atmosphere. "I just wanted a bunch of men praying on me."

You glanced meaningfully at Shoko and decided to play along. "We could buy you a lifetime prayer for health in a friary," Ieiri offered seriously, but she betrayed her playfulness by waggling her foot coquettishly, either on purpose or involuntarily.

"That'll do too," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Also, we should talk about a place to celebrate... What do ya think about an amusement park?"

"Is it safe?" you asked hesitantly.

"Mike has to live in this town for the rest of his life or what?" snorted Rachel. "He's almost an adult and he hasn't seen the light of day yet!"

"Whatever ya say," you said, rolling your eyes.

Shoko had never understood how people felt when they looked at pictures of babies, kittens, puppies or the tiniest of snakes - she felt a little less than nothing when she looked at it. But looking at your sister's instantaneous mood swings and the way you supported her unconditionally, Shoko felt emotion for the first time. Now it was her turn to dream. Could she really have someone close to her who wouldn't pester her, trying to get on her nerves by saying she was too cold and unemotional? Wouldn't look down on her, letting her know that she is far from their level? Wouldn't they leave just because their view of the world had changed? She glanced furtively out the window, confused, trying to find answers, but all she could see was a raven still perched on the ledge, pecking at something.

[May 12, 2022, 01:29am, Hopetown]

The open window had been a constant for you ever since you'd started sleeping together. If nightmares and Rei had taken away your sleep before, now it was the heat from the sorcerer's snow-white skin that did it. In your half-sleep, you kept trying to pull away from Gojo, but at those moments his grip grew from just tight to unusually insolent - even in his dreamless slumber he couldn't leave you alone. You couldn't complain, though, because instead of the bloody images before your eyes and the sharp pain of long-healed scars, you felt only a single drop of sweat trickling down your neck.

Gojo's deep, measured breathing was a metronome for you - each time you breathed in unison with him, you calmed down more, and when you exhaled together, you fell further into a half-sleep. The feeling of a protected back made you cling to him more despite the abnormal temperature of his body. It was like the sorcerer wasn't asleep at those moments, just holding you tighter and burrowing into your neck, letting you know he wasn't going anywhere.

On the other side of your closed eyes, absurd scenarios were beginning to emerge. There was Doc putting someone's severed arm back in place with duct tape, there was Frank trying to grow hair in the beds, and just as you stepped aboard the pink icebreaker, you felt someone bite your arm. The bite was faint, almost insensible, and you, wanting to check who it was, turned around. There was no one in front of you. "Y/N-ie," came a quiet, thin voice from somewhere below. Lowering your head, you rounded your eyes. Standing in front of you was Tris, who was cradling a stuffed cat. "Y/N!"

"Huh?" you jumped up, not quite realizing where you were now or what year it was. There was a muffled grunt behind you, and the grip around your waist was so strong that it was hard to breathe.

When you blinked, you distinguished reality from your dream - Tris was standing in front of you along with the toy - the girl was pocking at the floor with her toe, her lips pursed guiltily. "Bun," you sighed sleepily, wiping your eyes with your hand. "What is it?"

"I need a craft for class tomorrow," she muttered modestly, not looking up. You were speechless at that statement, only able to reach for your phone to look at the time. It was past one in the morning.

You plopped your face into the pillow tiredly. "Whose problem is that?" you muttered muffled, for which you received a hard pinch on your side. "Ouch!"

"Come on, get up," Gojo said sleepily, rising up. "Can't you see the kid needs help?" he asked reproachfully, trying to make you feel guilty. "And you, little one, come here," his cocky threat made Tris backpedal, but he quickly crawled over you and grabbed the little girl. "So what kinda craft do we need?"

"A fox in the woods," Tris giggled playfully, swinging her legs.

"How original," he clucked his tongue. "What were the orders to make it out of?"

"Said to impro… improvise," Tris mewed, beginning to chew on a nail on her thumb.

A sudden desire played in him to cut off her bad habit immediately. "Aren't you scared?" he asked slyly, lifting the girl even higher.

"No!" she snorted haughtily. "Frank carries me in his arms every day. And he's actually taller than you."

Gojo raised his eyebrows in exasperation and threw Tris over his shoulder - she shrieked. "Your upbringing," he shook his head censoriously, looking at you - you only shrugged guiltily. "Alright, I'm gonna go put her to sleep, and you, young lady, get dressed. Let's go improvise in the woods," the sorcerer mentored before dragging a giggling Tris out the door.

"Maniac," you plopped back on the bed exhaustedly, spreading your arms. When had Tris been assigned this craft? Why hadn't she mentioned it the day before, or at least a few hours ago? And her whole innocent and guilty look - was it sincere or had she just learned how to manipulate people from someone? If so, she was pretty good at it - your injured side was still tingling from the way Gojo had pinched it, jumping up and ready to help Tris.

You pulled yourself off the bed, dragging tiredly with legs, and walked over to the closet, swinging the door open angrily. With your arms at your sides, you sighed and grabbed the first thing you saw without looking. You took off your pajamas and realized that even the clothes made a mockery of you - it took a lot of effort to zipper up your jeans, and your head was stuck halfway up the collar of your sweatshirt.

You sat down on the bed and sighed indignantly into your collar. When the door swung open, you met Gojo's confused stare. It took him a second to realize what was happening. At first, he tried not to move, then he bit his lip, but when you whimpered, the sorcerer broke. "Wait a minute," he wheezed, grabbing his phone. Gojo knew he should have helped you, but he couldn't even help himself. "It's for the record," you were blinded for a moment by several flashes, and you squirmed and tried to hide - just then his heart stirred. "God, honey, I'm sorry," he cooed through a smile, stepping closer and helping you out of bed. You'd already resigned to your fate, obediently letting him help you.

The sorcerer gently pulled the collar down and released you from the soft captivity of the fabric. "I don't wanna go anywhere!" you whimpered, throwing your head back. "I'm tired!"

"Honey, I know, I know," he tried to reassure you, stroking your cheeks and kissing your forehead. "But Tris is a much bigger baby than you are today," Gojo could have sworn he saw the way you were pouting your lips. "At least we'll walk around for a while, freshen up," he encouraged you. "You couldn't sleep well tonight anyway," you squinted at him, and the sorcerer faltered. It was hard for him not to hear you panting and sighing, but it was harder not to feel your body squirming against his. "You sleep longer tomorrow morning, and I'll make breakfast, 'kay?"

"Mark my word," you sighed exhaustedly. "She'll sit on your neck like that."

"I have broad shoulders," he grinned, grasping at the lifeline of your words to swim out of the maelstrom of embarrassment. "I can handle you, too, by the way."

"Oh, man," you brushed off his joke. "Better get changed, Apollo. I'll wait for ya downstairs."

"I have nothing to be shy about!" shouted Gojo after you.

As you carefully made your way to the first floor, you were surprised not to see Tris there. You'd expected to see her right at the door, already dressed upside down, complaining and yelling that she'd come with you despite the dull night outside the window - It was her dubious temper. But she was not here. You scratched your forehead thoughtfully and began to pull on your shoes. How had Gojo bribed her? Reading a fairy tale was out of the question - too little time had passed. Sleeping pills? You made a puzzled grimace - your thoughts were too unobvious and strange when you woke up. You had to get the sorcerer's secret of calm because you couldn't keep that girl still for more than a minute.

