#until i finally drew them myself

[acidsaladd]

finally releasing these doodles from the void that is my camera roll

[id: four images with digital drawings of winry, ed and al from fullmetal alchemist. The first image is a couple colored drawings of winry. On the left we see her standing, full body, looking to the right; she is wearing a black tank top, big bermuda shorts, brown boots and a green bandana on her hair. She is holding a black long suitcase on one hand and the other is in her pocket. Next theres a drawing of her waist up wearing a similar black tank top and green bandana, thick copper gloves and green coveralls with the sleeves tied on her waist; she is facing the viewer full on with one hand on her hip and the other holding a metal box to her hip.

The second image is a close up of the full body drawing from the thighs up. In the third image we can see two drawings of ed; in the first he is sitting with his arms on the backrest, right leg propped on the other. He is wearing a black tank top and his leather pants so his automail is in full display. Next to that we see a 3/4 headshot of ed looking shocked. Above them there is a couple drawings of his automail arm. In the fourth image we can see 4 headshots. the first couple is of Al and Ed when they were kids, both facing the viewer but Al is smiling and looking forwards while Ed is frowning and looking to the side. Below that we can see Al and Ed again but older (post-promised day) with both of them again facing the viewer; Al is smiling, his hair short and messy and Ed has his brows furrowed but he's grinning crookedly./ end id]

[youremyonlyhope]

I took this quiz. And some episodes were easy. Some made me just plain mad (Anti-Mavity Motorbike. No. I hate this stupid running joke). Some made me mad because I understood IMMEDIATELY what they meant (Awkward Bed Sharing, Paving Slab, Smacked Bottom) and it annoyed me that it made sense. And some made me mad because I knew the exact episode but could not remember the actual title for the LIFE of me (PE Teacher, Floating Fingers). And others made me want to sob (Cup-A-Soup, Solid Right Hook) because I loved the description choice so much.

Anyway. I need there to stop being so many "the [Blank] of the Doctor" episode titles. I can't keep track of them. At a certain point if I knew it was an 'of the Doctor' episode I just skipped it.

[neo-shitty]

✍️.

[they-call-me-hippie]

I have done it one more time

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Soft yan clan leader has me soo🫠 imagine the horror if he were to argue with his beloved wife or try to deny her something and she looks like she's about to cry or the grovel if he pissed her off and she ignored him ahhh i neeeed himmm

Oh my... the ideas in my head... 😶‍🌫️

Soft Yandere! Clan Leader x Wife! Reader

warnings(?): slight angst, very cheesy/romantic, emotions

note: it's written from his perspective:)

"I refuse." his tone was strict, reminiscent of a dull dagger that someone forgot to sharpen. That's what you did to him; you took his bite away.

Sighing he massaged his temples.

"I don't want my wife roaming around the streets ever again without my explicit knowledge." his fingers curled until his knuckles whitened.

"Do you have any idea of the sheer number of ill-intending people out on streets at nighttime? My love what if danger befell you while I wasn't there to shield you? What if some sick bastard—."

"Husband. Did I hurt you so?" your bottom lip trembled, shame glistened in the corners of your eyes; those beautiful eyes that he wanted to bind with silk so that no one else could admire them.

"My love I just worry—"

"I didn't want to cause you to worry." now you started sniffling and he could audibly hear his heart shatter. "I just missed my hometown so much and— I forgot myself. I am sorry." you muttered. He could detect the insecurity creep into your wavering tone; he was losing you again to the demons in your pretty head.

"I won't ever cause you trouble again, husband."

"My love that isn't what I—"

"Goodnight." you spun on your heel, adamant on slipping through his fingers like sand before he could even raise his voice in protest, demanding you to stay. If you just knew that he didn't blame you for getting carried away by the memories of your childhood, longing for a time much more innocent nor that he found you troublesome—he only wanted you safe and snug under his wing, why couldn't you understand?

But he wouldn't have that. No more. He would never tire of chasing you—but he couldn't bear the sight of your backside any longer.

"Love," his breath tickled the shell of your ear, on hand splayed across your waist, the other wrapped around your jaw, "don't run away. At least not today. I apologise, so much, for your husband's inability to make you understand just how much he loves you."

He sighed again, pressing a kiss to your earlobe, over the dangling diamond that had once belonged to his mother.

"Please don't think you're troubling me. I only worry because wherever you go you take my soul with you. And a man can't survive without that, now can he?" he drew you further in, engulfed you in his embrace, letting the darkness of the night be the only observer of the intimacy between the two of you.

"My love." he breathed.

"My love," he repeated,"I love you, please stop believing otherwise. I beg you of you. Please love me too." there was clear frustration in his tone, silent suffering that would only rarely slip through the cracks of his usual mask yet with you; he discarded that very facade alltogether.

The room was cloaked in darkness like so many other nights, yet this night felt colder, icy even. He was desperate to reach through to you. Slowly, the words he would always spit out felt repetitive; too artificial for his liking and he feared you would perhaps never believe in them.

"My love please—"

You kissed him.

He had searched for heaven before he met you, but now he found it between your lips. In the way you hugged him not with your arms but with your mouth, glossy gaze a split open, gazing at him as if you had finally, finally, accepted the truth.

It was mind-numbingly sweet; it didn't last very long, your tongue only shyly prodded at his bottom lip before you tried fleeting back like a startled deer, eyes everywhere but on him. Still, he held you in his arms refusing to let you escape—because now that he finally had a taste of heaven, he would never let you out of his embrace.

"I love you." he uttered. And now, even as you didn't reply, only looking away bashfully in the way he found so cute he could pinch your cheeks, he knew that he had finally succeeded.

He had captured your heart—the soul of his heaven, his sacramentum, his moon.

You were his.

[mayakern]

The April launch is LIVE in our USA/international and Canadian stores! We have three skirt designs and two shirt designs this round: First, this adorable Cat Nap design by Rii Abrego. What can I say? It's just so stinkin' cute I'm about ready to basketball dunk myself into a chilly river just to keep me from acting up. This skirt is like a big ol' scoop of kitten shaped sherbet and I'm ready to eat it.

Next, our lovely new Ladybug design! This skirt is the first ever skirt collab between me (Maya) and my wife Devin! Devin drew the adorable little ladybugs and I picked the color palette and arranged them into a pattern with their cute little meandering paths. This skirt has a bubblegum-y, flamingo-y pink background that is just perfect for spring.

Last for the new skirts is Rii Abrego's Strawberry midi skirt, now in adorable, summery yellow! Last year, this color variant of the strawberry skirt debuted as a miniskirt and y'all went absolutely rabid for it. It sold out super quickly and many people asked for it to come in midi length as well. Well, I didn't listen. At least, not at first. I thought the yellow would be too much on a midi length and no one would put their money where their mouth was, but y'all asked month after month, showing me the depths of love you have for this design, and so finally I have listened! And I couldn't be more pleased, as this truly feels like THE skirt of the summer. People, rejoice! Yellow strawberry skirt be upon ye!

Next, lets talk our super breezy and comfy 100% viscose button-up shirts!

Ever since I first posted sketches for my Microorganisms pattern, I got requests to make it into a button-up shirt. But for various reasons, the timing just never worked out--until now! Now, you too can look like a germed up arcade carpet without worrying about getting sick. This design is so incredibly fun and funky and I'm absolutely thrilled to finally be able to share it with y'all. I can't wait to wear this baby to an arcade or a bowling alley. Everyone is gonna be SO jealous of how cool I look.

Last up for new things, my super stinkin' cute Astronaut shirt! Look at this thing! These guys are just floating through space, maybe having fun, maybe suffering from creeping existential dread while they slowly but steadily deplete their limited oxygen supply, who knows! Either way, I love this stupid shirt.

USA/international:

Canada:

[crushpunky]

actress!reader calls drew on phoning it in

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. i didn’t have an exact interview to base this off of, so it’s a bit of a compilation of a bunch of different ones lol. also easter egg for a diff fic i’ve done, iykyk

��Hi, I’m y/n y/ln and I’m here with Elle to call some people!” Y/n said with a giggle. She crossed her legs, flipping through the small notebook they had handed her until she got to the first challenge.

Call someone and… tell them you’re stuck in an elevator

“Oh god… ok, I’m gonna call Miss Madelyn Cline. She has a fear of elevators so this is perfect.” Y/n said, putting her phone on speaker as it rang.

“Hey babe, what’s up?” Madelyn answered happily. Y/n took a second, getting into character before responding.

“Mads you’re not gonna believe this but I’m literally stuck in a [bleep]-ing elevator right now.” Y/n said, her voice shaky. Madelyn gasped on the other end before letting out a shriek.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Have you— have you called the fire department?” Madelyn said.

“I did and they said it was gonna be like two hours… I don’t know what to do.” Y/n groaned, a smile on her face.

“Are you by yourself? Is Drew with you?” Madelyn responded.

“I’m by myself and I…” A smirk came across y/n’s lips as an idea popped into her head, “I’m scared I’m gonna pee my pants if they don’t hurry the [bleep] up!”

“Oh my god… do you have like a bottle or something?” Madelyn whispered lowly, causing y/n to burst out in laughter at her serious tone.

“I’m so sorry Mads, I was just kidding. It was a prank. I’m in an interview with Elle.” Y/n giggled. Madelyn gasped on the other end.

“I hate you!” Madelyn groaned.

“I love you, bb!” Y/n smiled.

“Ugh, I love you too.” Madelyn said.

Call someone and… tell them you’re starting a singing career

“I am a notoriously bad singer, so this ought to be good.” Y/n laughed, putting the notebook down and scrolling through her contacts.

“Ok, ok… I’m going to call my good friend Tom Blyth.” Y/n said, pressing “call” and putting the phone on speaker. The phone rang for a moment, y/n sitting in anticipation.

“Hey, what’s up?” Tom greeted happily.

“So I just wanted to ask your opinion on something kinda important.” Y/n said, her tone serious.

“Alright… are you ok? Is everything good?” Tom responded, his voice low and full of concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Y/n said. “I just wanted to get your opinion on me starting a music career… like singing.”

“Music? Oh that’s nice… are you like– have you talked to your manager?” Tom said on the other line. Y/n covered her mouth, hoping he couldn’t hear her giggles.

“No, I just wanted to get some opinions before I really made that step… what do you think? Is that a good move?” Y/n asked, biting her lip as she waited for Tom’s response.

“You’re very talented, so I think if you put your mind to it you could do it.” Tom responded. Y/n placed a hand over her heart at Tom’s kindness.

“Tom you’re too sweet… this is for an interview. There’s no way in hell I’m starting a singing career anytime soon.” Y/n said. Tom laughed on the other end of the line.

“Oh come on, you’re a great singer.” Tom said sarcastically. Y/n shared a final farewell before hanging up the phone and returning to the notebook in front of her.

Call someone and… apologize for accidentally leaking their phone number

“Ooh… oh, I’m gonna scare the crap out of Drew.” Y/n giggled, calling Drew. The phone rang, y/n sitting in silence as it continued.

“... if he answers. He’s awful at—” Y/n started.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Drew answered, a smile spreading across y/n’s face.

“Drew… I’m so sorry…” Y/n said, her voice low.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” Drew responded urgently.

“I’m fine I just… ugh, you’re going to be so mad at me…” Y/n groaned, really dragging her reaction out.

“I promise I won’t be. Please just tell me what happened— are you sure you’re ok?” Drew said, his voice laced with concern.

“I… I’m so sorry I… I accidentally leaked your phone number. On Instagram.” Y/n said with an exaggerated sniffle. She could hear Drew let out a sigh on the other end, a smile creeping across her face.

“Jesus, baby, you scared the crap out of me. T– That’s fine, I can get a new one.” Drew responded.

“You’re not mad at me?” Y/n said quietly.

“No, no, no of course not. I don’t give a [bleep] as long as you’re ok.” Drew said, causing y/n’s cheeks to warm.

“Oh, Drewseph, I love you. That was just a prank. I’m in an interview with Elle.” Y/n said with a giggle. 

“You scared the [bleep] out of me, oh my god!” Drew chuckled on the other end.

“I’m sorry, my love.” Y/n frowned playfully.

“You’re gonna kill me, baby.” Drew said with a sigh.

“I love you, Drewseph.” Y/n grinned.

“Love you too. See you when you get home.” Drew said.

[wikagirl]

<- girl that wants to go paintballing with her friends but planing with these idiots is close to impossible

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Guilty as sin ✦ 」

[Theodore Nott × reader] [TTPD Masterlist]

Summary:(Request) Theo x f!reader where she is a huuuuuge flirt. Flirts with the whole slytherin gang, the golden trio, literally everyone EXCEPT Theo and it doesn’t bother him until his friends start teasing him about it and then it drives him CRAZY. So he tracks her down and she’s all blushy like “idk how to flirt with someone I actually like??” And then smut ensues

Warning: smut

Words:3.5k

Laughter echoed through the empty corridor – a welcome reprieve from the usual bustle of Hogwarts life. We were on a glorious post-lunch break, a rare moment where none of us had classes.

Draco, ever the stoic one, smirked from the corner, a hint of amusement flickering in his grey eyes. Blaise, reclining against the wall along with mattheo and Enzo .

“So, what’s got you all so chipper today?” I asked, leaning against the wall opposite them, my eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh, just the usual,” Mattheo replied with a grin, his eyes scanning me up and down. “Though your presence certainly brightens things up.”

I laughed, a playful glint in my eye. “Is that so, Mattheo? I’m flattered.”

“Flattered, are you?” Enzo chimed in, his smile broadening. “Just wait till you hear what Draco’s been saying about you.”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile playing at his lips. “Don’t drag me into this, Enzo.”

I arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Oh? And what exactly has Draco been saying?”

Draco finally looked directly at me, his smirk deepening. “Nothing that wouldn’t make you blush, I’m sure.”

Suddenly, the air shimmered and Theo materialized beside me, a frown etched on his handsome face. My laughter died in my throat, replaced by a nervous flutter in my stomach.

Don't get me wrong, Theo was so attractive. Tall, dark, and mysterious, he exuded an aura that drew you in like a moth to a flame. That’s why I always act that awkward whenever he show up.

"Hey, Y/L/N," Theo greeted me, his voice a low rumble. "Having fun?"

But before I could respond, a mischievous glint sparked in Blaise's eyes. "Having fun? She's practically rolling on the floor here! Just look at her," he nudged me with his elbow, "completely smitten with my hilarious story."

My cheeks burned. "Oh, shut up, Zabini," I swatted him playfully. "It was Enzo's joke that was funny, not yours."

Enzo chuckled. "Thanks, Y/N."

We all fell into a comfortable banter again, the conversation flowing like a well-worn path. But with every witty remark aimed at me, every playful touch from Blaise or Enzo, I found myself subtly shifting away from Theo. It wasn't intentional, not really. Maybe a subconscious defense mechanism, a way to keep myself safe from the intensity I sensed in him.

Finally, unable to handle the mounting tension any longer, I blurted, "Oh, well, this has been lovely, but I actually have to…" My voice trailed off, searching for a believable excuse.

"Potions homework?" Blaise offered with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah, yes," I stammered, "Look at the time! I completely forgot, I have to—"

"Go?" Mattheo finished my sentence with a playful grin, his eyes flickering between me and Theo. "That seems to be your usual line whenever Nott graces us with his presence."

A collective laugh went up from the others, but a blush crept up my cheeks. Was it that obvious?

"See, Theo? That's just how Y/N is. Always gotta disappear when you show up."

Behind me, I could hear the eruption of laughter. Draco's voice rang out, “See ? Always leaving when you appear Nott, gets the charm offensive."

I winced, a mixture of guilt washing over me, I grabbed my bag and walked away.

As I walked to the class the next day my stomach lurched, I scanned the room. Every single seat was taken except for one – the one directly next to Theo. A wave of annoyance washed over me. Why did I have to be the one stuck beside him after yesterday's awkward retreat?

With a resigned sigh, I marched towards the empty chair, determined to keep our interaction to a minimum. Just as I sat down, the classroom door slammed open, and Professor Snape strode in with his usual scowl.

"Settle down!" his baritone voice boomed. "Since we're already behind, we'll be starting immediately. Take out your textbooks and quills, we're brewing Veritaserum today."

My shoulders slumped. Of course, today would be the day Snape insisted on absolute honesty. Great.

I grabbed my textbook with a muttered curse, desperately trying to ignore the heat radiating from beside me. Theo. He was practically close enough to see the worried frown etched on my forehead.

"Rough day, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine despite myself.

I kept my eyes glued to my textbook, pretending to be engrossed in the complicated brewing instructions. "Just fine," I mumbled, my voice a touch too high-pitched.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Do I make you nervous, Y/N?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

My cheeks burned. Did he have to be so perceptive? "No," I lied unconvincingly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Then why the avoidance act?" he pressed.

My cheeks felt like they were on fire. I couldn't take it anymore. Taking a deep breath, I finally looked at him, ready to fire back with a witty retort.

But as our eyes met, something unexpected happened. All the bravado I had practiced in my head evaporated. His gaze held a depth I hadn't noticed before, a hint of something… more.

The stern voice of Professor Snape cut through the sudden tension. "Miss Y/N, Mr. Nott! Pay attention or face detention."

Flustered, I tore my gaze away from Theo.

The moment Professor Snape dismissed the class, I bolted. My cheeks still burned from Theo's teasing, his words replaying in my head like a broken record. "Do I make you nervous?" Ugh, the audacity!

Heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I weaved through the throng of students, desperate to escape the classroom and the lingering scent of Theo's cologne.

As I rounded a corner, I slammed right into someone, the impact knocking the breath out of me. I stumbled back, muttering an apology.

"Easy there, love. Running from someone?"

My cheeks burned like someone had set them on fire with a dragon's breath. "No, no, of course not," I stammered, my voice tripping over itself. "Just... eager to get to my next class."

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "Really? Because you look like you just escaped a dragon attack in those robes."

"I-I really have to go," I mumbled again, yanking my arm free from Matteo's grasp.

Before he could say another word, I bolted. I sprinted down the hallway, robes billowing behind me, desperate to put as much distance as possible between me, Theo.

The thoughts I harbored about Theo, well, they were borderline scandalous – even for the often-unconventional wizarding world. Wet dreams were a daily torment, a vivid tapestry woven with stolen glances and the memory of his low chuckle. Even the most mundane tasks became infused with Theo. Daydreams, unwelcome and potent, hijacked my mind, filling it with images of his strong arms wrapped around me, the feel of his warm skin against mine, and those lips... oh Merlin, his lips. The very thought of them sent a jolt through me, leaving me breathless and yearning.

It was a full-blown obsession. Every interaction, every stolen glance, was a spark that ignited a wildfire within me. I envisioned stolen touches, whispered secrets, a clandestine world where it was just us. These "visions," as I'd begun calling them, were both exhilarating and terrifying. Had I lost my mind?

Looking at him was like staring into the sun – an act both beautiful and blinding. I craved his attention, yet recoiled from it in equal measure, afraid of what it might reveal – both about him and the depth of my own desires.

The moment I reached the solitude of my dorm room, I threw myself onto my bed, burying my face in the soft pillow. It was just me and the storm raging within. Seeking a semblance of control, I reached for my most trusted companion – my sketchbook. Flipping to a blank page, I did what had become a nightly ritual: I drew Theo.

His face materialized on the page with practiced ease – the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his eyebrows quirked slightly when he was amused, the intensity of his gaze that seemed to pierce right through me. Each stroke was infused with a longing so deep it ached. As I added the final details, a desperate thought crossed my mind – what if, somehow, magically, drawing him like this would bring him closer? A ridiculous notion, even for a witch like me. But a girl can dream, right?

