-DemonicAngel-

ADYA | XVIII | SHE/HER | ARIES |

[demonicangelll]

INTRODUCTION

Adya | 18teen | Aries | She/her | Occasionally, a writer, but a full-time procrastinator. I can also read anything, but my textbooks. Current interests- Bluelock, Love and Deepspace, Haikyuu, and more. (I have certain phases of hyperfixation, which you can figure out from my posts lol) Plans with this blog- reading, writing, and possibly posting about studying (soon enough) and yapping (because yes) Coming soon (hopefully)- masterlist| taglist | recommendations Current concerns- I should probably study Listening to- Starboy | Watching- The Penthouse |

[praxieserver]

they're trying not to laugh

[zaynestheone]

Good morning, Nisa. I'm here with my first request. May I request: On the night before Zayne's wedding to Reader, MC tries one final time to convince Zayne to elope. A/N: The reason why I asked about Non-MC is because my definition of MC is in-game MC.

My very first ask guyssss

The Night Before • Love and Deepspace Zayne

pairing: zayne x nonMC!reader (ft. MC called 'emcee') genre: angst, hurt / no comfort, pre-wedding drama warnings: emotional cheating, implied infidelity, heartbreak, confrontation, abandonment, unresolved ending content: childhood friends to lovers (sort of), arranged marriage dynamics, complicated past love, jealousy, emotional restraint, one-sided devotion, betrayal, no resolution

The truth was, your life with Zayne had never been accidental.

It had been decided for you long before you were old enough to understand what it meant. Your parents and his, bright-eyed university friends once upon a time, had laughed over dinners and half-jokingly promised that their children would grow up together, study well, become something respectable—and eventually marry.

And you had.

You grew up in the same spaces, shared holidays, tolerated each other through awkward teenage years, then drifted just enough to become strangers again. He went his way. You went yours. Somewhere along the line, the childish promise had turned into something quietly inevitable.

By the time you joined Akso Hospital as a neurosurgeon, it was no longer a question of if—only when.

You didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

Not really.

But love, it turned out, wasn’t always loud. Sometimes it was built in the quiet spaces between long shifts, in the way he would slide a cup of coffee toward you without asking, already knowing how you took it. In the way he trusted your judgment in the operating room without hesitation. In the rare, almost imperceptible softness in his voice when he said your name after a particularly exhausting day.

It wasn’t the kind of love that burned.

It was the kind that settled.

And you let it.

Even when you knew.

Even when you knew that somewhere, tucked behind all that composure, there had always been someone else.

Emcee.

You never blamed her.

How could you? She had been there long before you, woven into his life in ways you could never quite reach. You knew about her illness, about the way she depended on him, about the history that stretched between them like something sacred and untouchable.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

Because he chose you.

Because at the end of every day, it was your messages he answered. Your presence he returned to. Your life he was building something with.

Because tomorrow, he was going to marry you.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

Sleep wouldn’t come.

The hotel room felt too still, too quiet, the anticipation pressing against your ribs in a way that made it impossible to breathe properly. You tried closing your eyes. Tried counting seconds. Tried convincing yourself that you needed the rest.

It didn’t work.

So you got up.

You didn’t overthink it. Didn’t let yourself linger on the old superstition about seeing each other before the wedding. You were both doctors. You had spent years dealing with life and death—what was one harmless myth to you?

Besides… you just wanted to see him.

Just once.

The hallway was dim, carpet swallowing your footsteps as you made your way toward his room. There was something almost comforting about the familiarity of it—the quiet, the stillness, the knowledge that just on the other side of that door was someone who had become… yours.

You have known Zayne long enough for this to feel natural.

Long enough for his name to sound familiar in your mouth before it ever sounded dear.

Long enough for your parents’ dinners, your families’ old jokes, the careful little arrangements made when you were children to turn into something everyone had been too polite to name for years. Long enough for the world to decide, long before either of you did, that you would end up together one day.

And maybe that is why, when things finally shifted, when duty and affection and time all bent into something softer, it had felt inevitable in the best way.

You had not expected to love him the way you did.

Not at first. Not when the marriage was still half arrangement and half promise, not when you were still learning the shape of each other again as adults, not when Zayne still wore his usual restraint like a second skin and you still caught yourself wondering whether the quiet between you was distance or patience.