As Gojo quietly snuck up on you and just as silently dressed, you walked out the door, leaving the house in peace and quiet. Wrapped in the night spring air, you moved towards the path of life that ironically came to life only once a year. Sleep dispelled to the chirping of crickets and rare cicadas that sang in defiance in the middle of the night oblivious to the sunny day. As you stepped off the road and into the dark sleeping forest, you searched with your eyes for the best leaves that would be suitable for crafts, occasionally sighing for the fall - this beauty would provide you with a variety that was beautiful in its colors. The forest whispered and trembled, its shy movements reflected in the moonlight on the grass in shadow. The branches, seeing familiar faces, hid their threats and saw you off with a smooth sway. "What are we gonna make the fox out of?" you asked, stepping over the roots.

"Hmmm," Gojo drawled thoughtfully, looking around. The forest, as it was, was monotonous and green. "How about we cut a few strands off Rachel's hair?" you glanced at him skeptically, dumbfounded by such a suggestion. You simultaneously pursed your lips and shook your heads together, imagining the horrors that would happen to you. "Nah, bad idea."

"I'll have to look for plasticine," you yawned, stretching.

You picked up randomly fallen leaves, sometimes the sorcerer would pick you up so you could reach the one you liked. Your pockets were filling up more and more with resources for crafting - pinecones, small twigs, pine needles that sometimes pricked your fingers. You walked forward, deep into the forest, completely oblivious to the fact that you would have to return someday. "Mochi?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you find her?" asked Gojo, remembering his first encounter with Megumi.

"Just like everyone else here," you shrugged. "A little over seven years ago, we decided to check all the barracks again for some reason before we roundup. I remember going into one, starting to look around, and... I noticed a woman lying right under wood boards. She was already dead, but I remember her stiffened hands were clutching some lump of rags. I don't even know why I looked," the sorcerer's soul whispered admiringly and sympathetically for him to embrace you, and it was right - feeling a hand on your shoulder, you took your eyes off the ground. "I thought the baby was dead, too, but no. She moved as soon as I looked at her. We took her away and wanted to do what we do with all children - put her in the hands of the church for foster care. But for some reason I couldn't. That's how she stayed with us."

Gojo laughed quietly, encouragingly. "She was born a fighter. And she remains that way," he added more quietly.

You, remembering Tris' temper, chuckled as well. "Kinda."

Nearby you could hear the sound of water crashing restlessly against the rocks. You knew these places practically by heart, and you realized that you were getting closer and closer, but your consciousness did not shudder in fear at the thought that Gojo might see it. On the contrary, your soul sang with dauntless bravado, and you realized with embarrassment that you just wanted to show off. Just a little bit. You deliberately stepped forward, regardless of the fact that all the materials had long since been gathered.

On the horizon, something dark - much darker than the forest beneath the moon - peered out from behind the trees. All the water was silent, and the whispering leaves were quiet before the permanent guest you were restlessly approaching. The closer you came, the more majestic the huge, deaf, black box towered above your heads. It had no transparent windows or welcoming doors - it just stood there, hidden among the trees, making no sound and not allowing the rest to disturb the peace. Not the animals, nor nature itself. "Whoa," Gojo marveled quietly, barely stopping a few feet away from the box. He had never felt like a little boy before, nor could he be called short, but next to this dark gap he felt like an ant. "And this...?"

"The heart of the town," you sighed mesmerized, nodding your head. "It can't be seen from above, and even if someone were lucky enough to sneak into the town, they wouldn't find their way to it. It's only accessible to its keepers," no matter how much you looked at the repository, no matter how many times you stomped around it, you never went inside - that burden fell on Frank's shoulders. "There now lies the artifact that supplies us with electricity and empowers the hunters' relics to protect the town. So... Without the artifact, they'd just be useless trinkets," contrary to your enthusiastic narrative, you're wary. How long will the amulet you got in Cambodia last? Wouldn't you soon have to start bouncing around the land again in search of curiosities? If it had thrilled and delighted you before, you couldn't find the same enthusiasm now. After all, it only meant that you would be apart again.

"How many keepers are there?" Gojo asked softly, taking your hand and squeezing it gently. He already knew the answer to his question - at least part of it - but he couldn't stop his insolence and greed under the guise of interest. It wasn't enough for him that you'd first bared your neck, then your shoulders, and then told him the secrets you'd never told yourself. He wanted to drown in your trust, which was embarrassingly lapping at his shore in brief waves - Gojo wanted to catch every single one, to save a single salty drop of it. The sorcerer had become too obsessed with your vulnerability, which was revealed only to him alone.

"Three now," you said weakly. "Frank, Rach, and me."

Gojo could almost hear your thoughts and the way they screamed, interrupting each other. Surprise clashed with indignation, worry caught up with confidence, uncertainty clawed at the throat of exhilaration. Every step you took towards him was difficult, but now the sorcerer stood here with you, right in front of the heart of the town, not on the other side of your workroom door. You couldn't even look Gojo in the eye - was the doubt so great and dangerous that you did whatever it told you to do? The sorcerer winced in pain - your thoughts screamed loudly, but he couldn't make out the words. "Hey, guide," he grinned, bringing you to your senses and wanting to get you away from this place - it was affecting you too badly. And, it seemed to Gojo, on your relationship with him, too. "Let's go home. We have a fox to make."

In Hopetown, unlike at headquarters, the evenings were slow and lazy - there was no desire to get out of bed at all. Danielle, nestled comfortably on Megumi's chest and covered with a blanket, watched a movie - they'd chosen it for about an hour only to struggle to keep their eyes open. Every touch, every hug was imbued with a serenity that was sorely lacking in the girl - she almost stopped shaking as she closed her eyes and mentally found herself back in that horrible day.

Dany was grateful that you hadn't said anything to Megumi - which was probably why the boy was lying next to her now, ordinarily calm, watching the movie. But still, in the back of the girl's mind or maybe on the very surface of it, lay the desire to tell her boyfriend about what she had done for him. Danielle stopped every time, asking herself why she needed it and where it would lead, and all the scripted and fictionalized scenarios boiled down to the fact that she needed to see his concern. Attacks of such selfishness came more and more often, but contrary to breaking Danielle, they made her stronger - the girl looking at her favorite face full of peace already brushed them off with ease. He didn't need to know about it. She didn't want to think about the consequences of her silence, but what could happen if she opened her mouth frightened her even more. Megumi's anxiety could spiral into paranoia, and what if he started blaming himself for what had happened to her? What if his regrets became so enormous that he could no longer look her in the eye? The pesky, unpleasant questions swirled in her head until she finally decided to stay in that boat, to stop rocking it.

Still, every touch of Megumi's fingers reminded Dany that she was no longer worthy of it - false, fake, nasty beliefs trampled their way into the girl's head, making her cringe every time Megumi smoothed her hair. "Dany?" he turned to her softly, stroking her shoulder. She flinched and looked at him questioningly. "Remember when we made the butterfly?"

"Ah...," she drawled carefully. "Yeah, I remember."

"Why don't we try again?"