The drawing complete, I flipped back through the pages, revisiting the countless iterations of Theo that filled my sketchbook. Each one a silent testament to my growing obsession. A pang of guilt stabbed at me as I traced the outline of his lips in one particular sketch. Here I was, feeling like I'd committed a sin, when in reality, our interactions hadn't even reached the stage of a stolen touch.

A frustrated groan escaped my lips. This was madness. Yet, as I drifted off to sleep that night, the sketchbook remained tucked under my pillow, a silent guardian of my unrequited affection.

The next day, the weight of my secret world pressed down on me like a lead blanket.

My usual bubbly demeanor was replaced by a forced smile and a dull ache in my chest. The boys exchanged worried glances, their questions a constant reminder of the truth I couldn't share.

Mumbling an unconvincing excuse about feeling unwell, I escaped the classroom the moment the bell rang, desperate for some fresh air and a moment of solitude.

Once I was finally away from everyone I grabbed my bag, then it happened, panic clawed at my throat as I realized my sketchbook was missing.

I scoured my bag again, desperately searching every compartment, but it was nowhere to be found. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I carried that sketchbook everywhere, afraid of someone stumbling upon my secret world.

Fear morphed into a cold dread as I retraced my steps, hoping it had simply fallen out of my bag somewhere.

The thought of someone, anyone, seeing my drawings, especially Theo… the very notion sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through me.

I retraced my steps, combing through the classroom once more, a desperate hope clinging to the edges of my despair. But it was futile. The sketchbook was nowhere to be found. My mind raced, picturing prying eyes and whispered secrets. This was a disaster.

Just then, a familiar voice cut through the rising tide of panic. "Searching for something, Y/L/N?"

I spun around so fast I nearly toppled over, my eyes widening as they landed on Theo. A self-assured smirk played on his lips, and in his hand, he dangled my precious sketchbook.

"Theo!" I gasped, the sound strangled and desperate. My cheeks burned with a mixture of mortification and a strange, exhilarating thrill.

Instead of listening to my frantic plea, he held the sketchbook just out of reach, the amusement in his eyes deepening. "Such beautiful secrets you keep hidden, Love."

The blood drained from my face. "Give it back to me, Theodore," I demanded, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands.

He chuckled, a low, beautiful sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Not so fast, love. Perhaps there's something in here that warrants a little… negotiation."

Frustration bubbled up inside me. I lunged for the sketchbook, my fingers brushing against his hand. But he easily outmatched me, holding it high above my head. The height difference was agonizing.

"Give it back!" I hissed, my voice laced with desperation.

A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with something I couldn't decipher. Then, before I could react, his other hand shot out, landing firmly on my waist.

A gasp escaped my lips as a jolt of electricity shot through me at his touch. He used the momentum to pull me closer, turning us around so that my back slammed against the cool surface of the empty classroom door my eyes widened when he locked it. My breath hitched in my throat as his warm body pressed against mine.

His face was inches from mine, his breath tickling my ear. "Now," he murmured, his voice a husky rumble that sent a delicious shiver down my spine, "Care to explain what is it about?”

"No "I say "Just give it back!"

Instead of replying, he pulled away, placing the sketchbook on a nearby table with a soft thud. I made a move to grab it, but he was faster. With a single, smooth motion, he used one hand to capture both of mine, pinning them above my head against the cold, unforgiving surface of the door.

His touch sent a jolt through me, a current that both terrified and excited me. His gaze was intense, boring into mine, and suddenly his earlier amusement was replaced by something else entirely.

"So," he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

"you just decided to ignore my entire existence? The social butterfly with all her friends, suddenly giving me the cold shoulder or vanishing into thin air whenever I'm around. Then I find out you've been drawing me… like a hundred times? Which by the way I'm not complaining about but— ," he added, "but seriously, Y/N, what have I done that you can't bear to stay in the same room with me for a minute?"

His words hit me like a physical blow. Shame burned through me, hot and fierce. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely a choked sob, my eyes desperately seeking the floor.

"Look at me, love," he commanded, a gentle firmness in his voice.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his. His face was unreadable, a mixture of concern and something else – something that made my heart skip a beat.

"Good girl," he murmured, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Now, say it. What have I done to make you hate me that much?"

"It's the opposite," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. The words tumbled out before I could stop them, fueled by a desperate need for him to understand. "I like you, Theo. A lot. Those feelings… they're so intense, so confusing, and I just don't know how to act around you. I see you and I freak out. I can't breathe, my heart races and then those unholy thoes…" My voice cracked, and tears welled up in my eyes.

He leaned closer, his hand brushing a stray tear from my cheek. "Breathe, my love," he whispered, his voice gentle, his touch sending sparks dancing across my skin. "Breathe."

I did, taking a shaky breath, closing my eyes as his face came closer. His touch was everywhere – on my cheek, my neck, his warm breath against my lips. "Are you mad?" I whispered, barely audible.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Quite the opposite," he murmured, his lips brushing mine with a feather-light touch. Then, in one swift movement, he closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both electrifying and grounding.

His hands gripped my hips, lifting me off the floor effortlessly. I gasped as I looked into his eyes, seeing the raw desire burning within them. "You smell so good," he murmured, his lips finding my neck. His stubble tickled my sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"You know those thoughts you talked about," he continued, placing soft kisses along my jawline. "I have similar thoughts too."

I moaned as he sucked on my earlobe, my head falling back to give him more access. His lips moved down to my neck, his tongue tracing a path along my collarbone.

His hands tightened on my hips, and I could feel his erection pressing against me. I couldn't help but grind against him, feeling his length rub against my clit through our clothes.

"I want to leave marks on your skin, so everyone knows you're mine," Theo growled, his lips moving down to my neck. His tongue traced a path along my collarbone, and I shivered with delight.

"Yours?" I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, baby. Mine. And those fuckers need to know this," he said, I couldn't help but smile. I knew they had been teasing him for how I had been ignoring him.

His lips traced a path along my collarbone, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I shivered with delight as his hand gripped my hair, pulling me to him he looked at my eyes for a second then kissed me. His lips were soft and eager, and I couldn't help but respond.

He turned me around his head on my shoulder "Tell me your deepest fantasy. I'll make it a reality for you,"

His hands went inside my skirt, and I felt his fingers on my thighs. "Can I touch you?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. I nodded, my breath hitching in my throat.

“ oh Merlin “ I say my whole body shaking his finger rubbing circles on my clit fast then slow making me losing my mind

“ not Merlin baby me say my name, do i make you feel good ? “ he say in my ear

“ yes Theo oh yes you do “ I say my body still shaking .

"Do you want me to be rough with you, or gentle?" He asked, his finger sliding inside me. I gasped, holding onto his arms for support.

"No one has touched you like this before, baby?" He asked. I shook my head, unable to trust myself to respond without screaming.

"Good, and no one else will," He said, his fingers moving inside me. I felt myself getting closer to the edge, my whole body tensing up.

"I love how you arch your back when I do this. You're so responsive," He said, his fingers moving faster inside me. I screamed, my whole body shaking with pleasure.

He put his hand over my mouth, muffling my cries "Shhh” He said, his voice soothing.

I felt it happening. My whole body shook, and if not for his strong arm around me, I would have fallen. I screamed with his hand still on my mouth. I came for the first time in my life, and oh lord, it felt like heaven.

"You did so good for me, baby. So good."

Put his fingers in his mouth, savoring my taste. "I love the way you taste, the way you smell. You're like a drug to me,".

He picked me up, setting me on the desk. pushed the books and papers aside, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he pulled me to the edge of the desk, his hands on my thighs.

"Is this like your fantasies?".

"No," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "It’s much better."

His lips were on my inner thighs in an instant, his tongue tracing a path up to my panties. He pulled them down, his fingers grazing my skin. My breath came in short gasps.

"Do you want me to use my fingers or my tongue? Or maybe both?"

His tongue found my clit, and I moaned as he licked and sucked, his fingers exploring my wet folds. I grabbed onto the edge of the desk, my legs shaking.

Theo pulled back, his eyes meeting mine. He reached for a pen on the desk, pulling it towards him. wrote "mine" on my inner thigh, his eyes locked on mine.

His fingers slid back inside me. I moaned again, my hips bucking against his hand.

His tongue found my clit once again , and I moaned louder this time. He sucked and licked, his fingers moving inside me in a steady rhythm. I could feel my orgasm building for the second time.

"Oh, Theo," I moaned, my hips bucking against his hand.

He moved his fingers faster, his tongue lashing against my clit. I cried out as my orgasm crashed over me again.

He pulled away, making his way up to kiss me. I was shaking in his arms, but he wrapped them around me, making me feel safe and comfortable.

As I trembled in his arms, He held me close, his embrace warm and comforting. He gently brushed my hair away from my face, kissing my forehead tenderly.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice full of admiration and love.

I rested my head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The intensity of the moment began to fade, replaced by a soft, soothing calm. Theo's hands traced gentle circles on my back, his touch reassuring and tender.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern evident in his eyes.

I nodded, feeling a smile tug at my lips. "I'm more than okay. Thank you."

He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Theo, I need to tell you something,” I said, my fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

He looked at me with those deep, caring eyes, waiting patiently.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I don’t mean to scare you with it now, but I’ve been holding it to myself for too long and I wanted you to know.”

A smile spread across his face, and he leaned in to kiss me softly, his lips curing my words. “You don’t have to anymore,” he said, his voice a soothing balm to my fears. He looked into my eyes, his expression sincere. “I love you, and I will prove it to you every single day.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, not of sadness, but of overwhelming relief and happiness. “Promise you won’t hurt me?” I asked, my voice small and vulnerable.

“Never, baby,” he said, pulling me closer. “I promise. I will never hurt you. I’ll always be here for you.”

I buried my face in his chest, letting his warmth and words envelop me, my gaze wandered to the ink on my thigh. The word "mine" stood out boldly, a possessive claim that made me giggle despite the seriousness of everything that had just happened.

Theo noticed and raised an eyebrow. "What’s so funny?" he asked, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

I pointed to the makeshift tattoo. “This. ‘Mine.’ You really went all out, didn’t you?”

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You bet I did. I had to make sure those fuckers know you’re off limits from now on.”

I laughed, “Oh, I’m sure they’ll get the message loud and clear.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it's your senior year at the aerospace academy, and over the course of nine months, your connection with caleb shifts from mere classmates and acquaintances to something deeper. but there's one problem—the girl he loves back home.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, non-mc reader, feminine implied reader, some connections to caleb’s 4-star tender moments, angst/hurt + no comfort, kinda long but fast paced

★ 𝐰𝐜: 11.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: longest fic i've written yet, go me woot woot :p i wanted to write heartbreak so here it is. pls do not have your therapist bill me, thx! anyways when caleb goes, ‘i wont get a girlfriend’ in stage observer, he sounds kinda down, right? yeah imagine hes thinking about you (the reader) in this as he says that LOL. okay, (try to) enjoy lovelies!! <3

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝!

I never believed I’d let something like this happen to me. 

Yet it crept in quietly, the way all irreversible things do. A shift so subtle I almost missed it, until I was already too deep to turn back.

It was in the lingering glances, in the way the air felt charged in the spaces between us. In the laughter that came too easily, the silences that felt safe, the moments that stretched just a little too long. It was in the way he looked at me; like maybe, for a second, he saw something more.

But love, if you can call it that, isn’t always kind. Sometimes, it’s a quiet war. A battle between logic and longing, between what’s real and what’s only ever been wishful thinking. And when the person you want is still holding onto someone else, someone they can’t seem to let go of, where does that leave you?

I swore I’d keep my balance; though gravity has a mind of its own.

August-

It was breezy, as are most August days in Skyhaven. Fumbling my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to comb through any loose strands from the wind, I tried to make myself look somewhat presentable for my first day of classes. It was senior year, and I wanted to make the most of it for once, as it felt like the past few years had been me barely passing by. 

I sat down in the lecture hall, music blaring through my headphones as I fidgeted nervously with the pen in my hand. It wasn’t long before a figure sat next to me in my peripheral, and I internally groaned.

‘You have this whole ass lecture hall with so many empty seats in this row, and you sit right next to me. Dick.’ I thought to myself.

Seeing the person tap on my desk, I glanced over to notice it was Caleb.

We had crossed paths before, orbiting the same social circles through mutual friends. Our interactions had been fleeting, exchanged pleasantries at gatherings or brief moments of conversation that never really dug beneath the surface.

His lips moved as he spoke but I didn’t hear a word he said over the sound of my music. I pulled one of the speakers off my ear, “What?”

“Well first I said ‘hey, what's up?’, then told you I’m glad to know someone in this class.” Caleb smiled, “But then I realized you weren’t listening.”

His grin was infectious. Then again, everything about him was. Caleb was a campus favorite, and for good reason; his effortless charm and magnetic charisma drew everyone in, leaving them captivated.

I smiled back, “I would’ve listened, I just couldn’t hear you.”

“Shoulda tapped you sooner then.”

We talked as more people trickled in, and conversation with him flowed effortlessly. He was almost unfairly likable, the kind of person who won people over without even trying, it was no wonder he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“Yeah, I failed this class the first time around, so if I want to graduate this spring, I have to finally retake it,” Caleb sighed, shaking his head. “The Caleb failed a class? No way…” Gasping, I clutched my chest in mock shock. “I had no idea you were even capable of failure, Mr. Perfect.”

His lips twitched into a smile at the nickname, but his eyes betrayed him. He shrugged, “Well, I can do it this time around.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I totally didn’t realize I needed this credit.” I poked his hand resting on his desk with my pen, “We’re in this together.”

The professor was about halfway through the syllabus when Caleb started writing on my notebook. 

Do you have class after this?

I looked over at him, mouthing “No”. Not for a few hours, I wrote back. 

Hangout with me after this then

And that’s how I ended up sitting in the quad with Caleb, with the itchy grass prickling my legs and a sweating can of soda in my hand beneath the warm August sun. Yet Caleb’s presence was still warmer; my cheeks and stomach hurt from laughter, and every giggle of mine only fueled the fire of his jokes. 

As the laughter died down, Caleb leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky. “Man, I forgot how nice it is to just sit around like this on campus. No deadlines yet, no stress… just kinda existing.”

I took a sip of my soda, nudging his knee with mine. “You make it sound like you’re constantly suffering.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe a little. Gotta keep up the ‘Mr. Perfect’ image, right?”

I tilted my head, studying him. For a second, he looked almost… tired. Like there was more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how.

“You know you don’t have to be perfect all the time, right?” I said, softer now. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to breathe.”

He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or relief. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned. “Good to know I’ve got my personal cheerleader.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “More like your reality check.”

“Even better.” He bumped his shoulder against mine, before laying down on the ground. The sunlight hit his eyes just right, making them glimmer like polished amethyst. With his brown hair tousled against the grass and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin, it wasn’t hard to see why all the girls fawned over him. When it came to looks, Caleb really did live up to the whole Mr. Perfect thing.

“What about you?” Caleb glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your kryptonite?”

I raised a brow. “Come again?”

He smirked. “Your weakness. What takes you down every time?”

I pretended to think it over, then shot him a cheeky grin. “Probably failure.”

Caleb let out a soft laugh, propping his head up on his elbow. “Alright, I’m sensing some hypocrisy here.”

“It’s not hypocrisy,” I defended, shrugging. “I just fail to take my own advice.”

He tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. “Mm, no, that just makes you a hypocrite. But hey, at least you’re self-aware, Miss perfect.”

Something between us just clicked, that unspoken feeling when you know you’re going to get along with someone. Nothing about our conversation felt forced, it unfolded with an ease that caught us both off guard. I don’t think either of us saw this coming, but somehow, it just made sense.

And so it continued; messing around with Caleb in class, then hanging out in the quad afterward. Our dynamic quickly shifted from casual acquaintances to good friends as our connection bled beyond the classroom. The progression was almost rapid; natural, but undeniable.

Conversations with him came naturally, filled with dry humor, shared ambition, and the kind of unspoken understanding that made being around each other feel easy. We started saving seats for each other without thinking, sharing notes even when we both knew we hadn’t written anything useful, and lingering just a little longer after class, stretching out the moments before we had to part ways.

Afternoons in the quad turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into late-night study sessions that often had more laughing than actual studying. It wasn’t just that we got along; we started to seek each other out, gravitating toward one another like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

It wasn’t just about sharing space; it was about the way we easily fit into each other’s lives like we had always been meant to.

I found myself opening up in ways I never had before, trusting Caleb with thoughts I usually kept locked away. And in return, he let me see past the carefully constructed walls he had built. 

I learned a lot about Caleb in our time spent together; I learned about his dreams and aspirations, his worries and fears, his home back in Linkon and how much of it still clung to him.

And her.

I learned about her.

MC; the kind of nickname all the cool girls had, lifted from their initials like it had always belonged to them. She was innocent, pretty, just the right balance of book-smart and blissfully unaware. The kind of girl who never had to try too hard because the world seemed to bend in her favor. She was perfect in that way, and maybe that’s why Caleb felt like he had to be perfect, too.

She had been his childhood friend, raised alongside him by his gran, their lives tangled together like roots beneath the same old house.

“She’s your sister?” I had asked, unsure of the dynamic.

Caleb hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. “No,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Not really. We just grew up together.”

She was everything to him, the quiet force that shaped him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. Everything he did, every careful step he took, was in her image. And suddenly, it all made sense.

The way Caleb kept people at arm’s length, the reason he didn’t have many real friends at the Academy. It wasn't because he didn’t want them, it was because a part of him was still anchored somewhere else; belonged to someone else.

Once, we had sat on the steps outside one of the buildings, his elbows on his knees, staring out at nothing in particular.

“You never really let people in.” I looked over at him, my statement coming out of nowhere.

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Was it that obvious?”

“I didn’t get it back then. Thought maybe you just had too many friends to be really close with any of them.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t that,” he admitted. “I just… I already had MC. Growing up the way we did, it was always just us. I guess I never really learned how to need anyone else.”

I glanced at him, but his eyes stayed on the horizon, lost in something I couldn’t see.

“You still do that, you know,” I said. “Keep people just enough away.”

He swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Some habits don’t go away easy.”

“So why am I an exception?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because you didn’t try to push your way in. You just… stayed.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

He shook his head, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. It’s more than that.” He glanced at me then, something raw in his eyes. “You just understand the way I think, and nobody has before.”

A silence stretched between us, thick with things neither of us knew how to say.

“You make it sound like some big thing,” I murmured. “Like I did something special.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “Maybe you did.”

His words awakened something in me, an ache settling in my chest. A quiet, gnawing feeling that signaled the start of an internal war; one I never really meant to step into, but quickly became hard to ignore. A silent competition I didn’t sign up for, but suddenly felt compelled to win. 

It wasn’t against MC, not even Caleb himself.

But against the undeniable truth that no matter how close we got, I may never be the one he chooses.

September-

I barely notice the shift at first; the way August hands things off to September, smooth and effortless, like they’ve done this a million times before. Like they were always meant to meet. It feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, like stepping into a conversation that’s already halfway finished but somehow still knowing exactly what’s being said. 

Things with Caleb had settled into a familiar rhythm. On campus, we were either together or in class, our days stitched together by shared moments. Being with him was refreshing, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, a quiet promise that brighter days were ahead. Silence with him was never awkward; it was understood. He always seemed to know what I was thinking, what I meant to say, even when I didn’t say it aloud.

I’d known Caleb for a while, but the way we grew close so quickly felt natural, like we’d been moving toward this all along. It was as if there had always been a space in my mind shaped just for him, waiting for the right moment for him to step in.