She frowned. It was an odd request because they hadn't tried it again since that time, which was why it took her by surprise. Danielle lifted up, and the heated blanket rustled and fell from her shoulders onto the bed. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"What do you mean why?" laughed Megumi, causing the girl to blush embarrassedly. "Don't you wanna... Well, perfect it?" the boy's every word intended to ratchet up his excitement, his voice nearly breaking from the overabundance of feelings and adrenaline. His knees didn't shake like this before curses, but one glance at the watch on his hand and he would definitely fall down if he wasn't sitting on the bed right now.

"Okay," she said hesitantly, still squinting suspiciously.

The way they sat across from each other hit Dany with nostalgia right on the back of the head, a blow so strong it made her head spin. She had only yesterday ceased to be a teenager, and it would seem that she should have experienced all the unknown emotions long ago and stopped being afraid of them and trembling in front of them, but the excitement that swept over her was much stronger than her childhood feelings.

Megumi knew that cheating would be necessary here and he hoped Dany would never figure him out. He wanted the butterfly to come out perfect this time, and since both cursed and dark energy were now flowing through him, why wouldn't he help his girl? After all, he was going to forever be her shoulder and the bastion of all her hopes and dreams, so why not start with something small?

He covered her small hands with his and nodded, glancing up at her with glittering eyes, but Dany squeezed her eyes shut, either out of fear or excitement. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the sight - she looked exactly like a child waiting for a miracle. As he began to infuse energy, all he could feel was the warmth of Dany's hands. Something tickled her palms, and she opened one eye with a giggle - a faint blue glow was seeping through their fingers. "Well," he began embarrassedly, smiling. "Do you wanna see it?"

"Yes," she giggled.

They opened their hands at the same time, slowly - a small butterfly sat inside. There was no flaw in it, the patterns on its fluttering, cursed wings ran and shimmered in the same way. Its predecessor was less than perfect, and most people would probably call it ugly upon barely seeing its different wings and crooked antennae, but the pair of lovers knew that it was only their imperfect beginning. One could vilify and berate even the one that now sat in their hands - the blue color wasn't blue enough, the wings were too small, but that didn't make the butterfly any less beautiful. The butterfly had been created by and for the love that had been born between two people.

Dany gasped in surprise when a butterfly fluttered up and flew toward the window. "We have to open it," she worried, jumping up from her seat. The butterfly was beating its wings fiercely against the glass like it had spent its whole life dreaming of freedom. Dany, carefully opening the shutters so as not to disturb their shared creation, could only watch as the tiny blue light flew away from her, merging with the horizon - at that moment Megumi realized he was ready. To hold her on cold nights, to swipe the custard of brownies off her lips, to watch the most boring movies with her, to return to her from the void again and again. Alive. "Danielle," the girl tensed when Megumi called her by her full name. Taking the frozen girl by the waist, he turned her around to face her. "I really don't know how to do this right," he admitted honestly in a breaking voice. Her knees grew weak when she heard the clattering and clinking, and Dany tried to keep her head straight, afraid to look at her boyfriend's hand, suspecting that right now he was taking the watch off of them. "I'm not familiar with your traditions, and I don't know about whether I should get down on one knee," Dany, realizing she was about to pass out, began breathing hard and often, practically gulping for air with her mouth. "But please, answer me," a sob full of pain and happiness escaped the girl's scarlet lips, and the cold metal that coiled around her wrist burned her skin with yet untold promises. "Will you marry me?"

"How can ya do this...," the crying made her voice shake harder, the tears that rolled down her cheeks choking her, and the barely buried memories breaking through all the fresh ground slapped her in the face, reminding her of what she was like. Dany had feared that their happiness wouldn't last forever, that sooner or later it would come to Megumi that he deserved better, but there was no way she had expected such a sharp turn in the exact opposite direction - completely knocked off her feet and confused, she could only mumble unintelligibly through her tears. "How can ya say that, how can ya look at me like ya used to, when I'm so... dirty?

The girl's pain became his - he couldn't stand the agonizing tension that was crushing both of them, and he pressed his lips to hers, muffling her sobs. Dany didn't give in, but she didn't resist either, only placed her palms on his chest, not so much to push him away as to feel his warmth. Megumi was too insistent and firm in his decision - pulling Dany by the waist and pressing her against him, he deepened the kiss with a gentle movement of his tongue, making the girl dissolve into him, and she had nowhere to retreat - the love of her life was ahead of the girl, and behind her was the windowsill and the pain left by bitter memories.

With difficulty he pulled away from her, panting straight to her lips, he cupped her flushed wet cheeks. "Don't ever say that again," he commanded quietly. "The truest filth is the one who did this to you, and you... You're everything to me. And I want you to be even more, just say 'yes', please," he begged, pulling her frail body against him and burrowing into her neck.

The laughter that filled the room was full of weeping, longing, and relief. Danielle nodded frantically and wrapped her arms around his neck, the watch on her arm rattling - a reminder of the delayed happiness that was rushing toward her.

They stood huddled together, reminding each other of their bleeding wounds. The path was far and winding, each branch leading either to the abyss or straight into the arms of death. There was only one way that led to freedom, and they had learned by experience that they could never reach that faraway light alone. Megumi, having gained another power, was sure that now he could protect his bride from all the troubles, and the short name of that power was not in the dark lines, not in the energy that sometimes spilled over the edge - putting all the meaning of life into it and asking for its protection, people called it love. "Want to finish the movie?" smiled Megumi softly, rocking Dany from side to side.

"Actually," she began, mumbling shyly into his shoulder. "I'd like to tell Y/N," the excitement and awe still hadn't receded, but anxiety came along with it - Dany didn't know at all what she was supposed to do tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, a month from now. She needed help, and having learned from the past, she was ready to open the door to her worries and secrets. "If ya don't mind, of course."

"Okay," Megumi agreed, not saying a word about the fact that you were already aware of his intentions - the boy didn't want to ruin her sense of hidden celebration and take away the opportunity to tell her everything herself. "I need to let someone know too," he snorted irritably, making Dany giggle.

They, happy and clutching each other and their hands, went into your room first, but it was empty. Megumi, frowning his eyebrows, wondered. You all just finished the raid yesterday, where could you have gone? You should have been resting, where else could you relax if not in your room? Did you slip away on another scouting mission? If you did, why didn't you bring him with you?

Worried and almost insulted, he tried not to show it in front of Danielle. The girl was glowing for the first time in a long time, and a beaming, embarrassed smile never left her face. Megumi hummed, shaking his head. He shouldn't have gotten himself worked up ahead of time. Deciding to go downstairs, all of his doubts were dispelled, and he almost felt ashamed that he had time to get mad at you for making up his own problems because he and Dany were greeted by two half-asleep faces on the couch in the living room.

You and Gojo did Tris's craft until morning, and when it was time to go back to bed, you were blinded by the rising sun and the sound of a child's voice asking for food. You decided not to go to bed to get back into a routine that you'd regretted a thousand times before - the battle with sleep was unequal and unfair, especially in each other's warm embrace. You offered him more than once to unwind or at least to get off the couch, but the sorcerer, sighing lazily, stopped all your tries at rebellion, pressing you to him with a heavy hand, cutting off all attempts to retreat.

"What is it?" you drawled tiredly, blinking hard, trying to fix the floating silhouettes in front of your eyes.