The cloudy sky above turned dark with the impending storm coming, but in a rush to meet Caleb, I had hardly noticed until I was halfway to his dorm. Cursing to myself, I silently tried to manifest the rain would hold off until I got back to my own dorm later. 

It was movie day; every Friday afternoon after Caleb and I finished with our classes for the day we would have lunch and watch a movie. He was on hosting duty this week, and his dorm was on the other side of campus. If I got caught in this rain, I’d still have a bit of a walk in the storm before I arrived. 

Almost as if laughing at me, the sky cracked with lightning and thunder rumbled, and I heard the pouring of rain before I felt it.

“Shit!” I picked up the pace, my sneakers splashing through puddles forming on the sidewalks as I started to run. Thunder booming in the sky, I mentally prepared to get struck by lightning and hoped I would be eaten by the campus birds before anyone found my body. 

Trying to take a shortcut through the grass was the worst decision I could have made, as I wasn’t even two feet from the sidewalk before I slipped, landing on my back and getting waterboarded by the sky. “Argh!” I screeched, tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes. I sat up, glaring at the students staring at me as they passed by with their umbrellas. 

My whole body was drenched by the time I was outside of Caleb’s; my hair, jeans, and sweater caked with mud (and probably a few stray leaves). 

Making my way upstairs, my cheeks were pink from the cold and embarrassment as everyone in the building looked at me with confusion as my clothes and hair dripped all over the floor. 

Caleb swung the door open before I could knock, something he’d do as he watched for me through the peephole in his door. Looking me up and down, the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he coughed, stifling a laugh.

He leaned against his door frame, “What happened here?”

“Shut up.” I pushed past him, annoyed but a bit guilty as I continued to drip all over his floor.

“You look like a sad wet cat,” Caleb patted my wet hair, frowning when he saw I was shivering, “a cold, sad wet cat.”

He started to rummage around the room, going through his drawers and closet, pulling out clothes. Tossing them at me, he pointed to the bathroom, “Go shower, I don’t want you all soppin’ wet on my stuff.”

I glanced at the clothes he handed me; hoodie, sweatpants…his boxers? 

“Um, Caleb-”

He shook his head, “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

Pursing my lips together I nodded, heading into the bathroom. I called out to him, “Caleb, do you have a towel?” 

“Just use the one in there.”

Okay, we were close, but I wasn’t aware we had crossed into this land.

Peeling my clothes from my body, I threw them into a pile in the corner. I nearly moaned when the hot water hit my skin, and basked in the feeling for a bit. I stared at Caleb’s shampoo and body wash, conflicted on if I should actually use them or just try to rinse myself off the best I could.

Feeling the mud and tangles in my hair, I accepted defeat.

By the time I was done, clad in Caleb’s warm clothes with every inch of me smelling like him, it felt like he was smothering me. Like I was enveloped in one of his bear hugs.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I felt my heart jump a bit. There was something about wearing a boy’s clothes as is, but Caleb’s clothes? 

A bit ago, I had felt the shift before I could name it. 

It’s in the way my eyes flick to my phone more often than before, in the way my chest tightens, just a little, when his name lights up my screen. It’s in the way my pulse stirs when I spot him at our usual spot in the library, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d show up (and he always did). 

And maybe that’s what unsettles me the most, not just that I notice these things, but that a part of me already expects them. Like I’ve been pavloved.

It was ignorable at first, but it’s become this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. A tugging at my heart. It’s annoying, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear that’s too quick for me to smack it away.

The feeling that I didn’t want to just be friends anymore.

Coming out of the bathroom, Caleb was already sitting on the floor in front of his bed with two cups of tea and food, and my mouth watered when I saw he made my favorite.

He smiled at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You look pretty good in those.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re just saying that because I look like you.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Caleb nodded toward the bathroom. “Your hair’s still wet. Grab the towel.”

“It’s fine,” I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You already got caught in the rain once. Stay damp any longer, and you’ll catch a cold.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “And I can’t be left alone in class. That’d be tragic.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel, grabbed the towel, and tossed it at him. “Right, of course. That’s all I am to you, entertainment in class.”

“For sure,” he said smoothly, catching the towel with ease. “Now sit.”

I sat beside him, reaching for the towel, but before I could take it, his hands found my shoulders, gently turning me away. I barely had time to protest before he took the towel himself, carefully running it through my damp hair.

“Caleb, I can do it myself—” I started, trying to shift back, but his grip was steady.

“Shush,” he murmured. “Let me help.”

I could have argued, but the warmth of his touch, the slow, deliberate way he moved, made it impossible to resist. My shoulders relaxed as he worked, the soft scratch of the towel against my scalp lulling me into stillness. Silence settled between us, easy and unspoken, the only sound the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the window. It was peaceful, grounding. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, let myself be cared for.

Before long Caleb tugged on a strand of my hair, “Okay, done.”

“Thank you” I pinched his cheek, his lips curved upwards and his eyes went soft.

“Now, what should we watch?”

“Nothing crazy, I don’t think my brain can function right now after today.”

Caleb laughed, flicking through the movies, before settling on some random cartoon. I sighed dramatically when I took a bite of the food he made, “Caleb, you’ve outdone yourself yet again.”

He looked at me mischievously before stealing a bite, and I punched his shoulder, “You have your own!”

His phone lit up and I saw the name, looking away as he picked it up to respond to the incoming texts.

MC.

A wedge of jealousy crept up my throat. It was our movie time, and here she was, almost on cue.

I always listen—really listen—when he talks about her. About how much she means to him, how she’s one of the only constants in his life. And it stings, sharper than I expect, because I want to be that constant. I don’t say it, of course. Instead, I throw myself deeper into the friendship, as if proving my place will make it true.

I laugh at his jokes a little too hard. Memorize the way he takes his coffee without meaning to. Notice the small things that make him tick, the way his expression shifts when he’s lost in thought, the songs he hums under his breath.

The internal competition I created against her wasn’t intentional, but once I noticed it, everything about it became hard to unsee.

He sets his phone down just as quickly as he picked it up, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry, MC just had a question about something.”

‘That stupid question could’ve waited’, I think, irritation curling in my chest. But I shove it down, nudging his shoulder with a forced smile. “S’alright. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He settles back into the movie, but I barely hear it now. The feeling of her lingers, clinging to the space between us, and I try to shake it off.

His presence beside me soothes the sting, like a bandage over a wound, and I start to loosen up, letting my head rest against the bed. The warmth of his clothes, the comfort of a full stomach, the quiet rhythm of rain against the window; it all starts to pull me under, drowsiness settling into my bones. My eyelids grow heavy, and I barely register the way Caleb shifts beside me.

“Sleepy?” His voice is soft, almost amused.

I peek one eye open, managing a lazy smile. “A bit.”

Without a word, he moves closer, wrapping an arm around the back of my neck. His hand finds the side of my head, cradling it gently as he guides me to rest against his shoulder. The touch is careful, deliberate, something more than our usual play punches and casual grabs in a crowd. This is different. More intimate.

For a moment, I forgot about the competition. Because my head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and the slow, absentminded way his fingers trace shapes on my shoulder feels so easy, so natural. He watches the TV like this is nothing new, like having me this close is just the way things are meant to be. And for the first time I let myself believe, just for a second, that maybe he feels the same way about me too.

October-

There's a charge in the air alongside the change in leaves, a quiet pull I feel every time Caleb leans in a little too close or looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.

But then, there’s her.

She’s not here, but she is. Always lingering in the pauses between sentences, in the spaces Caleb leaves open without realizing it. She’s in the way his face softens when he says her name, in the light that sparks behind his eyes when he talks about her. And I hate how it makes me feel; petty, ridiculous, like I’ve stumbled into a battle I was never meant to fight.

I just can’t shake it.

Because lately, there’s been something else. An even bigger shift, subtle, but impossible to ignore. The way his hand lingers a beat too long when he passes me something, like he’s reluctant to let go. The way his gaze finds me, even in a crowded room, like I’m the only person worth looking at. The late-night texts, filled with thoughts that could have waited but never do.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see. But a part of me, deep down, knows he feels this too.

My phone began to ring as I was getting ready for the Senior Gala the Academy holds every year for those graduating in the spring. 

“Yes?” I already know who it is without looking.

Caleb’s voice drifts through the speaker, soft and warm. “Are you almost ready, honey?” The pet name catches me off guard, a shy smile pulling at my lips before I can stop it. He’d started using it recently, and I hadn’t dared to question it out of the fear it would stop.

He was my date tonight (as friends of course), and I was running a little behind.

“I still have to finish my makeup, do my hair, and put on my dress,” I groaned in frustration, “I’m sorry Caleb, I’m trying to go as fast as I can.”

He laughs sweetly, “Well, I’m almost there. I can help you out.”

“Help me…?”

“Yep, Captain Caleb is gonna be there to save the night. See you soon!”

The phone clicks before I can respond, and not a moment later, Caleb is strolling through my door like he owns the place. 

I turned to face him, and my breath caught in my throat. His suit was a deep navy that matched my dress, the rich fabric adorned with his pilot and aviator pins. His hair, tousled yet intentional, framed a face that always felt like home. Caleb stood there composed, sharp but still him; and there was something about the way the badges gleamed against his chest that nearly brought me to my knees.

His gaze sweeps over my desk, taking in the chaos of makeup scattered around, before pausing on my curling iron.

“Is this plugged in?” He picks it up, inspecting it.

“Caleb, you are not putting that anywhere near my head.” I instinctively flinch as he reaches for a lock of my hair.

But he’s quick, his hand firmly grasping the top of my head, holding it still. “I always helped MC with her hair. I know my way around a curling iron.”

The words land harder than he meant, and I can’t help but squint at him, a frown tugging at my lips. He misreads it, thinking I’m questioning him, and gives me a serious look.

“Trust me here.”

I let the assumption hang in the air, letting him believe my discontent is just doubt. I sigh, giving in, “Alright, but if you make me look bad for my Senior Gala, I will hate you forever.”

He starts to section my hair and I raise my brows in approval, ‘Okay, yeah,’ I think, ‘Maybe he does have this’.

Caleb’s touch is gentle as I apply my mascara and lipstick, careful not to mess me up, his hands steady as he moves around me. It doesn’t take long before he pulls back, setting the curling iron down as I finish up with the last touches of my makeup.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” His hands rest on my shoulders as he leans down, chin lightly resting on the top of my head, both of us watching our reflection in the mirror.

I tilt my head, inspecting my hair with a playful smile, running my fingers through a few strands. “I suppose you did an okay job.”

He pinches the bridge of my nose, a mock scowl crossing his face. Laughing, I stand up, reaching for my dress hanging in the closet.

I headed to the bathroom, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I slipped the dress on, the blue silk molding to my body, the delicate sleeves draping off my shoulders. It was beautiful, I was beautiful; but as I caught my reflection, doubt crept in. Would I look out of place next to Caleb? He was all polished perfection, and I was just… me. Not bad, but not him.

She would look perfect beside him.

‘No.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’m Caleb’s date tonight, not her. He could have asked her, but he didn’t. He chose me. It’s just us.’

Fumbling with the zipper, I let out a frustrated breath before finally pulling the door open. “Caleb, can you help me with this?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening as a flush crept up his cheeks. “Of course.”

Caleb stepped forward, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed against my back. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cool fabric clinging to my skin. Gently, he gathered the dress, his knuckles ghosting along my spine as he found the zipper.

I held my breath.

Slowly, he pulled it up, the quiet sound of the zipper filling the space between us. With each inch, his fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of my back, sending shivers down my arms. My skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve was tuned to him and him alone.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away. Instead, his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place. His breath was warm against my shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, as if caught in some silent battle with himself. The air between us was thick, charged, pulling me toward him.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely steady.

His hand lingered for just a second longer before he finally let go, stepping back, but not too far. Not far at all.

I turned around slowly, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. His eyes traced the length of me, starting at the hem of my dress and lingering as they traveled upward, taking in every detail before finally meeting mine.

Caleb swallowed, his lips parting slightly as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, as if shaken from a spell, he smiled—soft, almost bashful.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice was quiet, reverent, like he wasn’t just saying it, but feeling it. Like the words weren’t enough to capture what he saw.

Warmth spread through me, creeping up my neck, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I’d spent so much time wondering if I looked right beside him, if I fit; but now, standing here, bathed in the glow of his gaze, I didn’t feel out of place.

I felt chosen.

“Hold your compliments until you’ve seen the whole look,” I teased, holding up a finger to silence him. “I still need to put on my shoes and pins.”

Caleb smirked. “Need help with those too?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I can manage strapping on my own heels and pinning a badge to my dress, thanks.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He plucked my heels off the dresser, twirling them lazily around his finger, his gaze practically daring me to challenge him.

I huffed but gave in, sinking into my chair. “Fine.”

Caleb knelt in front of me, his fingers warm as they wrapped around my ankle, steady but gentle as if I were something delicate. He slipped the first shoe on, fastening the strap with practiced ease.

“I can do most things myself, y’know,” I muttered, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

“I know.” His fingers lingered against my skin for a fraction too long before he reached for the second shoe. “I just like to be helpful.”

But he still wouldn’t look at me when he said it, and something about the way his voice softened made me think he wasn’t just talking about shoes.

I stood as he finished, reaching for my pins amidst the clutter of my desk and fastening them carefully over my heart. Turning to the mirror, I shifted from side to side, checking every angle, making sure everything was just right.

I glanced back at Caleb. “Are you sure I look okay?”

Without hesitation, he took my hand and lifted it into the air. “Twirl. Let me see.”

I spun for him, the silk of my dress catching the light, and when I turned back, there was something bright in his eyes, something warm, something real.

“You look more than okay,” he said, voice sure with conviction. “I promise.”

I held out my pinky. “Pinky promise?”

He grinned, hooking his finger around mine. “Pinky promise.”

“Lock it,” I reminded him, and he chuckled before pressing his thumb against mine, sealing the deal.

His fingers lingered for a second before he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now come on, we’re definitely going to be late.”

When we arrived at the gala, it didn’t take long for Caleb to be swept away by a group of guys he often talked to. I lingered around, exchanging polite small talk with a few people I still considered friends. I didn’t see them much anymore, as most of my time was spent with Caleb.

“So, are you two dating?” one of the girls asked, tilting her head. “I thought he was seeing that girl from his hometown… What was her name again?”

“MC.” I said, a little too quickly.

“Right, that’s the one.”

I forced a smile. “No, we’re just good friends.”

But even as I said it, my gaze drifted to where he stood, laughing easily with his own friends, his posture loose and carefree. A quiet ache settled in my chest.

I wanted to be next to him.

But then again, I was; just not in the way they all saw. I knew him in moments no one else did, in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the unspoken gestures and late-night confessions.

And for now, that was enough. It had to be.

I excused myself from the conversation, weaving through the crowd until I reached one of the drink tables. Grabbing a glass, I slipped into the quieter halls, letting the hum of conversation and music fade behind me. The walls were lined with grand, extravagant paintings, each one demanding attention. I paused in front of a few, sipping my drink as I took them in, letting my mind settle.

I wasn’t antisocial, I could hold my own in a room full of people, I just needed a break from the carefully choreographed chaos of the ballroom. 

The rhythmic click of shoes against marble echoed through the quiet hallway, followed by a familiar, soft laugh.

“How did I know I’d find you out here?”

I hummed against the rim of my glass. “Maybe because you can read my mind.”

Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes I wish I could.” Then, extending his hand toward me, he asked, “Dance with me?”

I glanced at his outstretched palm. “Out here?”

He tilted his head playfully. “Well, my possible mind-reading powers tell me you’d rather not go back in there.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I laced my fingers with his. “I think you might be psychic.”

The distant music from the ballroom barely reached us, muffled and softened by the grand halls, but somehow, that only made the moment feel more intimate. Caleb’s hands found my waist, warm and steady, while mine slipped around the back of his neck.

He guided us into a slow, easy rhythm. I rested my head just below his chin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his suit.

We moved without words; his breath against my hair was the only thing I could focus on, like everything else had paused around us.

The world outside the two of us faded, the grand chandelier lights dimming, the chatter and laughter of the crowd becoming a distant murmur. All that remained was the softness of the moment, our steps in sync, and the quiet, unspoken connection between us.

I could feel his thumb tracing gentle patterns against my back, the touch soft in a way that wasn’t rushed. There was no need to hurry, no need to speak. We simply existed in this space, suspended between the melody and the quiet.

His fingers moved up to brush a lock of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender, almost shy. I looked up at him, and his eyes held mine, reassuring.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned in a little closer, savoring the rhythm of our slow dance, the feeling of him holding me like this, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at all.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Caleb tapped my shoulder lightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel suddenly too wide. It wasn’t much, but the shift left a coldness in the air, and I immediately wanted to fall back into him.

“Where are you thinking?” I asked.

He pointed toward the window. “There’s a park across the street. We could go there. Away from all… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if the chaos of the gala was still buzzing around us.

I nodded without hesitation, and soon we found ourselves at the park, sitting on an old, rusty swing set. The contrast was stark; our lavish clothes against the worn, weathered metal, but I didn’t care. My dress snagged on the rust as I sat down, but I was too lost in the quiet to be bothered by it. All I wanted was this moment, the stillness, just the two of us away from everything else.

The night air wrapped around us, cool and still, with only the rhythmic creak of the swings and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees breaking the silence. It felt like we existed in a world separate from everything else, suspended in something fragile, something fleeting.

Caleb leaned back against the chain of his swing, his fingers gripping the metal tightly as he looked at me again. That look—like he could see through me, past all the walls I tried so hard to keep up. My pulse hammered in my chest under his gaze.

“You ever feel like… you don’t know where you stand with someone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “Yeah,” he said quietly, but with a certainty that made my stomach twist. “All the time.”

For a second, just a fleeting, breathless second; I wondered if he meant me.

I forced a smile, trying to ease the tension hanging between us. I nudged my swing into his, making it sway slightly. “You have a really good sense of self-restraint,” I teased, the words a shield to keep myself from feeling too much. “It’s almost a talent.”

His lips curved, but it was thin, hollow—there was something sad in it. “Is that a bad thing?”

I tilted my head, watching him. “No… well, maybe. Sometimes, I guess. I think you have a habit of depriving yourself of what you really want.”

Caleb looked down, his boot dragging against the dirt beneath him. “What if I can’t have what I want?” His voice was rougher now, lower. “What if it’s not allowed?”

I reached forward, gripping the chain of his swing, giving it a slight shake to bring his eyes back to mine. “If it’s within your reach, it’s legal, and you’re not hurting anyone, I don’t see a problem.” My breath hitched, and my chest tightened as I spoke. “If I had to guess, you’re trying to convince yourself you can’t have something.”

His exhale was shaky, and a bitter laugh barely escaped him. “Maybe, yeah.”

I saw it then—the decision in his eyes, the surrender.

And then, he moved.

Caleb leaned in first, closing the space between us with a quiet certainty that made my breath catch. I barely had time to react before his lips met mine; soft, warm, real. My fingers clenched around the swing’s chain for balance, but it didn’t matter. My whole world had already tilted.

The kiss started slow, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Caleb’s hand found my jaw, his fingers brushing my skin, grounding me as he deepened the kiss. There was no hesitation, no pulling away—only the quiet urgency of something inevitable, something long overdue.

I let myself sink into it, forget everything outside this moment. The cold night air, the weight of the past few months, the uncertainty of what came next—it all melted away as Caleb kissed me like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, our foreheads nearly touching, Caleb let out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. His thumb brushed over my cheek, lingering there like he was memorizing the feel of me.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything—just letting the silence settle between us like something sacred.