"We, um...," the boy's tone was like he was apologizing for the thousands of crimes he'd committed, and you tensed up from the couch, and Gojo lost sleep as well - he squinted his eyes, staring at the pair expectantly. He knew Megumi too well, and that tone boded either good things or nothing good at all. "I proposed to Dany," he stated firmly, shifting a determined gaze from you to Gojo, and Danielle was the direct opposite of him - the girl picking at the floor with her toe, shyly lowering her.

Caught off guard, you're numb. You only just noticed the watch on Dany's hand. Megumi told you that he intended to do it, but he didn't say when he would do it. Did he tell Dany that you knew everything? If not, you didn't want to take away her opportunity to be first in everything, but you didn't have time to think about your actions. "Oh my gosh," you marveled deliberately loudly, gasping and clutching at your heart.

Gojo was immediately alarmed, jumping up from the couch and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Why are you driving your mother crazy?" he spat out angrily, and all Megumi wanted to do was fall to the ground in shame. "Honey, where's the sedative?"

"There, in the medicine cabinet ...," you waved at the top kitchen drawer without getting out of character. "It's a transparent bottle..."

It took the sorcerer exactly seven seconds to find the sedative, open it, take out a glass, pour water into it, and be at your side. Gojo seemed to be the only one who believed in your performance - so naive and gullible Megumi had never seen him before. "What's the act?" the boy grimaced, watching as he held out water and pills to you. "You're the first to know about everything."

You stared at Megumi with wide-open eyes, stung by the betrayal, and then glanced furtively at Gojo - he too was staring at the boy with glassy eyes, still not giving you the pill and the glass. "Satoru, I can explain," you grumbled guiltily, but it was too late - he popped the sedative into his mouth and drank water all in one.

"You sleeping on the couch tonight. Alone," the sorcerer said blankly, handing you the pills - you took the bottle with the empty glass, confused. It would take him about five minutes alone to recover from the betrayal you'd made with your silence.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted back at him, but Gojo waved you off and walked outside, slamming the door behind him.

"You do realize he's just kidding, right?" feeling guilty for the rift in your relationship, Megumi tried to smooth things over, but you, already pursing your lips, stared at him grimly.

"Couldn't ya play along?" you snorted, but contrary to what you said, you found yourself standing beside the kids, clasping them in your arms - they barely fit in your arms, and the boy was almost a head taller than you. "Congratulations!" you whispered into their ears, kissing Dany on the cheek, who winced a little at the prickling sensation of your mask biting her.

Danielle was still confused - too much had happened in the last few minutes - from the touching to the punning - and her heart could barely keep up. Thinking she could use a sedative too, she sat down on the couch, trying to calm down a bit. The fact that you knew Megumi's intentions didn't upset her because it only meant that his move wasn't just a simple impulse - it was a warmed-over, time-honored desire that he'd discussed with you.

"So... what your plans?" you asked, plopping down next to Danielle. Megumi sat straight down on the floor, across from you, and tucked his legs up.

"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I proposed literally just now, so we haven't had time to think it over," he sarcastically quipped.

You didn't realize that such an advantage would fall right into your hands, your main goal became to grab onto it as tightly as you could. "Megumi, ya're a hunter now," you remarked. "And Dany was born into those circles. And it's customary for us to hold all our weddings in Hopetown," you didn't care about tradition, and to your shame, you hardly gave safety a second thought, but the wedding was the perfect opportunity to check out the town. "I hope ya don't mind."

"Not at all!" exclaimed Danielle enthusiastically, and a lump rose in your throat - how long had it been since you'd seen her like this? Her eyes were still drowned in the blue circles beneath them, she was thin as a reed, you were sometimes afraid to let her outside - one strong gust of wind and she'd just break. But happiness filled her from the inside and spread like a virus, infecting everyone around her. Megumi, mesmerized by her jubilant glow, hummed quietly. Truth be told, remembering how the town looked on the fifth of December, he didn't mind having the wedding here.

You had a lot more to discuss, but without the man's ears. The date, what dress to choose, hairstyle, flowers. What part of town to hold the event, what decorations to choose, what time of day. Arrange with the holy father, decorate the place where the two hearts will be joined and inform the residents. You'll have to calculate food supplies, and, most importantly, wine.

You and Dany seemed to be thinking the same thing, for when you looked at each other, you giggled softly, not noticing that the raven sitting on the window sill had its head tilted to the side and was peering at you with beady black eyes.

"Mike!" shouted Rachel, trying to catch up with her angry son. The boy literally flew forward, driven by injustice and frustration, not noticing the crowd of people chattering and cheering around him. The sweet smell of popcorn and ice cream no longer brought him excitement and delight, on the contrary - the boy felt nauseous at any reminder of food. Being still a child, he couldn't quiet his tears, and sobs of resentment escaped his lips now and then. "Baby, wait!" Mike abruptly threw his mother's arm off his shoulder, not listening to her at all, and tried to run forward, but his running was equal to his mother's quick footstep. "Ya realize I'm bigger and faster, don't ya?" she slyly sneered, scooping him up in her arms. Mike, because of his age, was confident in his supposed independence - he began to kick and struggle, looking around in embarrassment at passersby who he thought were looking at him reproachfully. "And stronger still," she reminded him. "Mike, calm down. If ya think ya're an adult, then act like one. Ya know what they usually do?" she asked playfully, looking at her angry son. "They talk."

Somewhere close by, a coaster with people squealing with fear and merriment raced down tracks. Rachel tried to keep her composure in front of her son, but her motherly heart bled at the thought that her son's birthday had been ruined. And it was all the fault of some little thing that had been a complete disaster for the boy. "What's got ya so upset?"

Mike ripped the toy medal off his chest and threw it to the ground. "That's for losers!" he howled, unwilling to bear the stigma of mediocrity he'd made up for himself.

Sighing, Rachel walked over to the nearest bench and sat her still mad son down - the resentment was so strong that the boy quickly weakened, losing all will to resist. He looked down at his wobbling legs which didn't reach the ground - another reminder that he was still a child.

The impressions from dozens of attractions were completely overridden by one loss in some godforsaken shooting gallery. When Mike saw a radio-controlled car as a prize for the first place, he thought that he would easily take it, but his expectations and dreams were shattered by the very first shot - the bullet flew a few inches away from the target. So it happened with the second and the third, and no matter how much the boy tried, he never got the required number of points. At the end he was given only a consolation medal. "Baby," Rachel turned to him gently, stroking his head. "What makes ya think it's for losers?"

"Stop calling me that!" snapped Mike, yanking her hand away.

Her son was sitting in front of her - she should have put out her temper immediately. "If I want to, I'll call ya that for the rest of my life," she laughed, looking at his pouting face - he looked like a red balloon about to burst. "And there's nothing ya can do about that," rubbing the top of his red head and meeting no resistance, Rachel got serious. "Ya know, Mike. Believe me, I know what it's like to lose. Ya can fuss all you want right now, but it's not gonna make ya better," the boy, feeling more tears of bitterness coming on, bit his lip and turned away from his mother. "Nothing comes easy to anyone. And ya really will be a classic underdog, but only if ya let it go that easily," the girl sat down on her knees in front of her son right on the pavement, forcing the boy to look into her eyes - he gasped in amazement when Rachel pulled out of her pocket the medal he had recently thrown away. Sometimes Mike completely forgot that his mother was a magician. "This one," she shook the consolation prize quietly. "It doesn't say ya screwed up. It only says ya tried. Even though the attempt was a failure, even though the second one will be exactly the same, but ya mustn't give up. Ya know, baby, ya're very brave," she cupped his cheeks, making the boy cry harder, and nearly burst into tears herself. "Your ambition is quite something, but ya have to work very hard to achieve it. Look at me!" she laughed in a shaky voice and with tears in her eyes. "Do ya think I would have hit that target even once? Not a chance in hell!"