I tried to catch my breath, still feeling the warmth of his touch all over me. “I—uh, I didn’t think that was how tonight would go.”

“Me either,” he admitted softly.

I bit my lip, searching for something to say, but my thoughts were still tangled up in the kiss. The taste of him lingered, sweet and unfamiliar, like a song you’d heard once and couldn’t forget. The warmth of his breath was still etched into the space between us, and the silence felt heavy, like it was holding something fragile; something we both weren’t quite ready to name. I felt the words sitting at the edge of my mind, waiting, but they were lost in the echo of his touch, the weight of everything unsaid.

Caleb gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch so tender it almost felt like he was afraid to break something.

There was a quiet moment, just us sitting there, the air between us charged and delicate. Caleb’s fingers brushed along my wrist, and he gave a small, hesitant laugh.

“Is it weird to say I’m kind of glad we did this here?”

I smiled, the tension easing slightly. “Not at all. There’s something nice about having a moment that’s just ours.”

He glanced up at the dark sky, the stars scattered above us. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in our own little world. Just us.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle the fluttering in my chest. “Then let’s not rush back. Let’s just stay here for a little longer.”

He grinned, that easy smile of his, and nodded. “I’m in.”

We swayed gently, both of us still lost in the quiet, the stillness of the park and the soft feeling that somehow, things were different now. 

Better.

November-

The moment on the swings stays with me long after it’s over, a quiet echo that pulses in the back of my mind, haunting the spaces between my thoughts. It lingers in the way Caleb reaches for my hand without thinking, in the brief touches we exchange. The kiss, though, that’s the one that lingers the longest; the warmth of him, the certainty that wrapped around me like a promise. 

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hold back.

I tell myself it was nothing, that it was just a rush, a fleeting spark that will eventually fade with time. 

But it doesn’t. 

Instead, it settles into the corners of me, a quiet undercurrent beneath everything else.

Everything is subtle at first, in the little things. His hand brushing against mine when we walk, his knee grazing mine when we sit side by side, the way his texts come more often now, careful and soft. When we’re together, it feels like we really have built our own little world, a space apart from everything else. And I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

Though one night, I find him distant. His gaze fixed on his phone, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold something in. He barely speaks, his words sharp and short, his mind somewhere else entirely. I don’t ask, don’t press him for an answer. But I know.

It’s her.

And in that moment, something clicks.

I���m not the only one caught between two worlds. Caleb is, too.

The realization doesn’t ease the ache, it only makes it worse. Because if there’s a choice, I already know who he’ll choose.

Training’s getting harder, and graduation is only a few months away. The exhaustion is catching up to all of us, but I feel as if it's hitting me the hardest. Barely sleeping, too many long nights and even longer days, each one blending into the next until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I can feel my body wearing down, but I keep pushing, because what else is there to do? Let myself stop and think?

Ha.

No.

Caleb notices, though. He’s just as drained as I am, but he’s still there, watching me. He always makes sure I eat, even when I don’t feel like it. Reminds me to drink water when I forget, and always seems to be there after training, hanging around like he’s making sure I don’t collapse right there on the floor.

I try not to let it mean anything, try not to read too much into it. He’s just being a friend, right?

But it’s hard to ignore the way he lingers, the way his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place when I sway slightly on my feet, too tired to stand straight. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand is there, steady on my arm, holding me like he doesn’t want to let go.

Caleb picked me up from the Academy airport after a training flight. We were supposed to grab lunch, but when his eyes landed on my exhausted form, something in his expression softened.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the exhaustion. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just go—” But before I could finish, my body betrayed me, and I stumbled forward, barely able to keep myself upright.

Caleb’s hand was there in an instant, steadying me by the shoulder and wrapping his arm around me like he wasn’t letting go. “I think you’d fall asleep in your food and suffocate. When was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday… no, Tuesday? I don’t really remember.”

I threw on my coat, but Caleb’s gaze was still on me, studying me like he could see right through the act I was trying to put on.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, glaring at him. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry before we miss the bus.”

Standing outside at the bus stop, I shivered against Caleb's arm around me (that was still trying to hold me up). He asked me about my day, if I had eaten breakfast; simple questions that didn’t require much thinking on my part and patient, non-expectant responses from him. I pressed my body closer into his, trying to soak up his warmth, and maybe even share a bit of my own. 

He looked down at me and chuckled, ruffling my hair, “Just a bit longer, honey.”

And he was right, seconds later the bus pulled up. I was practically bouncing to get inside and out of this weather.

Snatching the window seat, I stuck my tongue out at Caleb as he situated himself next to me. “You’re evil, you know that right.” 

The bus was a welcomed relief from the biting cold outside, the warmth inside wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. My coat was serving as a blanket, and I don’t even remember when I drifted off, but at some point I found myself asleep on Caleb’s shoulder.

I half-awoke to him nudging me gently. “Hey, this is my dorm, let’s get off here.”

Groggily, I shook my head, struggling to form a thought. “No, s’okay, my stop is next…”

He chuckled softly, and I could hear the concern in his voice. “I don’t trust you not to fall back asleep and miss your dorm.” His fingers brushed through my hair to comb the strands away from my eyes, his touch tender as he looked at me. “Just come back up with me. You can sleep there until you’re good to go back.”

I barely had the strength to argue, so I let him lead me, sleepily leaning against him the entire way. By the time we reached his room, I was barely conscious. He helped me take off my coat and shoes, and without a second thought, I crawled onto his bed, curling up into a ball as sleep claimed me again.

When I woke, the world outside was dark, and it took a moment to realize where I was. The blanket was soft against my skin, and I noticed Caleb beside me, his face relaxed in sleep. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look so at ease, so… soft.

I felt a pang of guilt when I noticed the clock beside his bed. It was nearing one in the morning. He probably wanted to sleep, but I had taken over his space.

I started to sit up, but before I could move, an arm wrapped around my waist.

“Where are you going?” Caleb’s voice was thick with sleep, and I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I turned to see him blinking slowly up at me.

“I have to go home,” I murmured, my words barely above a whisper. I reached out, hand instinctively brushing his face, but then I stopped myself and pulled it back.

He toyed with the hem of my t-shirt, and I felt the warmth of his touch spread through me. I could feel myself melting under his proximity. “It’s too late,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea. “Just stay here.”

“Caleb—”

“Or I can walk you home,” he added, his eyes still half-closed, and he stretched as if to get up, but I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No, really, it’s okay.”

He smirked a little, still mischievous even through sleep. “You pick. I either walk you home, or you stay here.”

In that moment, the stillness of the night seemed to press in around us, and my heart ached. Caleb was a vice. He was dangerous.

“Okay,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling. “I’ll stay.”

The room is quiet except for Caleb’s steady breathing. The city of Skyhaven hums faintly outside, the night stretching endlessly around us. I’m awake now, but I can’t bring myself to move. Caleb’s hand rests lightly on my waist, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s nothing, really. Just a small, almost casual touch. 

But it feels like everything. 

It sets my entire body on fire, this little contact. I shouldn’t be here, not like this, not after everything. But I don’t leave. Instead, I sink back down, letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence pull me under.

We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. No explanations, no excuses—just this fragile moment, suspended in time, hanging between us. Caleb’s breathing evens out again, his grip loosening as sleep pulls him back under. I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of the night. I know this is a mistake. I know when the sun rises, when the reality of the world outside finally settles in, things will go back to how they were.

He’ll wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from his eyes, and we’ll pretend like this never happened. He’ll go back to talking about MC, and whatever this—whatever we—will remain suspended in the realm of “almosts” and “what-ifs.” But for now, in this quiet moment, I close my eyes. I let myself have this, just for tonight. Because even if it means nothing to him, it means everything to me.

Morning comes too quickly.

I stir first, blinking against the soft light filtering through the blinds. For a second, everything feels warm and comforting. Caleb’s steady breathing beside me, the weight of the blanket, the quiet hum of the city waking up outside.

Then, reality crashes back in. I shouldn’t be here. Not like this.

Carefully, I try to slip out from beneath the covers, but the moment I move, Caleb stirs. His grip tightens around my waist, pulling me closer just a little before his eyes flutter open.

He looks at me, caught between sleep and consciousness, and for a second, there’s something in his gaze; a softness that makes my breath catch in my chest. But then, he blinks, and it’s gone.

“You’re awake,” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy, and it twists something inside of me. He doesn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I should go.”

Caleb doesn’t respond at first. His fingers absently trace the hem of my sleeve, like he’s thinking, weighing something.

Then, finally—

“You don’t have to.”

It’s quiet. Hesitant. It feels like a confession wrapped in uncertainty.

I swallow hard. “Caleb…”

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just know this, this tension, this dangerous line we’re walking, is too much.

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and then he looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and it makes my heart clench.

“Look,” he sighs, like this is some sort of explanation. “I know things have been… complicated.”

Complicated. That’s one way to put it.

I scoff and shake my head. “You think?”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And that hurts more than it should. Because I know what I’m doing. I’m falling. I’ve been falling for so long, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit the ground.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, my voice barely steady.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Something inside me cracks.

“Then stop making me feel like I’m something you have to choose.”

Silence. And that’s when I know.

He won’t say it, but I already have my answer. Because if I was ever truly an option, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging for clarity.

I nod to myself, standing up. “I need to go.”

This time, he doesn’t stop me.

December-

It hurts, it really hurts. 

My chest aches like it’s been hollowed out, and every breath feels too heavy, too sharp. My body trembles, like it’s trying to hold itself together, but it’s already unraveling. 

Is this what dying feels like? 

Is this death? 

The slow suffocation of something that was once whole? 

Or is this grief?

Endless, suffocating grief—bleeding through my veins, consuming everything I am.

I can’t tell anymore. Only that it hurts. So much. 

I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

I feel like a hollow shell.

January-

The snow falls lightly, dusting the pavement with delicate flakes as I walk across campus. The world feels quiet, wrapped in winter’s cold embrace, but inside me? There’s nothing but noise, a clamor I can’t silence. Just as fast as everything had began, it ended just as quickly. 

I didn’t expect Caleb to reach out. After everything, after the silence between us that’s stretched since November, I thought he’d let the distance settle. Let whatever we had fade into something unspoken, unresolved.

But then I got the text.

can we talk?

And because I’m weak, because no matter how much I want to convince myself I’ve moved on, I know I haven’t, so I agreed.

Now, I’m here, waiting outside the coffee shop, my breath clouding in the cold air. Caleb’s already inside, sitting by the window with his fingers curled around a paper cup. When he sees me, he gives a small, hesitant smile. He looks the same, yet it feels so foreign.

I steel myself and walk inside.

“Hey,” he says when I slide into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” I echo, my voice flat, unreadable.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us.

He exhales, looking down at his coffee. “I hate how things have been between us.”

I don’t say anything, just let him speak.

“I miss you,” he admits, and for a moment, my heart stumbles. But before I can process it, he adds, “I don’t want to lose you, I want us to still be friends.”

Friends.

I should have expected this. Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve just been foolish enough to hope for something else.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around my cup. “Friends.”

He nods, earnest, like he doesn’t realize he’s twisting a knife into my chest. “Yeah. I mean, we were good at that, right? Before things got… complicated.”

Complicated. That word again.

I take a slow breath, trying to force the ache in my chest to quiet. Maybe this is what we need. Maybe being friends, just friends, will hurt less than losing him completely.

So I offer a small smile, one that feels forced but I try to make it real. “Yeah. We were.”

Relief flashes across his face, and something deep inside me tugs painfully. But I ignore it.

We can do this.

We have to.

“Are we okay?” he asks carefully.

I hesitate for a second, just a moment, but then I nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

And maybe, if I say it enough times, it’ll start to feel true.

We step outside together, the cold air biting at my skin. We walk side by side, but it’s different now. Less certain, more fragile. But for now, it’s enough. We’re still in each other’s lives. And that has to count for something.

February-

The cold of February feels different this year. It’s sharp, biting at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way the distance between Caleb and me has settled; thick, suffocating.

We’re friends. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

But every interaction feels like a shadow of what it used to be. We pass each other on campus, exchanging forced smiles, awkward pleasantries. He texts me sometimes, but the messages are clipped, casual. The playful banter, the inside jokes—we don’t have those anymore.

I’ve gotten good at pretending it doesn’t hurt. I laugh at his jokes when we’re in class together, crack a smile when he waves in passing. I tell myself that being near him, even like this, is better than nothing.

But it isn’t. It isn’t better at all.

One afternoon, after class, Caleb waits for me while I pack my things, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes meet mine, but they flicker away quickly, like he’s not sure how to look at me anymore.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than it used to be.

I force a smile, but it feels too tight, too stretched.

We walk together, but the silence between us is thick. We’re not really talking anymore. Not like before.

“How’s everything?” I ask, trying to fill the space with something. Anything.

Caleb shrugs, his gaze far off. “Same as usual. You know how it is.”

I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.

“And you?” he asks, almost apologetically, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he pushes too hard.

“I’m good,” I say, too quickly. Too easily. I wish I could say something that would make it sound like we haven’t drifted so far apart. But I can’t.

The truth is, I don’t feel good. Not at all.

The rest of the walk is silent, and when we reach the place where our paths diverge, Caleb gives me a tight, awkward smile.

“Catch you later,” he says, already turning away before I can say anything else.

I watch him walk off, the weight of all the things we never said hanging between us.

It’s painful. But I swallow it down. I have to.

The days pass, and we continue this dance; one of shallow conversations, stiff smiles. Every text feels like a performance. Every interaction, a reminder that we’re no longer who we used to be.

One night, I sit at my desk, the glow of my laptop screen casting a pale light over my face. My phone vibrates on the table beside me. Caleb’s name.

I hesitate before picking it up.

hey, are you free later?

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to respond.

Yeah, what’s up?

There’s a long pause before his next message.

i was thinking we could grab coffee. but no pressure, just thought it might be nice.

The words “just thought it might be nice” sting more than I expected. It’s so casual, so simple—like the idea of spending time together doesn’t carry any of the weight it used to.

But I can’t back out now. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not still craving his company, even if it’s not the same.

Sure, sounds good.

When we meet at our usual café, the air between us is thick. We talk, but it’s like we’re strangers, circling around the things we used to share so easily. Caleb talks about his classes, and I nod, smile at the right times, but it doesn’t feel like we’re really connecting anymore.

I tell myself it’s fine. This is what we agreed to. That being friends is better than nothing.

And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m over it, no matter how many times I remind myself that this is what I chose; it still hurts.

When we part ways that evening, Caleb gives me a small, almost apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I reply, throat tight. “See you.”

I watch him leave, and I can’t help but feel like a piece of myself is slowly drifting farther away.

March-

I can’t keep doing this.

April-

The months start to feel like a slow, inevitable slide into something I can’t quite escape. The air has warmed, and the snow is nothing more than a distant memory, but the silence between Caleb and me cuts deeper than any winter chill.

We still see each other every day. We still share the same spaces, the same halls, the same class. But now, we’re nothing more than shadows of what we once were. Just two people who used to mean something to each other, now standing on opposite sides of a wide, unbridgeable gap.

We promised to be friends. We promised we’d make it work. But those promises feel empty now. There’s no joy in our interactions, no spark. Every conversation is forced, every laugh hollow. We’ve become experts at pretending, at wearing the mask of “just friends,” even though neither of us believes it for a second.

I’ve tried to move on, but when I see him, it’s like a miserable cold wave crashing over me. His eyes, once warm and inviting, are distant now; like he’s holding back something I’m not allowed to know. Even though he’s still there, still around, it feels like he’s lightyears away.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, sitting alone in the student lounge, my books spread out in front of me though not really focused on them. My phone buzzes, and I glance down at the message, already knowing who it’s from.

Caleb.

I hesitate before opening it, my fingers lingering over the screen.

i’m outside the library, want to grab coffee?

My heart skips. I want to say yes. 

I want to say yes more than anything. 

But a part of me knows how this will go. Another awkward conversation. Another round of small talk and unspoken feelings.

I’m tired. Tired of pretending things are fine when nothing is fine.

I can’t, sorry.

May-

The day is warm, but there’s a crispness in the air, the kind that signals a transition; between seasons, between chapters, between what was and what will be. The hum of excitement fills the air, the kind only a graduation ceremony can bring. Students in their uniforms mill around the venue, laughter and shouts of celebration ringing through the open space.

I move through the crowd, my diploma and badges in hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I should feel proud, should feel accomplished. And I do, somewhere deep inside. But there’s something else, something heavier, lingering beneath the surface. The kind of feeling I’ve spent the past few months pushing away, convincing myself I’ve moved past.

Then, I see them.

Caleb stands a few feet away, surrounded by the floods of people. I notice he’s staring ahead into the crowd, and a girl comes crashing into him with the kind of ease that twists my stomach; MC.

She leans in, close—too close. And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the fragile balance I had built, she presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s celebratory, happy, and by the look on Caleb's face, just enough.

The world tilts.

For a second, the sounds around me blur into static, the conversations and cheers fading into the background. The weight of months of restraint, of quiet acceptance, of pretending I was fine, collapses all at once. The carefully built walls around my emotions crack under the force of everything I had tried so desperately to move past.

I thought I had let go. I thought I had made peace with everything that had happened. But in this moment, watching him, watching them, it all comes rushing back. The late nights, the quiet moments, the unspoken words that once sat between us. The way he once looked at me, the way he’s looking at her. The realization that, despite all my efforts, my heart had never truly stopped waiting.

I force my feet to move, to carry me past them, past the reminders of what could have been, of what wasn’t mine to hold onto anymore.

The weight in my chest is suffocating, but I refuse to stop, refuse to break—not here, not now. Because this is supposed to be a celebration, the closing of a chapter, the start of something new.

Maybe in another life, it was never a competition. Maybe in another universe, I don’t have to worry about her. In that world, I am her—running into Caleb’s arms, stealing his hat, and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Yes. In another universe, I am her.

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

This may be a silly question… but I’m an artist trying to learn backgrounds. I’ve studied perspective until my hands fell off, but I don’t know how to choose an angle or not make things look wonky. I’ve tried asking a lot of artists, but I’m hoping to hear more than “just draw backgrounds”, because I have been, but I’m not improving.

Do you have any tips on how to practice?

The anonymous ask is much more recent but it reminded me of another ask from @cerealssoggies i forgot to answer thats, OOF... gotten old. Sorry about that. I'll answer your ask more directly at the end of this.

I'll talk about the perspective ask first. Anon... I'll answer your question as best as I can!

I think what makes perspective tricky is the beginning, when you're using perspective lines and grids and such to map out the picture. Because the actual technique of 2 point perspective isn't hard or complicated, it's getting the scene to look the way it does in your head thats tricky. I'm talking about the metaphorical "camera" location, angle, and... idk, focal length? If I'm using that phrase correctly.

So you can draw something like a simple square bedroom, and by the time you're done placing your horizon line, vanishing point, and perspective lines, and actually start drawing, you realize it doesn't look like how it does in your head. And from there, it's hard or nearly impossible to move things around to look like your vision, so you'll be tweaking each thing individually: uhh, let's move the horizon line down, the left vanishing point further? The right one closer? Both further? Huh??? And it's frustrating.

I've found, if you're drawing an environment from your imagination, the best way to start is to draw an teeeeny tiny thumbnail sketch. The smaller the better. Not just environments, but any drawing idea is easier to map out when it's smaller. Your brain can latch onto the visual as a whole when it's all tiny on a piece of paper.