"Liar," he whimpered, burrowing into her shoulder. She stroked his shuddering back, happy that Mike had stopped pushing her away.

'I know I wasn't the best mother to ya, but,' she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and cradling the little body, red hair just like hers tickled her nostrils, and she didn't know if she was crying from the tickling or the thrill. "I never lied to ya."

"Mom!" he howled, clinging to her more tightly - seeing her as a protector and ally, he tried to hide in her, to block out his own complexes with her maturity and confidence, hoping that he would someday be like her. The boy didn't care about the people hanging around and having fun, he didn't care what they thought of him because his mother's embrace reminded him that he wasn't alone in the world.

"I know, baby," Rachel soothed the boy in a quiet voice. "Ya're gonna make it," she pulled away from him only to place the medal back on his chest. "Now this medal will be a sign that ya will never, ever give up. So wear it with pride."

Mike sniffled and nodded fervently, snot and tears almost flying to the sides. Sensing her son's embarrassment as her own, Rachel took him to the men's room, nearly breaking the nose of the man who whistled at her at the entrance. She waited obediently while her son washed his face with cold water and cleaned himself up, and took any indignant or perplexed look from anyone else as a challenge. Even though his mother could fend for herself, Mike's protective instincts kicked in, so he glared at anyone who got too close to Rachel.

Mike took his mother's hand and led her away from the place, straightening up and lifting his chin - he thought he looked bigger and more imposing that way. Rachel giggled stupidly all the way to the sidewalk cafeteria. When she met your gaze, she nodded cheerfully, letting you know everything was fine. "Hey, kids!" she yelled to Itadori and Yuta, who were standing at the caramelized fruit counter. "Are ya going on the coaster now?"

"Yes!"

"Take these little ones with you!" she, picking up a bouncing Tris from Frank's lap that refused to sit on her butt because of the hard chairs, nudged her and Mike toward the boys.

Yuji immediately grabbed the girl's hand, afraid of losing her in the crowd, while Yuta kept his eyes on the redhead. After buying juicy, glistening glazed strawberries, they happily chatted about something and headed to the line for the ride. "Jesus," Rachel sighed tiredly, plopping down on the chair next to you. Her strength had left her body, all the energy she had left for calming her own son.

"Look at those happy buns," you said dreamily, watching Tris get cranky and try to take the strawberry from Yuta. "When I was their age, I learned how to smoke and steal blings," you were immediately got a smack from Frank for your words.

"Oh, like ya are a righteous man," you muttered resentfully, rubbing the back of your head and glaring at the man who had opened another bottle of beer.

"I can afford it couple times a year," he replied nonchalantly, sipping the cool drink.

"Ya wouldn't have potbelly like that because of couple times a year," you said cheerfully, slapping him on the stomach. You dodged another smack and laughed wryly.

It didn't take long for the man to get angry as a worried Itadori appeared on the horizon with Tris in his arms. Frank jumped up - the chair had fallen to the ground with a loud thud, nearly breaking in half - and ran quickly to them. "What's the matter, sunshine?" he said anxiously, taking the little girl from the bewildered Yuji

"As soon as we were at the entrance, Tris immediately cried," the boy rambled apologetically, afraid that suspicion of her sadness might fall on him.

"Scared, honey?" cooed Frank, rocking Tris - her cries turned to quiet sobs, and she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. You and Rachel glanced over and sighed jealously in unison - now that you were grown, almost all the tender creature comforts went to the younger ones. "I'm taking her home," Frank stated in a stern tone, giving you a serious look. "And ya," he pointed a finger at you and Rachel then tapped it on the table. "Keep an eye on everyone."

"Okay," you agreed, heeding his words while your sister rolled her eyes.

Itadori, feeling guilty for being at the center of all the trouble, looked penitently at Frank as he left, and as soon as he was gone, Rachel sprang from her seat, running up to the boy. "I'll go with ya!" she said cheerfully, putting her arm around Yuji's shoulder, and the boy stared at her in surprise.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted. "Frank said to keep an eye on everyone!"

"What do ya think I'm gonna do?" barked Rachel back. "Where am I supposed to keep an eye on them if not in close proximity?"

Either her insolence has shackled your vocal cords, or common sense. With a snort, you grabbed your milkshake angrily, and sipped sullenly as you watched Rachel lead Itadori farther and farther away, shoving the queue - they were in no time at all near Yuta and Mike, who were standing at the beginning of it, waiting for the coaster to arrive.

People looked hot, excited, and instead of their endless chatter, you could hear only their blood boiling in them - you were tempted even by a drop of sweat running down the back of a girl you didn't know. Your usually dormant and slumbering hunger liked to wake up in a crowd - your body became cotton-like, barely obedient, and you struggled to keep yourself on the chair. You sipped the milkshake hard, trying to satiate yourself, but the creature inside couldn't stand the deception.

Breathing hard, you wished you were in a vat of ice-cold water - it wouldn't satisfy your hunger, but it might bring you back to your senses. The air, warmed by other people's laughter and breath, tantalized you, made you dizzy, and you had to grab the table to keep your balance. Before your eyes blurred, you saw the coaster pull up, the thrill-seekers stepping off the wagon on shaky legs, some laughing merrily, some feeling only a surge of energy.

Gojo laughed and wrapped his arms around the necks of a pale Megumi and a dazed Danielle, and as soon as you met his gaze, your heart calmed a little, though your human heart was still racing. The sorcerer smiled smugly at you, leading the barely alive kids to your table. "Here we are!" he chirped, plopping down next to you.

You watched in horror as a forcibly recovered Danielle sat Fushiguro down - the boy pressed his lips tightly together like holding back a gagging. "Is this really how it's supposed to be?" you asked uncertainly.

"Oh, come on," he waved it off. "He just feels a little queasy, that happens."

Either Megumi had no energy left or he didn't hear Gojo at all, for there was no frown on his part. Danielle anxiously stroked his shoulders, squeezing them a little - Gojo put his hands behind his head and watched contentedly as Dany tried to put some color on Megumi's pale face. The sorcerer's extremely happy smile made you suspicious - you got the impression that the celebration on his face wasn't caused by the amusement ride at all. "Ya're so petty," you grinned, realizing that Gojo was just enjoying some peddling revenge for the boy's failure to make him aware of his serious intentions first.

"So?" he fluttered his eyelids innocently and snatched the milkshake away from you.

Megumi, who had regained consciousness, took a sip of water from the glass, but immediately put his hand to his mouth, making a gurgling sound - a sight you were glad to see was an appetite suppressant. You were no longer burning up inside, your hunger had briefly receded, your stomach was no longer eating itself, and though you were still breathing heavily, you were no longer sweating.

Your lack of reaction made Gojo uneasy, and the fact that you didn't fight for your unceremoniously snatched food made him panic. It was only now that he noticed your foggy eyes and the way your head barely was holding steady, and without realizing it, the sorcerer was breathing heavily along with you. It reminded him just now why you'd been denying yourself the pleasure of even short bursts of adrenaline. There were too many people here - it was like leaving a person who'd been starving for months in the midst of a feast under an all-seeing eye that commanded them not to touch anything. "Let's go get some strawberries," without giving you time to answer, Gojo grabbed your arm and dragged you towards the counter, leaving Dany and Megumi alone.

There was almost no queue, only two people before you. You gazed with interest and appetite at the fruit in the display case, which glistened in the warm light of the lantern - the glaze seemed like liquid gold. "Mochi," Gojo said quietly, and you looked at him questioningly, hardly able to tear yourself away from the delicious splendor. The gleeful slyness on his face didn't last long - the more he worked up the courage to say those words, the more embarrassed he became. "You want to get out of here?"

"What?" you blurted out confusedly, but it was the sparkle in your eyes that gave you away - the thought of escaping made them twinkle like a million stars. "But I... Frank said to keep an eye on everyone, so I don't think I can," you rambled shyly, not knowing where to put yourself. Temptation was on one side of the scale, responsibility on the other, and the scales swayed immeasurably, tipping sideways.

Frightened that he had only exacerbated your precarious state with his suggestion, he put on a serene smile and tried to reassure you. "Dany has Megumi, and everyone else has Rachel. Your sister is crazy," you snorted sarcastically at that remark. "And having her son here makes her triple the danger."

You glanced toward the entrance to the coaster - it was nothing but an excited, waiting crowd. People were hooting and hollering, jostling and trying to get ahead of the line, but there were no Rachel or Gojo's students among them - they were probably yelling at the top of their lungs right now. You'd never doubted your sister, and now you grinned stupidly and thought about the fact that Rachel was probably calming or coaxing the excited and frightened boys. Whether she was rocking their safety bindings or reassuring them that everything would be okay while laughing at their contorted faces, you knew she would protect them no matter what happened. Right now, they'd be safer without you than with you.

Strawberries you took from Gojo spilled bitterness into your mouth as soon as you took a bite. You shouldn't have been so protective of your words and kept the warm embrace to yourself. Deciding that tonight and for the rest of your life, you would let Rachel lie on top of you, hugging and nibbling you as much as she wanted, you ventured.

Turning to Gojo, you took his hand and nodded. As soon as he took you to a place out of sight, the sound of people's merriment was cut off by a wafting breeze. As you found yourself lying on the grass, the smell of water hit your nose - rising up on your elbows, you saw the familiar horizon where the ocean kissed the star every night. "Well," you began slyly. "Will the star give its answer tonight?"

"I'm afraid not," the sorcerer sighed lamentably, plopping down on the grass beside you - the waves were almost reaching your feet, splashing desperately. "It's too dark already."

You tried to put the puzzle together in your head, but you couldn't find any reason why the star could only speak in its own light. You didn't even try to ask Gojo about it, just glanced at him frustrated that he still hadn't told you where the place was.

The sorcerer heard you mutter something sullenly to yourself - he enjoyed the fact that he could influence your mood. And your condition. Here, in the forested wilderness by the dark waters, you were noticeably lighter, and instead of your ragged, hungry breathing, he could only hear the sound of small waves. "My offer still stands," he reminded you embarrassedly, turning on his side and propping his head on his palm.

"Eh?..." you wondered, wrinkling your nose in confusion.

"I mean blood," Gojo said, peering into your eyes - they no longer screamed of unquenchable thirst. "Reverse technique will make up for the lack of blood, so you can drink as much as you want. When else are you gonna be offered an unlimited and free feeding tube?"

"Do ya even know about a word like diet?" you laughed, taken aback by his suggestion. "If I don't stick to it, I might become greedy."

He'd truly forgotten that sweets didn't go along with blood - any addiction had consequences. No matter how many sweets the sorcerer ate, he still couldn't get enough, and if his whole dilemma was just going to the store, what about you?

Perhaps it was because Gojo had never seen you in a distraught state - the danger hadn't shown itself yet, and he was relaxed, thinking of you as a human despite some of the strange things that happened to you in crowds. The other side that existed was either too humble or repressed by you, but looking at you, he couldn't wonder if it was it that made you look up at the night sky like that. Your eyes, full of longing and tenderness - he didn't need to turn around to realize what you were looking at so lovingly. It was more likely that the tiny shimmering dots peeking out from behind the leaves were staring back at you just the same.

Gojo suddenly felt empty - the unattainable, clutching his heart in a vise, asked him a leading question. Will he ever be enough for your adventurous soul? Or would you travel to unknown but native lands at the first opportunity? He was lying right in front of you, very close, but even now you were looking up high, searching for something. No matter how powerful the sorcerer was, he could not put himself on a par with the face of the universe. The feeling of being deprived was left on his conscience - he wanted to feel the same way you felt at the sight of those tiny, shiny dots. "If you had the chance," he blurted out, embarrassed, lowering his gaze to the ground, but there was nowhere to retreat. "Would you go there?"

The sorcerer almost drowned in bitterness when you sighed dreamily. "No," you said plaintively, giving him your hand. He stared at you in surprise, but couldn't even open his mouth - joy intermingled with confusion stole all the words. "If I'd wanted to, I would have taken off my mask long ago and surrendered to the judges," you shuddered, even though you were the one who remembered them.

Gojo rolled over onto his stomach and felt the annoyance recede. "You look over there more often than you look at me anyway," he muttered resentfully, pinching the grass. Seeking reassurance from you, he started acting like a child again.

"Now I'm just thinking about how many of those stars are already dead," you chuckled. The sorcerer squinted at you suspiciously, and you felt yourself under mute interrogation. "I'm telling the truth," you sighed, waving away the grass flying at you. "I'm just wondering which ones are real, and which ones disappeared, leaving behind a light that only reached us now," you rounded your eyes at the idea that had come to you, and clapped him enthusiastically on the shoulder. "Look, how about a bet?"

"Bet?" he blustered, perking up. He was clearly interested in the scheme or rather in his reward for your imminent loss.

You were looking for something in the night sky. "Well, there's our sister, Betelgeuse," you turned your head from side to side, and not finding the constellation Orion, you waved it away, but decided to stick to your suggestion and not back down. "Right now it's in its last stage of life for us, but what if I bet it exploded... I dunno," you laughed at the absurdity of your suggestion. "Let's say about five years ago?"

"Too shallow," Gojo declared proudly. "I'll bet ten."

"That's the deal."

"Uh.,, What did we bet?" he mused, trying to recall the terms of the deal.

"It's up to the winner to decide," the magnitude of the controversy allowed you to say this phrase. "If I'm right, we won't see the explosion until 495 years from now, and if you're right, we won't see it until 490 years. Oh yeah, there is some margin of error because the exact distance to Betelgeuse is unknown. Give or take 100 years."

"I think I just miscalculated," the sorcerer drawled uncertainly. "But where?"

Maybe it was a good thing the explosion wouldn't come soon enough - Gojo wouldn't have had ten years to make up his mind about his desire, every branch of which was invariably connected to you. You were naive to think you could get rid of him by time, for Gojo would be ready to get you in a thousand years.