Drawing my current blog header, the one of ford's research tent, I had a similar pickle. I knew exactly where I wanted the camera to be, in the corner of the tent, and I knew I wanted the camera to be more wide, so you could see most of his tent while keeping the feeling that it's small. I started digitally with perspective lines and quickly got frustrated. SO - I took to my sketchbook and thought reeeeeally hard about what it looked like in my head, and tried mapping it out in a tiny tiny thumbnail. Here's what that looked like:

This was closer to what I wanted than what I first had on my computer. I knew from there that I wanted the furniture items to be closer together and the camera higher (you can see my scribble writing saying this), so I scanned my thumbnail, and drew on top of it to get closer to the vision. Then, from there, I was able to add a proper perspective grid based on what I had already drawn.

THEN you can finally get down to the fun part - actually populating your room with furniture and details. I put this sketch on paper and did most of the real drawing traditionally:

In summary: instead of jumping straight into perspective theory, thumbnail the idea as rough as you can. Then base the angles of the perspective lines on your thumbnail.

But.... even still, I don't have the strongest ability to picture things mentally, and not everyone is gonna be able to do that (although it is a good muscle to exercise.) Sort of a segue into the second ask - those backgrounds of dibs car? I straight up traced over pictures I took of my car. I'm not the biggest advocate for tracing, it does kind of feel like cheating, BUT for the purposes of this animation? There's no point in getting on a high horse. I needed to draw his car like 10 times and there was no reason to torture myself. I did photoshop some of the photos before I drew over them because the focal length made the car look bigger than I wanted it to? And a lot of it was guessing what the car looked like behind the front seats, etc.

But this does remind me of an exercise I did in school for an illustration mentorship class. The mentor for one unit was a set designer working for Netflix. She was given photos of a room that a scene would be shot in, and she drew the set on top of it: like furniture, decorations, etc. So my assignment was to choose a stock photo, and do some world building concept art based on the photo. From the photo, you can figure out the perspective by identifying lines/angles that theoretically lead to a vanishing point. You need at least two lines, and you extend them really far and see where they cross. Where they meet is a vanishing point. Find two vanishing points and they are level with the horizon line. Then use the perspective dots you just found to draw furniture, items, and you can even get creative and change the shape/height/size of the rooms/buildings/etc, while still using the same perspective.

If an image from the internet feels too much like cheating (it SHOULDN'T, you'll only learn from it and your drawing won't look anything like the image by the time you're done), you can always take your own photos. This technique is honestly what made me enjoy drawing backgrounds in the first place. It made it fun! And drawing should be fun.

I still do this sort of thing today. Here's the reference picture I had my sister take of me for my Fairy godmother illustration. (This is from a couple years ago.) I drew on top of it in photoshop to get my best guess as to the lines and angles. I didn't trace this one, but I did use it very heavily for reference!

So I guess... to summarize both techniques, don't jump right into perspective. Best way to start, that's fun and not wildly frustrating, is to use a photo. If your vision is hyper specific, start from a tiny thumbnail and work your way up. Then the fun part!! Populating the scene with furniture and items and fun little details.

To answer @cerealssoggies question more directly: omg, thank you?? :O💞 I'm always so wowed when people talk about my prints and where they put them. I'm really glad you like the fairy godmother one! My mom also has one hung up in her room lol!

My advice on the design front isn't as specific, because that always felt like the easy part. Once you have the room or whatever mapped out, it's just about drawing all the Stuff. Which for me usually means getting in the head of the character and asking myself what sort of things they'd have around themselves and their environment. And obviously if the setting isn't a characters room/personal environment like the previous three examples, then you'd just have to think about what the environments purpose is, and what sort of stuff would be there. When I'm thinking about a background before I draw it, I'll ask myself what items or features it will have. For the ford tent, I made a list of all the stuff I thought he might have in there (I googled winter camping trip packing lists, as well as science-y tools and gadgets). For dibs car, I asked people on tumblr for suggestions as to what I should put in there.

And look up references! Reference is always a good thing.

In real life, I'm a maximalist and a clutterbug. This bleeds into my drawings - I like it when an environment feels full and lived in.

Here's my bedroom lol.

WELL typing and compiling this took up a greater portion of my Friday but I really hope this was helpful to you and others!!

[ticifics]

The Return

Alexei Vronsky x f!reader

Summary: "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..." "Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

Warnings: angst, hurt, reconciliation, sensitive topics, mention of betrayal (not consummated), rebuilding trust, intense and emotional dialogues

A/N: anon, I hope I do justice to your request - I hope you enjoy reading <333

The train moved through the vast whiteness, cutting through the snow like a pioneer in unknown lands. The rhythmic sound of the wheels against the tracks filled the silence of the cabin as you gazed at the landscape through the window. Snowflakes gathered on the glass, creating ephemeral patterns that quickly disappeared with the warmth of the cabin. The winter was always harsh, but there was something poetically beautiful in the monotony of the icy horizon.

You pressed the small bundle of letters against your chest, feeling the rough paper in your hands. Alexei's words echoed in your mind, the familiar phrases you'd read and reread countless times over the past three months. "I hope the snow is gentle with you," he had written in the last letter. "Natasha misses you, and so do I. Come back to us soon."

Alexei's handwriting had always been precise, almost meticulous, but it seemed to have lost something. Perhaps a fluidity, or the warmth with which he used to end each message with affectionate declarations. Not that he had been cold; far from it. But there was a restraint in the words, as if he were trying to hide something. You shook your head, pushing the thoughts away. There was no room for doubt. Alexei was your husband, and your nearly three years together had been surprisingly harmonious for an arranged marriage. You had built something real, something that seemed unshakable.

The longing tightened like a knot in your chest. It was almost impossible to be away from Natasha, your daughter, who was under two years old and already the light of your days. You could imagine her now, perhaps playing with the blonde curls she had inherited from Alexei or dragging some toy across the floor of the hall. Alexei would surely be close by, attentive, although not the type to show excessive affection. He had a magnetic calm, a charisma that drew looks and trust from everyone around him.

You closed your eyes for a moment, remembering his face. The sharp features, the hair he always kept immaculate, but which seemed to rebel against control in the most intimate moments. His eyes, as clear as ice melting under the sun, held a depth that disarmed anyone who looked at them long enough. And yet, there was gentleness there, a softness he reserved only for you and Natasha.

The train made a turn, shaking lightly. You held your purse at your side and glanced at the clock. Only a few hours remained until you reached the station, and the thought quickened your heartbeat. What would the reunion be like? You felt your hands anxious, the words you might say to him forming and dissipating in your mind.

You opened the last letter again, your eyes following the familiar words. "The house is emptier without you. Natasha calls for you every night. I’ve been distracting myself with... events, but it’s not enough. Please come back to us soon." Something in the sentence felt hesitant, as though there was more he hadn’t said. But before you could reflect further, the train gave a final jolt, announcing the approach of the destination.

You took a deep breath, putting the letter away and straightening your posture. Soon, very soon, you would be home.

The station was alive with the sound of carriage wheels on the pavement, hurried footsteps, and voices muffled by the steam of the trains coming and going. The air was heavy with the smell of burning coal and the biting cold of winter. You gripped your suitcase tightly, your heart pounding in your chest as you stepped off the train. It had been almost three months away from home, away from him, away from Natasha.

Your gaze swept over the crowd, searching for a familiar figure. Men in top hats and heavy coats hurried past, women wrapped in shawls shielded their faces from the cold, but it wasn’t any of them you were looking for. Then, you saw him.

Alexei stood near a cast-iron column, his imposing stature setting him apart from the chaos around him. He wore a dark gray overcoat that accentuated his broad shoulders, and a black hat partially shaded his face. But it was impossible not to recognize those eyes—clear as ice in the sun, watching you with intensity, as though the world had stopped.

You paused for a moment, unable to breathe, unable to believe that you were finally here. He took a step forward, removing his hat with an elegant gesture, revealing his perfectly styled blonde hair, though a stubborn lock fell over his forehead. Time seemed to freeze around him, the bustling station blurring into an indistinct haze. All that remained was him.

"Alexei," you whispered, your voice choked with the emotion rising to the surface.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked toward you with long, determined strides, his face controlled, but his eyes betraying a storm of feelings. When he stopped just inches from you, the silence between the two of you seemed to speak louder than any words.

"You’re back," he finally said, his deep voice heavy with something you couldn’t name. He seemed so calm, so restrained, but the way his eyes traced every line of your face, as if making sure you were real, betrayed how much he had missed you.

You let the suitcase fall to the ground and took a step toward him, unable to hold back. The distance between you vanished when you threw yourself into his arms, your fingers gripping the heavy fabric of his overcoat as you buried your face in his chest. He seemed stiff at first, as though the moment had caught him by surprise, but in seconds, his arms closed around you, strong, protective, as if he never wanted to let go.

"Alexei," you murmured again, the sound muffled against him. The words failed, but it didn’t matter. The way he held you, with an almost desperate firmness, said everything he couldn’t express.

He tilted his head, his face buried in your hair. You felt the warmth of his breath on the top of your head, the subtle touch of his lips against your strands. "I was counting the days," he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. "Every damn day."

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes full of the tears you’d tried to hold back. "Me too. I counted them too, Alexei."

He raised one of his hands, his broad, strong fingers sliding along the side of your face, wiping away a lone tear that had escaped. "You’ve lost weight," he observed, concern evident in the softness of his voice. "But still beautiful." The corner of his lips curved into a brief smile, a shadow of the charisma you knew so well, but still devastating.

You laughed, even though the emotion still tightened your throat. "And you look... more tired. Is everything okay? And Natasha? Is she okay?"

"She misses you. We both do," he replied, the smile fading as seriousness returned to his face. "She’s at home, waiting for you. She kept looking at the door every day, asking when you’d come back."

Your heart squeezed at the words, at the image of your daughter so small and eager for your presence. "I need to see her," you said, the urgency growing.

"Let’s go home," Alexei said, effortlessly taking your suitcase and holding your hand with the other. "We’ve waited long enough."

As he guided you through the station, his hand firm on your back, you felt that despite the chaos around you, there was something solid in being next to him again. The connection between you both seemed to have withstood time and distance, but deep down in your heart, you still felt a shadow, something you couldn’t name. Something hiding in the corners of your thoughts and in the glances that Alexei, as loving as they were, couldn’t completely mask.

The carriage jolted gently as it moved through the icy streets of St. Petersburg. Outside, the sky was painted a dark gray, and the snow covered everything like a white blanket. Inside, warm and cozy, you couldn’t stop looking at Alexei. He was sitting beside you, one hand holding yours, his gaze fixed on the window as if he were lost in thought. The silence between you was only filled by the sound of the horses’ hooves on the road.

"So," you began, your voice breaking the silence, "what happened while I was gone? How is Natasha? Is she eating well? Is she sleeping properly? And you? Alexei, is everything okay?"

He turned his face slowly, his clear eyes landing on you with an intensity that almost made you shrink. "Natasha is fine," he replied, his voice low and controlled. "She missed you, but she’s strong. I... I’m fine. Don’t worry about me."

"Of course I worry," you retorted, narrowing your eyes. "Three months, Alexei. Almost three months without seeing her. Without seeing you. Don’t tell me not to worry."

He sighed, his free hand rising to loosen his tie. "It was... a busy time," he admitted, looking away. "But now you’re here. That’s what matters."

Busy. The word hung in the air, heavy and vague. You studied him in silence, noticing small details that hadn’t been there before. The stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle dark circles under his eyes that the soft light of the carriage couldn’t quite hide, and something in his eyes – a shadow, a weight that seemed to have settled in during your absence.

"Busy how?" you insisted, feeling an increasing need to understand.

"Society matters," he said, evasive. "Ball after ball, endless appointments... nothing worth mentioning now. We’re almost home. Natasha’s waiting for you."

His words were like a barrier, a calculated response to end the subject. You wanted to insist, wanted to ask what exactly had been consuming him, but something in his tone – and maybe something in you – made you pull back. It wasn’t the time, not yet.

When the carriage finally stopped in front of your house, your heart raced. Alexei stepped down first, extending his hand to help you down, the gesture so natural and courteous it seemed like an extension of who he was. You accepted, stepping down carefully and looking at the familiar facade of the residence. Everything was the same, yet at the same time, something felt different.

Inside the house, the warmth of the fire in the hearth and the scent of burning wood wrapped around you in a feeling of comfort. Your eyes scanned the space, searching for her – your daughter, your Natasha. And then you saw her.

She was in the arms of a nanny, sitting near the fireplace. Her blonde hair shimmered in the warm light of the fire, and her rosy cheeks were rounder than you remembered. She turned her head when she heard your steps and blinked, as if trying to confirm that it was really you.

"Natasha," you called, your voice thick.

The little girl blinked again before a wide smile lit up her face. "Mommy!" she cried, squirming in the nanny’s arms until she was placed on the floor.

You couldn’t wait. You knelt on the rug and opened your arms, barely believing you’d finally have her in your arms again. Natasha ran towards you with hurried, awkward steps, stumbling slightly but not stopping until she threw herself into you.

"My girl," you murmured, holding her against your chest and burying your face in her soft hair. She smelled of soap and something sweet, something you could only describe as her.

Natasha began to speak excitedly, her words tumbling over each other as she told you about things that, to her, were grand adventures – the new toys, the walks in the garden, the stories her father had told her before bed. You laughed and cried at the same time, absorbing every detail, every word, as if you needed to make up for all the lost time.

"You're so big now," you said, holding her face in your hands. "My big girl. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Mommy," she replied, her words coming out a little jumbled, but still clear enough to warm your heart.

For a moment, you forgot everything – the station, the unanswered questions, the subtle changes in Alexei. All that mattered was the comforting weight of your daughter in your arms and the feeling of finally being where you were meant to be.

You lifted your eyes to Alexei, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching the scene with an expression that was impossible to decipher. "We're together again," you said, your voice soft and full of emotion. "Finally together."

Something passed through his eyes, something that made him look away for a brief moment before he replied. "Yes," he said, but the word seemed to carry more weight than it should have. He took a step forward, kneeling beside you.

"Natasha," he called gently, and the little girl turned to him with a radiant smile. "Are you happy now? Mommy is home."

"Happy," Natasha replied, laughing and grabbing one of his hands while still holding yours.

The moment was perfect, almost. But the way Alexei looked at you – as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t – left a small shadow lingering over your heart. You pushed the thought aside, determined to enjoy the reunion. After all, you were home. With them.

Dinner went by in a mix of light conversations and moments of pure joy. Natasha, always chatty, monopolized much of the attention with her stories and childish laughter, and you could hardly contain your smile seeing her so excited. Sitting at the table with your family again felt like a balm for your heart, something you had longed for through endless weeks. Alexei, in turn, remained a bit quieter than usual, but still participated with occasional comments, always attentive, always directed to you or your daughter.

After dinner, you took on the task of putting Natasha to bed, refusing any help. It was a moment you wanted for yourself, a ritual you had missed so much during your absence. In the little one’s room, you dressed her in a soft cotton pajama, decorated with tiny flower designs, and sat by her bed while she snuggled under the covers.

"Sing to me, Mommy," Natasha asked, her sleepy eyes already blinking slowly.

"Of course, my little flower," you replied, stroking her hair before you began to sing a soft lullaby, one that your own mother used to sing to you.

When Natasha finally fell asleep, breathing softly against her pillow, you stayed for a few more minutes in the room, just watching her. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm, and her little face, lit by the dim light of the lamp, seemed like the perfect picture of peace. Your heart filled with an almost overwhelming love, so intense that it was hard to put into words.

As you left the room, you made your way to the master bedroom. The house was quiet, and the hallways seemed bathed in a cozy dimness. When you opened the door, you found Alexei sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, a glass of wine balanced in his hand. He had changed out of his formal dinner clothes into a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and lighter pants. His golden hair was a bit messy, as if he had run his fingers through it several times. The fire cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting his strong jawline and marked cheekbones.

You paused for a moment in the doorway, watching him without saying anything. He seemed lost in thought, his clear eyes fixed on the fire. There was something about him that always made him seem a bit younger and yet filled with a maturity that made him irresistible – a mix of vulnerability and strength that seemed uniquely his.

"You’re very thoughtful," you said, finally breaking the silence as you closed the door behind you.

Alexei lifted his eyes, and his expression softened when he saw you. "Just thinking about how much I missed you," he replied, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

You walked over to him, feeling the warmth of the fire as you drew closer. "Three months," you murmured, stopping beside the armchair. "It felt like an eternity."

He set his wine glass aside and reached out his hand, pulling you gently into his lap. You let yourself be guided, snuggling against him as his strong arms closed around you. His scent – a mix of wood and something subtly citrusy – was so familiar that it made your eyes close for a moment.

"You’ve lost weight," you said, a touch of concern in your voice as you traced your fingers along his collar. "Haven’t been eating well?"

"Do you think food tastes the same when you're not here?" Alexei replied, a slight smile curving his lips. He tilted his head, his clear eyes searching yours. "You’re the heart of this house. Nothing feels right without you."

His words, so simple and direct, made your heart race. You lifted one hand to touch his face, your fingers brushing the line of his jaw. "You have a way of saying things that completely unravels me, Alexei," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

He smiled, the kind of smile that seemed to carry so much affection it almost hurt. "Just being honest," he replied, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepened, becoming more intense, filled with longing and need.

When his lips finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his warmth surrounding you completely. "Promise me you’ll never stay away for so long again," he asked, his tone more vulnerable than you were used to.

"I promise," you replied, feeling a lump form in your throat. "But you have to promise me something too."

Alexei tilted his head, his clear eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race. "Anything," he said, his voice low and deep, filled with sincerity.

"If something is wrong, if something is weighing on you, I want you to tell me," you continued, holding his gaze. "We’re a team, Alexei. We always have been."

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just watched you as if trying to memorize every detail of your expression. Then he slid one of his hands to your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the evident strength in his fingers.

"I promise," he murmured, but the way he said the words – slow and measured – suggested something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to share yet.

Before you could respond, Alexei leaned in to kiss you again, and this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was a fusion of longing and need, filled with everything that had gone unsaid during the three months you had been apart. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he needed to prove to himself that you were there, real and present.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he said against your lips, his voice rough and broken.

You closed your eyes, absorbing the warmth of his confession as your fingers slid into his hair, messing up the golden strands even more. "I know," you whispered, your heart tight with the weight of lost time. "I missed you too... everything about you."

Alexei didn’t respond with words. Instead, he rose from the armchair with you still in his arms and walked toward the bed. The movement was so natural, so full of intention, that you found yourself unable to look away from him.

"Three months," he murmured as he gently laid you down on the sheets, his eyes roaming over your face as if he were trying to memorize every detail. "It was the longest three months of my life."

You reached up to touch his face, tracing the line of his strong jaw and the contour of his lips, now curved into an almost imperceptible smile. "Then let’s not waste another moment," you replied, your voice soft but filled with conviction.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. Alexei leaned down, his lips finding yours again, but this time with a passion that was both raw and controlled. His hands explored every familiar curve, as if he needed to remember every part of you.

The night unfolded in a mix of whispers, touches, and moments of pure connection. He was gentle, as always, but there was a new intensity, something that spoke of lost time and how much he had longed for you. Every gesture, every word whispered in your ear seemed to carry the weight of everything you both hadn’t been able to express during the months of separation.

In the end, you found yourself nestled against his chest, your heart still racing while his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. His breath was deep and steady, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relax completely for the first time in months.

"Promise me you won’t leave again," he whispered, breaking the silence.

"I promise," you replied, your voice thick with exhaustion and the overwhelming love you felt for him.

And while the world outside continued with its concerns and challenges, there, in Alexei’s arms, you finally found the peace you had longed for.

The following days brought a routine that you embraced with more joy than you expected. After three months apart, every detail of life at home seemed more significant. The familiar scent of the freshly tended garden, the soft laughter of your daughter echoing through the halls, the sound of Alexei talking with the servants — all of it formed a comforting mosaic, bringing back the feeling of belonging.

Still, there was something different.

Alexei remained attentive and engaged, but you noticed moments when he seemed lost in thought. His eyes, so expressive, carried a restlessness that he masked well. It wasn’t anything glaring, but you noticed. A lingering stare into nothing, slightly delayed responses, a subtle change in tone by the end of the day. It was subtle, but you could feel the difference, as only someone who knew him so deeply could. Still, you decided not to press him. The reunion was still recent; maybe time would erase any shadow that was troubling him.

It was in this context that the first big event since your return took place: a ball.

The night arrived with a light chill, which seemed to accentuate the elegance of the event. The mansion hosting the ball gleamed like a jewel under the starry sky, with torches lighting the path flanked by snow-covered trees. Carriages arrived one after another, unloading elegantly dressed guests, while servants hurried to collect coats and organize the entrance.

Inside the hall, the atmosphere was even more breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers reflected the candlelight in a sparkling display, casting golden and silver patterns on the ornate walls. A string quintet played softly, filling the air with elegant music, while the scent of fresh flowers and wine lingered in the atmosphere. Guests in luxurious dresses and impeccable suits moved gracefully through the space, their voices in animated murmurs, interspersed with restrained laughter.

You entered the ballroom alongside Alexei, his arm firmly resting on yours, a gesture that seemed natural and yet carefully displayed for society. He looked impeccable in his formal uniform, with golden details accentuating his broad shoulders and proud posture. His hair, always carefully styled, reflected the light as if it were made of golden strands, and his light eyes scanned the room with a gaze that was both warm and vigilant.

You had also prepared carefully for the occasion. Your deep blue dress contrasted with the lighter tones around you, the silver embroidery seeming to capture the light with every movement. The elegant neckline and long sleeves accentuated your silhouette, and you felt the gazes following you as you walked past him.

"Everyone’s watching you," Alexei murmured in your ear, his tone both protective and proud.

You smiled, not looking directly at him. "Maybe they’re watching you."

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering your response, but the playful gleam in his eyes revealed that he liked the idea.

However, as the evening went on, something changed.

As you conversed with some acquaintances, you noticed diverted glances, muffled whispers, and a growing discomfort began to settle in. It wasn’t paranoia; people were definitely talking about something. Their polished smiles and courteous greetings barely masked the tension on the faces of those you knew well.

It was during a pause in the music that you saw it.

Alexei was on the other side of the room, speaking to someone you immediately recognized: Anna.

She looked stunning in a red dress, her dark hair perfectly arranged, and a smile that seemed to enchant everyone around her. Alexei was slightly leaned toward her, which in itself wasn’t unusual—he had always been attentive in conversations. But there was something in the way he looked at her, an intensity you had never seen before.

Your heart tightened, and you felt the world around you slow down for a moment.

You quickly averted your gaze, pretending to be interested in a glass of champagne that a servant offered. Your face betrayed nothing; you knew how to control your emotions in public. But inside, questions began to form, each one more difficult than the last.

Alexander approached with a cordial smile, his imposing figure standing out in the already rich environment of ornaments and luxurious dresses. His suit was impeccable, a deep gray that contrasted with his brown eyes, so different from Alexei’s. Despite the physical and personality distinctions, there was something about him that inspired the same aura of confidence and power as his brother.

"Allow me to steal you for a walk, my dear sister-in-law," he said, his voice low and polite, but still carrying the warmth that always made you feel welcomed.

You accepted without hesitation, offering him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "It would be a pleasure."

Alexander extended his arm, and you took it, allowing him to guide you away from the conversation circle you were in. The murmurs and laughter from the ballroom seemed to grow in the background as you moved at a slow pace, wandering between the marble columns and the glow of the chandeliers.

"How has your return been so far?" he asked, the conversation casual, but his observant eyes betrayed something deeper.

"Tiring," you replied, with a practiced lightness. "But I’m relieved to finally be back."

Alexander let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. "I imagine it wasn’t easy to leave everything behind for so long."

"It wasn’t," you admitted, turning your face to watch the guests dancing in the center of the ballroom. "But some things can’t be ignored, as you well know."

He nodded, but didn’t say anything for a moment. Then you felt it: the looks he gave you, longer than they should’ve been, almost condescending. There was no judgment in them, but a kind of compassion that made you feel an increasing discomfort.

"Does something about my appearance seem off?" you asked, trying to hide your unease with a light joke.

"Not at all," he replied quickly. "You look stunning tonight."

You knew he wasn’t just being polite, but the weight behind his words was hard to ignore. Alexander wasn’t one to speak too much, but his ability to convey the unspoken was almost unbearable.

"Did Alexei mention anything about my absence?" you asked, finally gathering the courage to address the matter that had been on your mind since you entered the ballroom.

"Alexei..." Alexander began, but then stopped, his eyes fixed on something—or someone.

You followed his gaze. There was Alexei, still by Anna Karenina’s side. She was laughing at something Alexei had said, her head slightly tilted toward him. And Alexei… He had that look in his eyes. Something soft, something captivating. Something you rarely saw when he looked at anyone else.

The world around you seemed to slow down, every sound muffled, as if the entire ballroom had fallen silent. You felt Alexander’s arm move slightly beneath your hand, bringing your attention back to him.

"Anna is a remarkable lady," Alexander said, his voice low and controlled.

"I know who she is," you replied, almost not realizing you had spoken out loud.

"Of course you do," he murmured, but there was something in his tone that suggested more than mere confirmation.

You continued walking, but your attention kept drifting back to the sight of Alexei and Anna. The way he leaned slightly toward her, his smile—not forced, but genuine.

"Alexander," you began, your voice sounding more hesitant than you would’ve liked. "Is there something I should know?"

He hesitated, just enough for the tension in the air to rise. "You know Alexei has a restless heart. He’s like a bird who sees an open window and can’t resist the curiosity."

"That doesn’t answer my question," you retorted, your hand tightening slightly on his arm.

"Because some questions don’t need to be answered," he said, giving you a look that was both understanding and protective.

There was a latent pain in his words, as if he understood perfectly what you were feeling, but knew that no explanation could ease the weight in your chest.

You glanced at Alexei again, and this time, you met his gaze. He saw you, and for a moment, something in his expression changed. It was as if the magic of that moment with Anna had been broken, as if he were a boy caught in a forbidden act.

You adjusted your dress with an automatic gesture, while the muffled sound of the orchestra seemed like a distant soundtrack to the turmoil inside you. Alexander stepped away after a brief farewell. Each step he took toward Alexei and Anna was a decision that reverberated in your chest like the echo of a heavy bell. The distance between you seemed like an abyss, but still, you kept going. There was no turning back now.

Alexei straightened up, adjusting his suit as if that could somehow protect him from the intensity of your gaze. Beside him, Anna turned, offering a calculated smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Darling," Alexei began, his voice sounding controlled, but without the familiarity you so longed for. "We were just talking about—"

"Don’t worry," you interrupted softly, your tone impeccable but with a hint of ice. "I don’t want to interrupt."

Anna tilted her head, as if analyzing every word you said. "It’s always nice to meet such a courteous soul," she said, the smile remaining but with something sharp hidden in her expression. "I was just commenting to Alexei how charming this ballroom is. It’s no wonder so many important events happen here."

"Ah, yes," you replied, keeping your tone polite but feeling the lump in your throat grow. "This is the kind of place where people meet, isn’t it? But I must say, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your husband, Anna. Isn’t he joining you?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but quickly recovered. "Unfortunately, he couldn’t come today. Business, you understand."

"Certainly," you murmured, letting the word hang in the air, laden with meanings that no one dared mention. "I imagine it’s difficult to keep up with all the engagements when one is so busy. I’ve felt the same since I returned. It seems there’s so much I’ve missed."

Alexei cleared his throat, his unease evident. He shot you a quick, almost pleading look, but you ignored it, keeping your eyes fixed on Anna. "But it’s good to know that Alexei has been in good company while I’ve been away," you added, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touching your lips.

Anna responded with a polite laugh, but you noticed the slight tension in her shoulders. "Ah, of course, Alexei is a gentleman. He was just telling me about some… society matters."

"He’s truly very helpful," you said, tilting your head, as if reflecting. "Always so thoughtful."

Alexei intervened, his voice low but firm. "Darling, I’m sure Anna doesn’t want to monopolize our evening. Perhaps we should..."

"Don’t worry," you cut in, your voice as sweet as it was sharp. "I’m just catching up. Three months is, after all, quite a long time to be away."

The words fell like stones on a glass surface. The ballroom around you seemed to grow quieter, or perhaps it was just your perception, distorted by the growing pain inside you. Your fingers trembled slightly, but you hid them between the folds of your dress, struggling to maintain the flawless appearance.

Anna smiled, but this time the gesture seemed more like a mask than anything else. "Well, I won’t steal any more of your time. It was a pleasure, as always."

"Certainly," you replied, nodding your head in farewell, but the look you cast at Alexei was not one of farewell. It was something deeper, something you knew he would understand.

As she walked away, the silence between you was deafening. Alexei reached out to touch your arm, but you took a step back, keeping your gaze fixed on him.

"Not here," you murmured, your voice low and controlled, though the tremor in your hands betrayed the chaos inside you.

He hesitated, as if wanting to argue, but the weariness in his eyes seemed to silence him. You turned on your heel, head held high, and began to walk away, but the weight in your chest was overwhelming.

As you moved through the ballroom, the noise around you slowly returned, but it felt distant, as if it came from a world you no longer belonged to. With each step, you felt the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, and each one pierced your soul like a sharp blade.

As you walked between the guests, your dress impeccably adjusted and your smile carefully positioned, the emptiness in your chest seemed to expand with each passing moment. The conversation with Alexei and Anna had revealed more than words could express; it was as if a veil had been torn, exposing something you had suspected, but refused to accept.

The glances that always seemed to last a second longer than necessary, the muffled whispers when you passed... now it all clicked. It wasn’t just your imagination, it wasn’t just the insecurities of a wife who had been away too long. It was something tangible, something that everyone there knew and that you were just beginning to understand.

You moved between the groups, smiling and waving mechanically, refusing to stop long enough for anyone to notice the crack growing in your mask. Alexei, for his part, kept his distance, respecting the space you clearly required, but still, you felt his gaze on you, heavy and silent, as if each time your eyes met, he was trying to say something.

The dinner table was a lavish sight, filled with delicacies that would have been irresistible on any other occasion. But now, just looking at the dishes made you feel nauseous. The last thing you could bear was pretending to have an appetite. You grabbed a glass of wine, more out of a need for something to hold than a desire to drink.

You tried to engage in the conversations, but the words of the others reached you like indistinct echoes. It was as if everyone in the room spoke a language you no longer understood. When someone mentioned Alexei, even casually, you felt the weight of the words, as if they were stones thrown at you.

The night seemed to drag on endlessly, each minute a silent torture. You deliberately avoided Alexei, moving from group to group.

When the moment to leave finally arrived, relief mixed with anguish, as if leaving the ballroom could ease the pain, even if only for a moment. Alexei waited for you by the entrance, as he always did, but this time there was something different about him. He didn’t try to touch your hand, didn’t make any casual remarks to break the silence. He simply opened the carriage door, and you stepped in without looking at him.

The ride back home was enveloped in an almost unbearable silence. The carriage swayed gently along the road, but every movement seemed to intensify the tension in the air. You kept your eyes fixed on the window, watching the passing lights and trying, in vain, to find some sense of normalcy in what had once been so familiar.

Alexei tried to speak once. "I..." he started, but his voice died the moment you turned to him, your gaze firm yet silent, saying everything that needed to be said. He sighed, leaning back in his seat, and didn’t try anything further.

The ride home was a blur, and when the door to the bedroom clicked shut behind you, echoing in the heavy silence of the house, it felt like an inevitable trigger. What had once been carefully controlled—the expressionless face, the calculated steps, the impeccable posture—crumbled as soon as you found yourself alone.

The first tear slipped silently down your cheek, warm and heavy, followed by another, then another. You tried desperately to stifle the sound rising in your throat, but the sob came, breaking the silence like a desperate wail.

Your legs gave way, and you leaned against the edge of the bed, your hands trembling as they gripped the fabric of your dress. All the weight of what you felt seemed to collapse at once—the pain of betrayal, the humiliation of the glances in the ballroom, the emptiness growing inside you.

Then, without warning, you heard footsteps behind you. Alexei. He must have heard the muffled sound of your crying or simply knew he couldn't leave you alone in that moment. He entered the room, and upon seeing you like this, his eyes filled with something impossible to describe — regret, pain, perhaps even desperation.

"No," you managed to say, your voice choked, your teary eyes meeting his. "Don't come closer."

But he didn’t stop. He ignored the warning in your voice, the protests in your expression. His large, firm hands gently landed on yours, which were still trembling, trying to push him away, but he didn’t give in.

"Don’t do this, Alexei," you whispered, your voice breaking. "No... I can’t..."

He didn’t respond with words. He simply pulled you close, wrapping you in his arms, the firmness of his touch contrasting with the gentleness with which he held you, as though you were something precious and fragile he feared breaking even more.

"Why?" you asked, your voice desperate, almost a muffled scream against his chest. "Why wasn’t I enough? Why, Alexei? I tried... I always tried..."

Your hands pushed against him, or at least tried to, but he remained still, his own hands holding you tighter, as if fearing you would escape. You struggled, but it was futile. He was stronger, and you didn’t have the energy to fight against his grip or the storm of emotions consuming you.

"I loved you," you continued, the words coming out in broken sobs. "I still love... And that wasn’t enough, was it? I gave up everything for you, and you... you..."

But the words were lost in the crying. Your voice disappeared, but the tears kept coming, hot and relentless, soaking the fabric of his shirt as you collapsed. Alexei still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t try to explain, didn’t try to justify. He just held you, pressing your face against the top of your head, his lips touching your forehead in a gesture that seemed desperate.

"Why don’t you say anything?" you murmured, your voice weak and hesitant, mixed with the sobs. "Say something, Alexei... Please..."

But he couldn’t. His hands held you as if he could keep you whole with just his touch. His breathing was irregular, almost as frantic as yours. He seemed as lost as you, as incapable of dealing with what was happening as you were.

Eventually, his strength gave out. The crying subsided, the sobs becoming more spaced out until exhaustion overtook you. You stopped trying to pull away, stopped fighting against his grip. Your body went limp in his arms, exhausted, defeated.

Alexei remained there, holding you as if he could rebuild everything with the strength of his embrace, as if he could erase the pain with his closeness. But the space between you, invisible and overwhelming, seemed to grow with each passing second. Your breath, once broken by crying, was now just a tired whisper against his chest.

He finally loosened his grip, just enough to look at you. His eyes, so familiar, were now filled with a weight you had never seen before — something almost unbearable to face. He raised one hand, hesitantly, to touch your face, but you turned away slightly, pulling back in a way almost imperceptible. It was enough for him to freeze.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken, barely more than a thread of sound. "Please, Alexei, go away."

His eyes widened slightly, as if your words had hit him hard. He opened his mouth, perhaps to say something, to protest, but the silence in the room seemed to swallow any attempt.

"I can't..." He stopped, his voice faltering. "I can't leave you like this."

You turned your gaze away, unable to bear the way he looked so desperate, so lost. "I can't sleep with you here tonight. Not like this," you admitted, feeling each word tear at you like glass as it left your mouth. "Please, Alexei. Just... just go."

He took a step back, as if the words had physically pushed him away. The pain on his face was evident, as if you had taken something essential from him. He looked at you with a mix of disbelief and anguish, before slowly shaking his head.

"You can't push me away like this," he murmured, his eyes shining with torment he couldn’t hide. "We never... we never sleep apart."

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to ignore the tremor in his voice, the weight of the memories those words brought. "I know," you replied, your voice barely audible. "But tonight... I need it. I need space, Alexei."

For a moment, he seemed about to argue, to take another step toward you. But then he saw something in your eyes — something that made him stop. The pain you were feeling was there, raw and open, impossible to ignore. And seeing it, something inside him seemed to break.

He stepped closer one last time, hesitantly, as if each movement was a battle. "I..." His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. "I never meant to hurt you. Never."

You didn’t respond. Not because you had nothing to say, but because you were too broken to find the words.

When he raised his hand, this time to touch your cheek, you instinctively pulled back. It was subtle, but enough for him to notice. The pain in his eyes turned into something deeper — pure despair, as if that small gesture had taken away any ground he still had left.

"I will," he finally said, his voice low and rough, each word weighed down with something that felt like a ton. "But that doesn’t mean I’m not here. I... I’m not going anywhere, understood?"

You just nodded, not meeting his eyes, your body still tense with the weight of everything that had happened that night.

Alexei stood still for another moment, as if trying to memorize the moment, or perhaps gathering the courage to leave. When he finally turned, the sound of the door opening and closing behind him was both a relief and a final blow.

You stayed there, alone in the room, the silence once again filled only by the sound of your irregular breathing. And for the first time in a long time, the bed felt immense, cold, and empty.

The night was an endless torment. The silence of the room felt larger than any physical space, filled only by the echo of what had happened. You stayed sitting at the edge of the bed, staring into the emptiness, unable to lie down on the surface that still held his warmth. The feeling of Alexei’s absence was suffocating, but the thought of sharing the same space with him again so soon was even more unbearable.

The minutes dragged on until they became hours. Every sound in the house seemed amplified: the distant creaking of wood, the rustling of the wind against the windows, the occasional footsteps of someone downstairs.

When morning finally began to break the sky, painting the room with a gray, hesitant light, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hallway. Slowly, almost hesitantly, they approached the door. The knock was soft, almost restrained, but still it echoed like thunder in your chest.

"I'm leaving," his voice came through the wood, low and hoarse, carrying a weight that seemed to suffocate every word. "Please... take care of yourself."

You remained silent. Every part of you screamed to respond, to open the door, but the pain weighed heavier. Silence became your only answer. On the other side, you heard a nearly imperceptible sigh, and then the footsteps receded. When the front door closed, the sound reverberated through the house like a final warning, leaving everything even emptier.

When you finally found the strength to leave the room, the sun was higher, casting a soft glow over the halls of the house, but you didn’t feel any warmth. The cold seemed to have settled inside you, a constant weight that made each movement feel like a Herculean task.

Little Natasha was in the living room, playing with a set of dolls, her face illuminated by the innocence you knew you should protect at all costs. But at that moment, even before she looked up at you, something changed in her expression.

"Good morning, Mommy," she said, her sweet, hesitant little voice.

You forced a smile, but it felt as if every muscle in your face was being pulled against your will. "Good morning, my love."

She put down the dolls and ran to you, her small arms wrapping around your legs. It was such a simple, genuine gesture that it made something inside you break again. You bent down and held her, squeezing her to your chest as if she were your anchor.

"Are you sad?" Natasha asked, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

"No, my angel," you replied, but the hoarseness in your voice was deceitful. "Mommy is just a little tired."

Natasha pulled away slightly, her blue eyes — so incredibly similar to Alexei’s — locking onto yours. They were curious, deep in a way that seemed impossible for someone so small.

"You look sad," she insisted, her little fingers reaching up to touch your face, as if she could wipe away a tear that hadn’t even fallen yet.

You held her tiny hand, squeezing it gently. "Mommy is fine, I promise," you said, but the lie was so fragile that it felt like it could shatter at any moment.

She didn’t respond, only nestling back into your arms. You closed your eyes, inhaling the soft scent of her hair, and allowed yourself to simply feel the moment. But even in that tenderness, there was a throbbing pain.