As you looked up into the silent sky, you heard again the last words the sorcerer had said to you once. You'd lived in his world, but he'd never known or felt a part of yours - an unfair and unjust selfishness that had strayed from your thoughts. Of course, you could never show Gojo the places by the stars themselves - those beautiful killers would leave you no chance of survival. But you could take him to places where the light from events would close in on you, making you see things you would never see here, lying on the grass. "I wanna show ya something," your voice cracked with excitement, and you jumped to your feet, thereby startling him as well. Panicked, Gojo rose to his feet with you, looking you cautiously.

"Show me what?" he hesitantly asked, keeping his distance - there were only two steps separating you.

"Look, I really don't know how to put this into words," you said out of breath like a long jog. "You'd better give me your hand," you held out your palm and held yourself back - his uncertainty was urging you to run to him, to grab his hand and do as you wished, but something inside demanded that you wait for his willing consent. "We'll only have about ten seconds, but I promise there's nothing to worry about," you kept rambling, trying to reassure the sorcerer, but you only made him more anxious.

Gojo didn't know why he hesitated - he didn't remember you as excited and aroused as you were. Besides, he thought he was the only one who'd ever seen you like this, and that was what made him stiffen - the weight of your trust made him stop feeling his own body. You were about to show him something you hadn't shown the others, and despite his happiness, Gojo felt responsible.

As soon as Gojo dared to raise his hand, you grabbed him - he couldn't even understand how you could pull him, tall and big, towards you and change your places. It took his breath away, his legs and arms were numb, he felt like a feather that floated without falling - realizing that he couldn't take a breath, Gojo noticed your glittering eyes that blended with the rest of the wild and distant stars.

One.

Gojo didn't immediately realize where he was - what he saw seemed so implausible and ridiculous that it drove him mad. Delirium retreated penitently as he looked behind your shoulder, barely breaking away from your gaze. There were no planets or other celestial bodies around you - you were, like two swimmers, dissecting with your bodies the universe in its original form. Finding himself at the beginning of all humans, he thought of yours as well - here his throat clenched just as it had clenched from the dagger once held to his neck.

Two.

Enraged by his own consternation, Gojo placed the blame for his initial feelings on your shoulders. Foes may have mocked him, others may have underestimated him, looking down on the sorcerer, but they all met the same end, but he had never witnessed such cold eyes that he had seen on your first day - you could have killed him without hesitation, and it was left on Gojo's conscience to think of you as someone superior to him.

Three.

An upstart, a psychopath, a murderer, a thief, a subhuman - Gojo kept repeating those words like a mantra, and as he agreed to the deal with your superiors, he thought of the balance - the world wouldn't be worse off if his best friend showed up here instead of you. All his life destroying the vermin, Gojo mistook you for one of them, and pathetic excuses could not cover the regrets that followed - in fact, you turned out to be an amazing creature embodied by invisible hands that supported you right here and now, preventing you from drowning in the dark slurry, in which flickering, distant lights had long ago boiled.

Four.

Not the desire to kill, but to protect yourself - that's what made you tick. Gojo had read it in your tired, red eyes back then, on the cliff outside the house. 'How strange,' he thought, squeezing your hand harder - if all around you were your home lands, the sorcerer still couldn't feel it under his feet, and he was afraid not to get lost in space, but to let you go. 'Even here it's not as cold as it was then,' there was no warmth in your hand or in your voice, just a mess of vacuum and thoughts, but he saw you brightly and clearly, and he couldn't find the words to thank the light that reflected off you.

Five.

Tears blurred all the stars making them flash – they became bright, almost red, which reminded Gojo of torches. You were the one who had unceremoniously interfered in his life and pointed out the consequences of his deeds. Every clueless person saved could continue to burn fires, illuminating the hearts of those they loved and their own. The sprawling expanses were not known for their friendliness, they loved only lifeless symmetry - having overlooked one tiny corner, they failed to notice the ugliness that stood out against the background of an endless similar pattern, thus giving this filth a chance to exist. And Gojo, never thinking about it, continued to draw this abomination called humanity on the beautiful and empty picture of the world with his own hands.

Six.

Was the void like this place? Was saving people just one of the reasons why you returned to that cold land again and again? Or was it the purple-lit sand that reminded you of a home that had no bottom, no walls, no roof? It was in such a place that all the secrets of origin and birth, which were usually hidden under the dark cloak of matter of the known world, were exposed. They squirmed and pushed each other out, thus inadvertently showing their particles to the person who painted the formulas.

Seven.

You were probably being guided by goodness when you lied to the sorcerer - now he didn't believe a bit of what you said about not wanting to go there. In all his life Gojo had never seen so much confused delight in someone's gaze, he had never met someone whose eyes so easily merged with the stars, reflecting them. It was so strange, holding your hand, realizing that at any moment you could let it go and merge with the darkness, no longer allowing the light to reflect off of you - at this moment his grip seemed so fragile and unreliable that he was afraid.

Eight.

You looked at Gojo with a thrill at your heart. The awe on his face, unwilling to tell you its origins, made you anxious. Certainly, you had not walked the rings of Jupiter or viewed Venus from the distance of two moons, and all you could show him was the crushing insensitivity and colorlessness of nothingness. His thoughts eluded you, and you couldn't demand reassurance - finding yourself at the very pier where invisible ships were sailing to your lands, you hoped it resonated genuinely in his soul as it did in yours.

Nine.

How much foolishness and naivety can awaken in later years - Gojo would have laughed if he could. Going with heavy thinking, he missed the very point - being so close to home, you weren't looking around, searching the stars for a native being, you were looking straight at him. It wasn't the cosmos that fascinated the sorcerer, but Gojo was completely lost when he met the creature it spawned. To follow you through life, to go with you after death, resuming your endless circle of a beginning and never letting go of your hand even in the coldest of places.

Ten.

You were entwined where there was no life and no end to it. No earth, no water, no fire, no air - no threads that connected Gojo to a familiar world. He knew that sooner or later the universe would kill him, if not by lack of oxygen, then by cold - the world had a thousand and one weapons to get rid of unwanted guests. The universe was well aware that it was the worst place for the origin of life, but no matter how hard it tried to crush human existence, it could not prevent your meeting. From the very beginning of life on Earth, there were too many accidents for mere coincidence - it was necessarily either a gift of destiny or an evil fate, and one never excluded the other. Seeing through the prism of human's eyes, savoring all your colors, Gojo dropped for the last second all the responsibilities that awaited him upon his return - for one more moment the sorcerer relished the newfound home he never had.

Two astronauts, unburdened by reinforced spacesuits, floated in weightlessness, content with the good spirits of their surroundings, which unobtrusively tried to kill them. Once smaller than a dot, the creation, having emitted light in all directions, had grown to the size that its underling could reach in 14 billion years, and it continued to grow relentlessly, illuminating its once invisible boundaries. Billions of stars, which became millions of eyes, forced the Universe to witness a miracle over which it had no control - in the vastness of its endless dead zone two loving hearts were beating.

Gojo had been gulping for air as soon as he was on Earth, the abrupt change in his surroundings making his mind melt. The sound of water, the overflow of waves and even a green leaf falling from a branch seemed to him no more than decoration. His back didn't feel the ground, his hands didn't feel the wind - he was brought back to reality by you, real and alive, who hovered over him and gazed at him restlessly. "I won't pay for such an excursion," said the sorcerer, out of breath. Laughing quietly, you slid off Gojo and plopped down next to him. Trying to shake off the anxiety and the sticky thoughts that Gojo was disgusted by this walk, you listened, seeking reassurance in his every agitated breath.