Natasha was a living reminder of Alexei. Every feature of hers — the eyes, the soft hair, the curious expression — was a painful reflection of the man you loved, but who now seemed so distant. With each glance at her, you were reminded of what was at risk, of what seemed to be crumbling beneath your feet.

You held your daughter a little tighter, trying to find comfort in that closeness. But the pain was there, persistent and unbearable, like a shadow you couldn’t shake off.

The attraction to Anna had been as unexpected as it was unsettling. It wasn’t something Alexei had sought or even desired, but there was something about her that seemed to challenge every fiber of his sensibility. She was enigmatic in a way that eluded him, a vibrant presence amid the salons and social gatherings that otherwise seemed so monotonous. Her beauty was undeniable, but that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was the way she seemed to exist in her own world, as if she were always one step ahead of the expectations society imposed on them.

In the early casual encounters, he had thought it was just a passing curiosity, an innocuous distraction. But as the months dragged on and the absence of his wife was felt more acutely, Anna became a beacon of something undefinable, something he couldn’t ignore. They never crossed any lines. Not a touch, not a kiss. But the long conversations, the glances that lasted a second longer than allowed, were enough to create a chasm of doubt within him.

Now, looking back, Alexei hated himself for letting it happen. It was a betrayal not only to his wife but to everything they had built together. He couldn’t deny that the distance between them during her absence had fed something dark. With her gone, the days had become unbearably empty. Her absence was a constant echo that resonated in every corner of the house, and he, in his weakness, had sought comfort in a presence that should have meant nothing.

But Anna wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t the woman who had shared his fears, his dreams, his life. She wasn’t the mother of his daughter, the companion he had sworn to protect above all. And now, in the present, the price of that weakness was almost unbearable.

The days since the ball had been torture. She avoided him with an almost supernatural skill, and he couldn’t blame her for that. All he knew about her came from the servants, who neutrally mentioned the places she was or the hours she spent with Natasha. He didn’t see her, and it was killing him.

That morning, while holding his daughter in his arms, Alexei felt an almost suffocating despair. Natasha, with her silky hair and eyes so incredibly like his, was a reminder of everything he could lose. She nestled against his chest with unwavering trust, her small fingers clutching his collar as she murmured something about playing in the garden. He ran his fingers through her hair, trying to find some peace in that moment, but the guilt was overwhelming.

“How could I do this?” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. His wife’s face came to mind, not the hardened look from the ball, but the way she used to smile at him when she thought no one was watching. The memory was so painful it almost made him lose his balance.

His mother had warned him countless times, her words as sharp as they were precise. He still remembered her stern tone during a recent argument, one of the few moments when she had truly lost her patience with him.

“Anna is not for you, Alexei,” she had said, her eyes flashing with something bordering on disdain. “Your wife deserves more. Your daughter deserves more. And you... you should be ashamed.”

He had stormed out of that conversation furious, but now he understood the weight of her words. He was ashamed. Deeply. And the worst part was knowing that, no matter how hard he tried, there was no way to go back in time and undo the damage he had caused.

Natasha, sensing the tension in his body, lifted her face to look at him, and her innocent gaze completely disarmed him. She was so small, so confident that her father was the best man in the world. He felt a sharp pang of desperation as he realized that, if he continued like this, he might lose that too.

Alexei couldn’t take it anymore. The silence that once was an almost invisible wall between you two now felt like an impenetrable barrier. He saw the servants walking through the halls, casting furtive glances of pity and caution, bringing scarce news about you. “She’s still in the room, sir,” they would say. “She hasn’t eaten anything again today.” Every word was a stab, and that morning was no different. When the maid returned with the untouched tray, Alexei felt something inside him break.

Without a word, he took the tray from her hands and climbed the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house. The door to the room you used to share was closed, and for a moment, he hesitated. Since that night, he hadn’t crossed that threshold. He hadn’t dared. But now, he had no choice.

Pushing the door open, he found you sitting in front of the vanity, impeccable as always, but so different. The dress perfectly aligned, your hair styled with perfection. Not a strand out of place. But what hit him the most was the absence. The absence of color in your face. The absence of the sparkle in your eyes. And the absence of any trace of the love he used to feel, even without you needing to say it.

“You need to eat.” His voice came out harsher than he intended. He placed the tray on the small table next to the bed, watching you through the reflection in the mirror. “If you keep going like this, you’ll end up sick.”

You didn’t respond, your fingers busy with a small brooch pinning your collar. The silence that followed was suffocating, until your voice cut through the air like a blade: “Alexei, I want a divorce.”

“Please,” he said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible at first. Then, stronger, more desperate. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t say that. No…”

You remained firm, your eyes fixed on him, but the trembling line of your lips betrayed the colossal effort you were making to keep your composure.

“Alexei…” your voice was low, almost a whisper, but the weight of what you said was like a direct blow. “I can’t anymore… I just can’t.”

“But you love me.” He said it like a prayer, as if repeating those words could undo everything that was happening. He stepped forward, his eyes pleading, shining with a desperation he could barely contain. “You said you loved me. You still love me.”

“I love you.” Your confession came quickly, but as harsh as a blade. “And you know that. But it wasn’t enough, Alexei. It was never enough.”

He fell to his knees in front of you, his chin trembling, his hands outstretched toward you as if begging for his very life. “Then what do I do?” He asked, his voice breaking. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. I’ll do anything, anything you ask. But don’t ask me to let you go. Please, I can’t…”

You turned your gaze away, but he saw the tears threatening to spill, even as you held them back with all your might. “I don’t know if there’s anything to fix.” Your voice faltered, but you quickly regained composure, lifting your chin. “I don’t know who we are anymore, Alexei.”

“We are us.” He almost shouted, desperation taking over him. “We are us! No matter what happens, we are us. I can’t... I can’t imagine my life without you. Without Natasha. I can’t bear that.”

“And I can’t bear being with someone who destroyed me like this.” Your tone was firm, but the pain you felt was as evident as his. You saw him close his eyes tightly, as if trying to push away the weight of your words, but they had already lodged themselves in him like splinters.

"Please." He reached out again, this time gently holding your arm, his touch trembling, almost reverent. "Please, don't do this. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. Tell me... anything."

You finally looked at him, and his eyes were so full of desperation that for a moment, something inside you wavered. "I need time." Your voice broke, and you hated how much saying that hurt. "I need time, Alexei. I can't even think straight with you like this. With us like this."

He slowly shook his head, as if he didn’t want to accept it. "Time?" He asked, the word coming out like a sentence. "I can give you time, but... what if you decide you don’t want to come back to me? What if you decide that... it's over?"

You took a deep breath, the tears you were trying to hold back finally streaming silently down your face. "I don’t know, Alexei. I don’t know."

The room fell into unbearable silence, broken only by the uneven sound of his breathing and your stifled sobs. Finally, he stood up, his hands trembling, his eyes red. "I’ll wait." His declaration was low, but carried a firmness that seemed impossible given his state. "I’ll wait as long as it takes. But don’t give up on us."

You didn’t answer, unable to find the words. And as he left the room, the door closing softly behind him, you collapsed to the floor, feeling as if every part of you was falling apart.

In the days that followed, Alexei’s absence in the room was like a constant shadow, a gap you didn’t know how to fill. He had respected your decision for space, yes, but he wasn’t truly absent. It was impossible to ignore the small gestures that betrayed him: a tray of tea and biscuits appearing on your table, accompanied by a short but warm note. “At least this,” the latest one said, with slanted handwriting and a palpable care.

The servants didn’t comment, but you knew. You knew he asked about your meals, about your health, about anything that could ease the guilt he carried. He was present in a discreet way, almost invisible, but so tangible that you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always near, still caring, still watching.

Alexei’s mother’s visit came without warning, on a gray morning, when the heavy clouds outside mirrored the weight you carried in your chest. The maid announced her presence, and you felt your stomach churn. Though there was respect between you two, Mrs. Vronskaya had always been an imposing figure, surrounded by a natural authority that seemed to demand reverence.

You hesitated before going downstairs to meet her, but you didn’t have the strength to refuse. Deep down, you knew this conversation was inevitable.

When you entered the room, Alexei’s mother was already there, sitting impeccably in one of the armchairs, her heavy coat carefully folded beside her. She raised her gaze as soon as you entered, and for a moment, something in her eyes seemed to soften.

“You’re so thin,” was the first thing she said, instead of a greeting, her tone direct but filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your voice soft but firm.

“No, you’re not.” Her response was immediate, with no room for debate. She gestured for you to sit, and when you did, the silence that followed was as thick as the cold morning air.

Mrs. Vronskaya wasn’t a woman who minced words, and you knew she was there for a reason. Still, it was you who broke the silence. “Why are you here?”

“For you,” she said simply, her eyes fixed on yours. “And for Alexei.”

You clenched your hands in your lap, trying to maintain composure. “If you came to defend him, know that you don’t have to. He’s already done that on his own.”

His mother slightly tilted her head, as if weighing her words before responding. “I didn’t come to defend him. I came to listen to you. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on in this house? That I don’t see the pain in both of your eyes?”

The mention of pain stung like a sharp needle. You looked away, staring at the floor, but her voice continued, firm and soft. “I never supported Alexei’s involvement with Anna. I made that clear from the start. Not because she’s married, but because I knew something like this wouldn’t end well. My son has always had this weakness... this tendency to be captivated by the new, the different. It’s part of who he is. But I also know he’s a man who loves deeply. When he loves, he gives himself completely.”

You raised your eyes to her, and there was something there, a mixture of hope and desperation that you couldn’t hide. “And what guarantees me that this love will be enough?”

“I can’t guarantee,” she admitted, her words direct but without cruelty. “But I can say that, since you entered his life, Alexei has changed. He found balance in you. I saw it with my own eyes. And I know that, even with the mistakes he’s made, the love he feels for you is real. I know that you still love him.”

Your heart tightened, and for a moment, you almost wanted to deny it. But what would be the point? “Loving doesn’t seem like enough,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her.

“Maybe it’s not,” Alexei’s mother replied, leaning slightly forward, her hands resting on her knees. “But sometimes, love is what gives you the strength to find a way, even if it’s painful. I’m not here to ask you to forgive my son. I’m here to tell you that, whatever your decision is, you won’t be alone.”

The sincerity in her words hit you like an unexpected blow, and you felt your eyes burn. But no tear fell. “I don’t know if I can get over this. Sometimes, it feels like the distance between us is insurmountable.”

“The distance is great,” she agreed. “But you’re speaking as if he’s on the other side of an abyss. He’s not. Alexei is trying to reach you, even if awkwardly. Don’t you see that?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to control the emotions threatening to overflow. “I see. But every gesture of his just reminds me of everything that’s been lost.”

Alexei’s mother nodded, her gaze softer than you’d ever seen. “That’s natural. But I also want you to know that you’re important to me. Not just as my son’s wife, but as the woman who made his life better. If you decide that you can’t continue, I’ll understand. And even then, you’ll still be part of my family. Always.”

Those words broke something inside you, but they also brought a small relief. You stood up, and she did the same, holding your hand firmly for a moment before letting it go.

“Thank you,” was all you could say.

“Take care of yourself,” she replied, her voice carrying an unexpected gentleness.

Later, as you walked down the hallway, you heard Natasha’s laughter echoing through the house. Peeking through the slightly open door, you saw Alexei sitting on the floor, holding the little one in his arms, her golden hair shining in the light coming through the window. Your chest tightened painfully. It was impossible to deny how much Natasha looked like her father — in her features, her smile, even in the way she seemed to light up the room.

You stayed there for a few seconds, watching. Alexei could hardly believe it when he lifted his eyes and saw you standing there, at the door, your gaze fixed on him and little Natasha. For a moment, he froze, as if any movement could shatter that fragile moment. The weight in your eyes hit him like a punch, and for a second, he wondered if he should call you, ask you to join them.

But before he could even open his mouth, you looked away and disappeared, leaving the door slightly ajar. The absence was an immediate emptiness, a cold that spread through him even with Natasha still nestled in his arms.

“Daddy?” The sweet, small voice of his daughter broke the silence. Natasha tilted her head to look at him, her golden curls falling over her forehead. “Who was there? Was it Mommy?”

Alexei swallowed hard, trying to hide the tightness in his chest. He adjusted Natasha in his arms, snuggling her close. “It was, my little one. But... Mommy had to go.”

“Doesn’t she want to play with us?” Natasha asked, her big, bright eyes searching for an explanation.

Alexei closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his strength. How could he explain something that he himself didn’t fully understand? How could he justify the choices that had led them to this point?

“It’s not that, sweetheart. Mommy is... tired. And sometimes, when we’re tired, we need some time to rest alone.”

Natasha furrowed her brow, clearly thinking about the answer. “But Mommy told me she loves us. She still loves you, doesn’t she?”

Those words, so simple and direct, pierced Alexei. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of it all on his shoulders. “Yes,” he finally replied, his voice low and hoarse. “Mommy loves you very much. And I’m sure she still loves Daddy too.”

“Then why don’t you stay together? Grandma said that love makes everything better.”

He felt his stomach twist when he heard the mention of his mother. Her visit was still fresh in his mind, a reminder of how much he had failed — not just with you, but with himself. She hadn’t spared any words, and the silent disapproval in her gaze still burned in his memory.

“Because Daddy made a mistake,” Alexei finally said, choosing his words carefully. “And sometimes, even when you love someone, you need to show that you can get better before things get better.”

“Will you get better, Daddy?” Natasha asked, her little fingers touching his face as if she wanted to make sure he was paying attention.

“I will,” Alexei replied, his tone now firm. “I promise you, Natasha, that I will fix things. I’ll do everything I can to bring Mommy back to us.”

“Can I help?” Natasha smiled, as if the simple thought of being helpful could solve any problem.

Alexei chuckled softly, kissing her forehead. “Your help already means everything to me, little one. Just having you here with me gives me strength.”

He hugged her tighter, letting that moment between father and daughter carve itself into his memory. Meanwhile, behind the affection he shared with Natasha, Alexei felt the weight of a decision solidifying. He knew he couldn’t allow himself to fail again. He couldn’t disappoint you, or himself, or that little creature who looked at him with so much love and trust.

When Natasha finally got distracted with one of her toys, Alexei stayed there, silently watching her. His conversation with his mother echoed in his mind, every word heavy with meaning. He felt ashamed, crushed by the realization that he had ignored advice and gut feelings that could have prevented all this pain.

But the shame wasn’t enough to paralyze him. It was a flame, something he would use to fuel his determination. Alexei knew the road to you would be difficult, painful. But looking at Natasha, so much like you and so full of life, he found a new resolution.

He didn’t just want to fix things — he needed to. And he would do it, no matter how much time or effort it took.

The change didn’t happen all at once, but it was like spring after a long winter. Alexei didn’t let a single day pass without trying, without showing how much he was willing to repair the mistakes that had brought so much pain.

He started with simple gestures. A fresh rose picked from the garden, carefully placed in your room. He would stop in front of closed doors, hesitating, but not knocking, respecting the space you had asked for, yet unable to stop leaving something, no matter how small, to let you know he was there.

Over time, he began to include Natasha in his attempts, inviting both of you to join him for a walk in the garden or for a special snack. And although you still didn’t join him, he noticed that the coldness from before was fading, replaced by something more neutral. More human.

The maids would mention that you were starting to eat normally again, that the pallor that marked your face had begun to give way to its natural color. Alexei saw this too, in brief glimpses — a soft curve at the corner of your lips when Natasha said something funny, a distant look, but less painful, when you thought no one was watching.

And then, that night, fate brought the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The storm had started earlier, with thunder echoing in the distance and gusts of wind blowing through the windows. Alexei was in the living room when he heard the door open, and before he even turned around, he knew it was you.

You entered the hall, your hair drenched and stuck to your face, the dress weighed down with water. He immediately got up, his heart racing at the sight of you like that.

"My God, you're completely soaked." His voice was low but full of urgency as he approached. You hesitated for a moment, as if considering pulling back, but eventually allowed him to come closer.

Alexei grabbed a wool shawl from a nearby chair and gently wrapped it around your shoulders. "Come. Let’s get these clothes off before you get sick."

His tone was practical, almost automatic, but there was something in his movements — the way his fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted the fabric over you, the care he took to avoid looking directly into your eyes — that betrayed the depth of his feelings.

You followed him to the bedroom, your steps light and almost silent on the carpet. The tension was palpable, an almost visible thread between you both. He gestured for you to sit in the chair near the fireplace. You did, your eyes fixed on the flames as he moved around the room, grabbing clean towels.

Without saying a word, he knelt before you, gently removing the pins that held your hair with firm, yet tender fingers. Each pin made a soft metallic sound as it fell onto the towel he had spread across his lap. You didn’t pull away.

Alexei then stood up, hesitating for a moment before reaching for the ties on your dress. He paused, looking at you for permission. You nodded slightly, enough for him to continue.

The knots loosened slowly, and the sound of the wet fabric coming undone seemed to fill the room. He helped you stand and wrapped a dry robe around your shoulders before stepping back, giving you space to sit again.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. "I’m so sorry."

You lifted your eyes to him, something shining there that he couldn’t decipher. “What about her?”

Alexei froze. For a moment, it seemed as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. “Anna?”

You nodded, your expression still unshaken, but the tension in your shoulders betrayed the effort you were making to stay strong.

“It was nothing,” he said finally, his eyes searching yours as if he wanted to beg you to believe him. “Nothing that justified... nothing that was worth this.”

“And why?” Your voice was soft, but cutting, like a blade piercing straight through his heart. “Why her? What did she have that I didn’t?”

Alexei ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed. “I don’t know. She was... different. Something new, something I had never known. But it wasn’t love, it wasn’t... you.” He knelt in front of you again, his hands gripping yours tightly, but without hurting you. “Nothing ever came close to you. I was a fool for letting this come so close.”

You looked at him, your face still unreadable, but your eyes starting to shine. “What if I had stayed away longer? What if it were someone else, Alexei? How can I trust that this won’t happen again?”

Alexei remained kneeling in front of you, his eyes glowing with a desperation that seemed to suck the air out of the room. He didn’t move, neither closer nor farther, as if even the slightest shift could break the fragile connection that still existed between you.

“You are everything to me,” he repeated, his voice heavy with raw vulnerability. “But I know that just saying that isn’t enough. I know I can’t erase what I did, the pain I caused.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your mind was in turmoil, each of his words crashing against the walls of your own pain, echoing. Finally, almost in a whisper, you asked, “Did you... did you two ever...”

Your voice faltered before you could finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear. Alexei’s eyes widened, as if the question had cut deeper than anything else. He shook his head quickly, almost frantic.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice a little louder, but still choked. “Never. I never did that. I never even kissed her.” He swallowed hard, lowering his gaze for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I was a fool, a complete idiot for letting her occupy so much space in my head, but it wasn’t... physical. It wasn’t love. It was... it was a weakness of mine, a fascination with something I didn’t even know I was seeking. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you this way.”

You felt the weight of every word, the warmth of his sincerity reaching something deep within you, but the pain was still there, alive and pulsing.

Alexei leaned in slightly, his hands still holding yours, but loosely, as if preparing for the inevitable moment when you would pull away. “I’d give anything to go back in time, to make the right choices from the start. To never have allowed anything to come between us. But all I can do now is this. Ask, beg for a chance to be better for you.”

His eyes shone, tears threatening to fall, but he didn’t look away, as if he couldn’t allow himself to hide anything from you. When he finally moved, it was to wrap his arms around your waist, a hesitant, almost fearful gesture.

“Please,” he whispered against the fabric of the robe you were wearing. “Please, tell me there’s still something in your heart that will let me fix this.”

You stood still, your body rigid as if you were trying to decide what to do. He didn’t dare move any further, his face hidden against you, breathing deeply as if it were the last time he could do so.

And then, almost imperceptibly, you raised your hand, your fingers hesitantly touching his hair. It was a small gesture, but to Alexei, it felt as though the whole world had stopped. He lifted his face, surprised, but didn’t say anything.

Your fingers threaded through his blonde hair, the touch soft, but steady, and something in him gave way. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against your stomach as he let out a sigh that sounded almost like a sob.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice low but filled with emotion. “I don’t know how to get past this, Alexei. But... I can’t stop loving you.”

He lifted his gaze to you, his eyes misty, but with a spark of hope. “I don’t need you to know right now,” he said, his voice trembling. “I just need you to let me try. Let me prove that I will never disappoint you again.”

The silence that followed was thick, but not empty. It was full of all the unspoken things, all the emotions that still needed room to exist between you.

Finally, you nodded slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, but enough for him to understand. He didn’t smile, as if he knew there was still no room for joy, but the tension in his shoulders eased, and he held you more firmly in his arms without hurting you.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so softly that you almost didn’t hear it, but the weight of that word hung in the air between you, carrying all the love, regret, and promise he had to offer.

The night was calm, wrapped in a stillness broken only by the soft sound of rain against the windows. You were in Natasha’s room, the little one’s hair illuminated by the warm light of the lamp. She was lying on the bed, hugging the battered teddy bear she insisted on carrying everywhere.

“Now close your eyes, my love,” you said, your voice low and gentle as you adjusted the blanket around her small body. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Will you sing for me?” she asked, her eyes, identical to Alexei’s, shining with expectation.

You smiled, a small but genuine smile, as you began to hum a melody your mother used to sing to you. Her little hand held yours, as if that gesture were essential to the moment.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and Alexei stopped in the doorway, his tall figure illuminated by the hallway light. He hesitated when he saw her there, his eyes resting on the scene with an expression of tenderness so raw that it seemed to contradict the strength of his presence.

For a moment, he considered turning back, letting that moment belong only to the two of you. But then Natasha turned her head, her sleep-messy hair spreading across the pillow.

“Daddy,” she called, a sleepy smile lighting up her face. “Are you going to put me to sleep too?”

Her request was an unexpected bridge between the two of you. Alexei looked at you, a silent question in his clear eyes, the same ones Natasha had inherited. There was something so vulnerable in his gaze that the air seemed to grow a little heavier.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, making space beside the bed. He stepped into the room, each movement carrying a rare hesitation from him. When he approached, Natasha reached out her arms, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead before sitting beside the bed, opposite you.

“Now we’re all here,” she said, content, holding both of your hands.

“Does that mean you’re going to sleep for real now?” Alexei asked, his tone soft but tinged with amusement.

She shook her head, a mischievous smile appearing. “But I like when you’re both here with me. Daddy, mommy...”

The sound of that word hit him like a sweet blow. Mommy. It was simple, but hearing it from his daughter’s lips, in the context of that intimate scene, felt like a reminder of everything he was trying to protect.

Natasha shifted between you, her eyes slowly closing as she mumbled random words about the day. “I want a brother,” she murmured suddenly, her eyes blinking lazily before closing again.

Alexei let out a soft laugh, surprised, and looked at you. “A brother, huh?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered with a yawn, her eyes already closed. “To play with me.”

You and Alexei exchanged a glance, his expression softening in a way that rarely happened. When she finally fell asleep, her breath light and steady, he carefully adjusted her in the bed, leaving a kiss on the top of her head before standing up.

He moved closer to you, extending his hand to help you rise. You accepted, and he didn’t immediately release your hand, holding it between his as if afraid that the moment might slip away.

“She’s just like you,” you commented, your voice low as you looked at Natasha.

“No,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the small, sleeping face. “She’s the best of both of us.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, the usual tension replaced by something softer, more hopeful. He looked at you, his clear eyes carrying a tenderness that seemed almost shy.

“About what she said…” he started, hesitating for a moment.

“Alexei,” you interrupted, your tone almost exasperated but with a small smile.

“I know, I know,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, but his smile was back, something rare and so genuine that it made your heart ache.

The door to Natasha’s room closed softly, muffling the sound of her calm breathing. You and Alexei stayed in the hallway for a moment, as if the moment required silence, a reverence for the scene you had just shared. He seemed to hesitate, his hands sliding into the pockets of his suit jacket, a nervous gesture you knew well.

“She’s always known how to disarm us,” you commented, breaking the silence, your voice low but full of tenderness.

He looked at you, the corners of his lips curving into a nearly shy smile. “It’s an innate talent. I don’t think she got that from me.”

“Maybe from me, then,” you replied, your tone playful, something he hadn’t heard in a long time.

His smile widened, but there was something deeper in his eyes, something that kept him quiet for too long. You were about to ask what he was thinking when he turned slightly, his body leaning as though about to leave.

“Alexei.”

He stopped immediately, turning to face you again. You took a deep breath, gathering the words you wanted to say.

“You don’t have to go back to the other room,” you said, your voice soft but carrying something more. “If you want... you can come back to our room.”

The words came out before you could reconsider, and for a moment, the silence in the hallway seemed absolute. Alexei blinked, disbelief written on his face, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

You looked at him for a moment, your eyes searching his, which seemed to scan every nuance of your expression. “It’s a step, Alexei,” you replied, sincere. “I think we’re ready to take a step.”

He let out a breath that seemed to have been held for a long time, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “I...” He stopped, shaking his head as if the words were too difficult.

“And besides,” you continued, your voice light but carrying something almost mischievous, “if we really want to give Natasha a sibling, I think it makes more sense for us to be in the same room, don’t you think?”

His eyes widened, surprised, and for a moment, he stood completely still, as if the words had been a shock he hadn’t expected.

“You...” He started but didn’t finish, his gaze fixed on your face as if trying to process the subtle, but significant change.

You raised an eyebrow, the playful look returning to your expression, something he immediately recognized. “It’s just a practical matter,” you finished, your voice slightly provocative.

He stepped forward, the hesitation giving way to something more determined, his gaze intense and fixed on yours. “Practical,” he repeated, as if testing the word.

The air around you seemed to carry a familiar tension, something that had always been there but now felt more tangible, more urgent. You saw the shadow of a smile play at the corners of his lips, and you couldn’t resist.

“You’re taking this very seriously, Alexei,” you teased, your voice lower now, only to be interrupted.

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race. The kiss was both tender and desperate, as if he were pouring everything he couldn’t say into words. Your hands went to his shoulders, a gesture to steady yourself, but instead of pushing him away, you pulled him closer, allowing yourself to finally give in to the moment.

When you pulled apart, your breaths were shallow, and Alexei kept his forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, full of emotion.

The night seemed silent, the kind of silence that embraced the house like a heavy blanket, protecting the sounds that belonged only to that space. The room you once shared was almost exactly as before, but something felt different now. It was the same space, but it carried the weight of everything you had lived through—and survived.

Alexei was sitting at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, watching you as you took off your robe and prepared to lie down. His gaze was intense, but not unsettling. It was a gaze of reverence, as if he couldn’t believe he was here again.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft but full of emotion.

He looked up at you, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Strange... and familiar at the same time.”

You moved closer slowly, feeling the warmth radiating from him even before you sat down beside him. For a moment, you stayed there, side by side, your hands almost touching. The small space between you seemed heavy, but also filled with something new—hope.

“I thought about this so much,” he murmured, turning slightly to face you. “About what it would be like... having you here again. Being with you like this.”

“And how is it?” you asked, your playful tone trying to mask the vulnerability behind the question.

He chuckled softly, but there was a gleam in his eyes, something deeply sincere. “It’s better than I allowed myself to imagine.”

You felt your heart tighten, but it was a different kind of tightness now, something less painful and closer to healing. You reached out to him, your fingers touching his gently. He intertwined his fingers with yours, the gesture so familiar it brought tears to your eyes.

“Alexei...” you started, but he interrupted you, his eyes fixed on yours.

“I know,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I know it will take time. That this is just the beginning. But please, tell me there’s a beginning.”

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “There’s a beginning,” you replied, your voice almost a whisper.

He leaned forward, his forehead touching yours, and the world seemed to shrink to that moment, to that touch. “I won’t fail you again,” he promised, his voice heavy with something so deep that it made your eyes well up with tears.

“I know,” you said, the sincerity of your voice making him close his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing it.

You both moved together to lie down, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When Alexei pulled the covers over you, he did it with the same care as always, as if every small gesture had meaning. You curled up next to him, his body fitting to yours as if it had never stopped being like that.

He ran his fingers through your hair, untangling the strands that had come loose throughout the day, the movements slow and almost reverent. “I feel like I’m holding a piece of the future in my hands,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“And what do you see in that future, Alexei?” you asked, lifting your gaze to meet his.

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart tighten with both longing and hope at the same time. “I see us. Natasha... maybe a little brother for her, if you still want,” he added, his tone lightly teasing, but his eyes shining with tenderness.

You laughed, a light and almost new sound. “Maybe,” you replied, teasing. “But one step at a time, right?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a gesture that seemed to carry all the promises in the world. “Right,” he agreed, his voice soft and full of emotion.

Silence fell again, but it was a different silence now. It was a silence of peace, of new beginnings. And as you curled even closer, your hearts beating in a slow, synchronized rhythm, you knew you were finally finding your way back to each other.

[petalsonmoon]

you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon.

"it's ridiculous." then he leaned his body foward, his fingers meeting his toes. an elongation you would take embarrasingly months to be able to do that flawlessly.

"and really fucking stupid" he proceeds his thoughts.

"oh please, do go on." you look down to your notes and continue to write your ridiculous ideas.

the sun was far too bright and where its glow met the leaves of the large number of trees around you they were gleaming, like they were immensely happy.

"i hope your little notebook accidently burns to ashes."

"kind of you to say accidently."

"yeah no problem at all"

you glance up to find that he has his knee bended to his chest and quickly look back to the pen in your hand. quite misteriously your hands are stained from it.

"you making the walking sleeping bag one too?" his voice is raspy and angry and very clear. how does he sound so good while doing post training stretching?

perhaps you're looking too much into it. your crush makes you a bit giddy, idiotic in a lot of senses. makes you feel a child just like the word itself is infant. crush.

you sigh heavyly.

"still deciding" you draw a little explosion on the corner of the page.

"might as well do it for class b too."

"if i got a penny for every dramatic sentence that came out of your mouth-"

he had his back to you but he insisted on turning his head to you to send you the most chilling glare for exactly 3 seconds. that's his stupidity. his eyes were already too pretty in your eyes for you to feel an ounce of that anger.

"-only today i'd have like," you scrunch your nose "the amount of money equivalent to the ferocity of all might's powers."

he doesn't bother to look at you again and you smile.

"would you look at that. i should look for the person with this quirk."

he growls. loud. and you're smile is genuine.

he sits up straight, his back to you and starts leisurely move his neck. that's the sign he's almost done.

"putting too much money for those idiots.”

"it's not that much" you reason. "don't feel that way for too long, you're getting one too."

with that, it's over.

he turns to you and when those red eyes meet yours the trees are for sure shinning somewhat brighter.

the response for your affirmation it's a furrow between his eyebrows. his skin glowing a bit but that's not your absurd heart speaking, it's just his sweat.

"uhum" now you're messing with the grass. it estabilizes you. "yours is actually the only one that i drew and painted myself. the other ones i made with suna from the support course"

an ant crawled into your point finger.

"but don't tell them that." you whisper.

the ant made it to your pulse when you feel a literal body falling on top of you.

"you motherfucker! you are drenched-"

"that shitty little brain of yours-" his face on your neck. his words and breathing warming your whole body. you are exploding on the inside. how ironic.

"-and your stupid handmade keychains for the whole class" and then he lighly bites where your neck meets your shoulder.

his hands trails your arms, his fingers are burning pathways in your skin until they meet your hands and they interlock with your fingers. then he finally lifts his head and looks at you and what you're feeling is something words can't understand.

"i was gonna wait until graduation."

"tomorrow, you mean."

he bites your chin and you're so fucking certain you'll melt any second now. "because of that fucking tone i'm going to burn all of your little gifts."

you smile at him trying to match his damn audacity. his charm? his mind blowing handsomeness? "i'll murder you."

you blink and feel his breath on your neck again. "do it now, cupcake." then. his maddening warm and soft lips leaves a kiss under your earlobe. you close your eyes. "you have the power to."

"don't wait until tomorrow."

he lifts his head again and there's a smirk with a softness in the corner of it on his face. "or?"

"i might die." you whisper. it is serious to you. you need his lips on yours this very second. with his eyes on yours, telling you every adoration you thought about him for the last couple of months before going to bed, you think might. actually. die.

"who's the dramatic one now, brat?"

[ranticore]

i remind myself why i rarely ever drew nettlerove even tho he's consistently one of my faves ever. afaik he's never even been on this blog in adult form

anywayss i thought i'd try it again and it's as painful as ever. i obviously had less of a focus on realism for his staphylinid species Cryptostenus oculatus. But they have an interesting life cycle, being brood parasites on communal lepidopterans. these huge beetles sneak their eggs among the eggs of the butterflies. the larvae strongly resemble caterpillars and benefit from a cushy colony life until their caterpillar peers are ready to pupate. Cryptostenus remains a larva while the caterpillars pupate, allowing it to go mask off predator for the first time in its life (a very confusing and horrifying moment for them) and feast on its caterpillar siblings in their most helpless state. next spring, what emerges from the colony's pupation chamber will not be a new generation of butterflies, but one very large beetle.

Crytpostenus are flightless in their adult forms but excellent climbers, able to squeeze into deceptively small gaps despite their large size. As adults they are largely solitary (and many do not believe they are anything but extra fucked up butterflies, if they never manage to meet another of their species). Back home in Thera, they are rarely ever seen by others, spending much of their time hunting in caves or, in the case of oculatus, disguised among tithe tree flowers, which they mimic. The glands on their labium (the "chin" part of the face) secrete a sticky substance, and like some irl beetles in the Stenus genus, they can rapidly extend their labium, using the sticky substance to grab prey before reeling it into the mandibles.

Nettlerove never did manage to meet another member of his kind. As a caterpillar he crossed the Houndstooth mountains unwillingly (in the claws of a dragonfly) and almost died. He was found by a human expeditioneer called Dara, who took him home to Earth (illegally not informing the relevant authorities) to patch up his wounds. Dara saw a moneymaking opportunity in Nettlerove, realising that this caterpillar guy could easily travel the narrow tunnels in the empty city, scouting ahead for his team. But Dara pushed Nettlerove too hard, ignoring his objections and claustrophobia, handling him roughly and with zero concern for him, until finally Nettle got outta there. He made it home to the colony just in time to pupate and murder all of his siblings, following a natural drive he didn't know lay within him.

Believing that he was irrevocably a monster and worthy of nothing but the worst possible treatment, Nettlerove went back to Dara, who was horrible but at least wanted him. For the next eight years Nettlerove was Dara's hitman, for lack of a better term. He was the largest insect to ever make it to Earth, and most humans had no idea Dara had such a monster lying in wait. With Nettlerove's help, Dara was able to gain a controlling stake in one of the critical entrances of the empty city.

^ older design but that's an accurate size comparison w/ Dara

[izzih22]

Can we get a a Azzi being jealous and the team teasing her fic pleaseeeee????

She’s Already Got Me

Note: I kinda did something a little different. Hope you like it. I kinda hate it but anywayyy…HIGH SCHOOL PAIGE AND AZZI!!

Azzi sat in the second row of the bleachers, a little hunched into Paige’s hoodie, her knees drawn up as she sat between Mr. Bueckers and a squirming, giggly Drew.

“You think Paige saw me hold up my sign?” Drew asked for the sixth time.

Azzi smiled, pulling him in a little tighter. “I’m pretty sure she saw you, Drew.”

He grinned proudly, then leaned into her like she was a favorite blanket.

“She’s gonna come straight to me after, right?”

Azzi nodded. “Of course. You’re her number one fan.”

Drew narrowed his eyes dramatically. “You’re number two.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her cheeks already warm. “That’s fair.”

The game had just ended, and the crowd was electric. Paige had dropped 30 points with that signature effortless dominance, and now the swarm had begun—friends, teachers, fans, classmates. Everyone wanted a photo, a hug, a second of her time.

Azzi didn’t mind the attention.

What she minded… was her.

The girl was short. Pretty in that practiced, high school popular-girl way… Tight jeans, hair flipped, laugh a little too loud. Azzi watched her glide up to Paige like she was stepping onto a stage.

She leaned in close.

Too close.

Her hand touched Paige’s arm, lingered. She smiled like she already belonged there.

Azzi felt her throat go tight.

She didn’t speak. She wouldn’t.

But her jaw clenched slightly, and her arms tightened around Drew as he snuggled into her side.

Mr. Bueckers glanced over from beside her, eyes twinkling.

“You alright, Azzi?”

Azzi gave a small nod. “Yeah. Just… watching.”

“Ah,” he said knowingly. “That’s Kaylee. Think she’s been trying to get Paige’s attention since middle school.”

Azzi looked at him in surprise.

He smiled. “Don’t worry, kiddo. Paige doesn’t even know that girl exists.”

And he was right.

Because the second Paige’s eyes scanned the crowd and found Azzi, her whole posture changed. Her shoulders relaxed, her smile turned real, and she was already weaving through the group of people to get to her. Ignoring the girl left behind her.

Drew perked up. “Paige is coming!”

She reached them in seconds.

Azzi stood to let Drew run to her first—he immediately launched into a detailed retelling of every point she scored, complete with sound effects.

Paige listened with a grin, ruffling his hair before turning to Azzi.

“Hey,” she said, soft like she’d been waiting all game just to say that.

“Hey,” Azzi replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite mask the glint in her eyes.

Paige’s brow lifted slightly, catching it.

“Fun game?” she asked, stepping closer.

Azzi nodded, then quietly added, “Kaylee was… enthusiastic.”

Paige blinked, then realized what she meant. Her smile grew.

“Oh my god,” she said under her breath, leaning in, voice teasing. “Are you jealous?”

Azzi turned pink immediately. “No. I mean—no. Not really.”

Paige grinned wider, tilting her head. “Azzi. She was literally talking about getting me to do some social media promo for her new YouTube channel. I was two seconds from faking an injury.”

Azzi huffed out a tiny laugh, but didn’t quite meet her eyes.

Paige reached for her hand, gentle but firm. “Hey.”

Azzi looked up.

“I’ve been looking at you since warmups,” Paige said. “No one else.”

Azzi’s shoulders softened.

And Drew, now climbing back into Azzi’s lap, mumbled, “I saw her staring at you.”

Paige smirked. “Snitched on myself, huh?”

Azzi giggled, finally leaning into her like she always did—quiet, soft, full of love.

⸻

Back at the house later, Azzi was still in Paige’s hoodie, curled under a blanket on the couch as Paige sat beside her, scrolling through highlights on her phone.

Drew had already bragged to his mom that Azzi held his hand the whole game, and now the living room was calm.

Until Mr. Bueckers walked through with a knowing smile. “Just so you know,” he said casually, “I told Kaylee she didn’t stand a chance.”

Paige snorted. “Dad.”

“What? I saw Azzi’s face. That girl was five seconds from radiating polite fury.”

Azzi groaned and hid her face in Paige’s shoulder.

Mr. Bueckers winked. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. She’s already yours.”

Paige kissed the top of her head and whispered, “Always.”

“I mean she never shuts up about you…” Mr. Bueckers said before being interrupted.

“DAD!”