Gojo was afraid to admit that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Or rather, this moment was right after your first meeting on his personal list. A lifetime of striving for more, of cutting and dissecting the boundaries of human possibility, he was still here on Earth. The greater the power, the more majesty the sorcerer felt, but where light years walked, the omnipotence appeared to be nothing more than ordinary dust that the stellar winds had scattered. "You know, it's...," he mewled shyly, trying to find a word that at least slightly described his heartstrings. As Gojo frantically went over the unspoken emotion on his tongue, he was interrupted by a rumbling sound. Clutching at your stomach like trying to shut it up, you rounded your eyes in shock, and your heart felt heavy. To ruin a moment like this, even unwillingly, seemed like the end of the world until you heard a gushing laugh. "I'm a lousy friend if I keep forgetting to feed you," you wanted to object, reminding the sorcerer about the strawberries, but he stood up and picked you up in his arms, each time you sighed in amazement as you looked down at the world from his height. "Well, what does our soul desire?"

"Bacon-wrapped shrimp," you replied without hesitation like you'd been practicing that line for years. "Exactly the kind ya make."

"You could have chained me to the stove for all evening, wanting, let's say, ramen or curry rice, but do you really want just shrimps?" he wondered, and you nodded emphatically. "I don't deserve you," Gojo grinned, remembering not the recipe he needed at all, but the world you'd shown him.

The moment you were on the doorstep of the house on the hill, you felt a little dizzy, either from the fact that the sorcerer had never warned you before moving abruptly or from worrying about the consequences of your escape. Your gut didn't let you down - as soon as you opened the door and crossed the threshold, you were greeted by a disheveled and flushed Frank, who was looking for something in the medicine cabinet. A surprised Mike was sitting on the couch, and your sister was kneeling in front of him, gently blotting his temple. Several bloody cotton balls were already lying on the floor beside her, and you crouched down next to Rachel, concerned, while Gojo tried to quiet your old man. "What happened?"

"He fell out of a tree," Rach mumbled, soaking another cotton ball in alcohol. There was no attack from her about your disappearance, and surprisingly, you felt out of sorts. "Does it hurt, baby?" she asked her son affectionately, and he shook his head cheerfully. "I guess I was even more scared than he was," she sighed in relief. "Will ya come back for the others?" she turned to you. "I couldn't even warn the kids when I saw the blood on his face that we had to leave."

"Yeah, sure," you assured her absently, stroking your sister's shoulder. It looked like it would take you a long time to get used to the changes in her personality. Her yelling, shouting and accusations were much better tolerated than her uncharacteristic emotions, and you were unaware of the confusion and fright on her face. "We'll be back soon, don't worry, 'kay?" you said, standing up and patting Mike lightly on the top of his head - he didn't even squeak.

"Okay," she replied, and you, not noticing the cold stare she was giving you, tugged Gojo's sleeve, nodding your way out.

[August 23, 2022, 01:50pm., Hopetown]

The greenhouse offered no protection from the sudden late August heat, and you ran your wet palms through the vegetation, searching for stems. The wicker basket on the floor was slowly filling with soft pink flowers, and you looked at each sunlighted petal before you put one in. The monotonous work and humidity made you drowsy, and you struggled to keep your eyes open, yawning all the while. "Hey," Gojo called out angrily as he entered the greenhouse. He appeared before you covered in earth and dirt with a shovel in hand. "Am I to understand t correctly hat I was forced to dig potatoes and you're out here picking flowers?" snorted the sorcerer. "Where is justice?" he asked indignantly, stepping closer and nearly hitting the basket with his foot. Standing up beside you and resting his chin on the shovel's handle, he examined the flowers in the basket. "What's this ugly thing?" Gojo wrinkled his nose squeamishly, looking at the incongruity - the peony was on top of a lily, the lily on top of a rose, the rose on top of a chrysanthemum, and there was not a single repeating flower, which was repulsive in its chaos.

Sometimes, Gojo rarely let you get a word in edgewise - either torrents of information or piles of questions usually rained down on you. "It's for Shaya. It's her anniversary tomorrow, and Frank asked me to help," you took advantage of the silence and answered patiently, still nonchalantly picking and clipping the stems of the flowers that weren't already in the basket.

"Then it's even weirder," Gojo grumbled. "If I were him, I'd bring a prettier bouquet to your grave," your outrage was beyond words, but the sorcerer realized what he'd said when you looked at him dumbfounded. "Why can't you shut me up in time?" he got angry, unintentionally putting the blame on you.

"That's because ya have a big mouth. Watch your tongue," the way the shears clanged together suggested to the sorcerer that you'd imagined the plant to be something else. "Shaya didn't care about flowers at all. She loved them all," you muttered quietly, changing the subject. "As long as they were white," you gently swiped at the petals and placed the jonquil in the basket. Your words confused Gojo - either you were overheating or you were playing him for a fool.

"They're pink," the sorcerer said hesitantly, blinking hard a few times - perhaps he'd gotten sunstroke? But you didn't raise an eyebrow at his remark, just kept looking for the prettiest flowers, but your quiet chuckle didn't escape his hearing. "I can't believe it!" he gasp insulted, knocking the shovel to the floor. "You were testing me!"

"Call it professional hazard," you laughed, trying to soften his anger.

The prepared tirade remained unspoken - someone's large hand tugged Gojo by the collar, almost throwing him out of the greenhouse. "What, son, are ya done already?" asked Frank coldly, squinting suspiciously. The sorcerer, shaking his head fearfully and clutching the shovel to his chest, backed away - the gray-haired man stepped exactly until he had swept him out of the room. "That's better!" he yelled. "I don't need a lazy son-in-law!" he muttered, waving his fist threateningly in his wake.

"Frank," you hissed embarrassedly, drawing attention.

"What?" he bellowed, proudly adjusting his shirt and walking over to you - inspecting the basket of flowers, he hummed in satisfaction. "Am I not telling the truth?"

"Better tell me how the orchid thing is going," you waved it away.

"Already started making the extract, that's gonna take quite a while too," he nodded meaningfully. "And what do we do with it next?"

"We're gonna do experiments on me," he frowned sternly, realizing what you were getting at. "We need to find out what ratios of wine and extract cause pain in demons."

"I don't like this scheme," the man muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are ya up to?"

At this rate, you really weren't going to make it in time for town day, which is exactly what insurance was for. "There's a reason I asked Megumi and Dany to have the wedding here in Hopetown," you exhaled convulsively. "Call me paranoid, but I think there's someone here. Someone reporting on... us," you replied evasively, not naming specific names. "It's unlikely they used Danielle alone, they could easily have slipped us one of them in the void, passing them off as just another poor soul," Frank glanced warily through the transparent wall of the greenhouse at the town - it was as quiet and peaceful as it had been a day ago, or a month, or even a year. "I may end up being wrong, but wouldn't it be calmer that way?" you gibbered, panting, trying to convince the man. "We'll organize a feast, everyone will drink from wine barrels, and if no one reacts - that's great, but if one critter does choke, then...," you laughed nervously, wiping your wet face with your hands. "Oh my God… Looks like I'm gonna ruin the wedding."

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