Then a year had passed.

A year of him remembering the way you took your tea. A year of him finding reasons to linger in the hospital hallway when you were on call. A year of him looking at you like he was always thinking several steps ahead of everyone else except when it came to you, and then he seemed strangely, devastatingly human.

A year of falling in love so slowly that you had not even realized the shape of it until it was already there.

That was the worst part.

Not the wedding. Not the ceremony tomorrow. Not the white flowers, the speeches, the impossible, bright future everyone had already started calling yours.

The worst part was that you had let yourself want it.

And now, standing outside his room with your hand hovering over the door, you can feel your pulse in your throat like a warning.

You should go back.

You should sleep.

You should not be here, not tonight, not with the hallway empty and the hour this late and a superstition somewhere in the back of your mind about bad luck but you can't seem to care.

You barely lift your hand to knock before something inside the room makes you stop.

A voice.

Emcee’s voice.

It is faint at first, then clearer when you lean closer to the door, your breath catching before you can stop it. You know that voice. Of course you do. Everyone in his life knows it by now, knows the way it has become part of the strange, unfinished architecture around Zayne’s heart.

You do not mean to listen.

You do anyway.

At first you cannot make out every word. Only pieces. A tremor in her voice. The rough edge of desperation. Then the clear, painful shape of it as she says his name like she is reaching for something she has been trying to hold onto with both hands.

She is begging him to leave.

Not for a moment. Not for a delay. To leave. To run away with her. To choose her. To remember what they used to be before everything else got in the way, before time, before duty, before you.

You stand there so still you almost think your body has gone hollow around your ribs.

Then you hear Zayne.

His voice is lower than hers, flatter somehow, but not cold. Worse than cold. Controlled. Every word clipped into place with that practiced, infuriating steadiness he wears so well in operating rooms and emergencies and every other moment when someone else might have cracked.

“Emcee,” he says, and there is enough in that one word to make your chest ache. “You should not be here.”

You hear her say something you cannot catch.

Then, more clearly, with an edge of pleading so sharp it almost sounds like pain, she tells him she loves him.

You stop breathing.

She says it again.

She tells him he does not have to go through with this. That she knows he is getting married tomorrow. That she knows what that means. That none of this was supposed to end like this. That they belong together. That he knows they do. That all he has to do is leave with her and none of it has to happen.

Your fingers curl against the door so hard your nails bite your palm.

Then there is a thud.

A hard, abrupt sound that makes your whole body jolt.

Your mind supplies the image before you can stop it: a wall, a body, sudden movement, too close, too fast. Someone gasping. Someone struggling to get free or to stay. The room suddenly far too small to contain what you are hearing.

And then—worse—something that sounds unmistakably like a kiss.

Not soft. Not tender. Not accidental.

A muffled, breathless sound that lands in your ears like a blow.

Your stomach drops so violently you have to put a hand against the wall to steady yourself.

For one absurd second, you wait for Zayne to say your name.

To explain.

To deny it.

To do anything at all that would make this stop being real.

Instead, his voice comes again, quiet but sharpened now, as if he is trying to force the world back into order by sheer control.

“Emcee. This is enough.”

Enough.

The word hits you harder than the kiss did.

Enough for what?

Enough of her? Enough of this? Enough of him? Enough of you, of the wedding, of the year you thought had meant something, of all the careful tenderness and the late nights and the way he had looked at you lately like he was still learning how to be happy and already decided it would be with you?

Your heart makes a strange, painful movement inside your chest, as if it has reached the edge of something and found there is no floor beneath it.

You do not remember deciding to move. Only that suddenly your hand is on the door handle and the room is open and the world inside it is wrong in every possible way.

Zayne turns first.

Of course he does.

He always notices everything first.

His expression shifts the instant he sees you, the color draining from his face so quickly it almost looks like shock. Emcee is half a step behind him, one hand lifted as if she had been reaching for him, her breathing uneven, her eyes wide with the sudden, dreadful recognition of what has just happened.

But you are not looking at her.

You are looking at him.

At the state of his shirt, at the tension in his shoulders, at the slick, impossible awareness in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know and also nothing you can survive hearing.

Something inside you goes frighteningly calm.

It is worse than screaming. Worse than crying.

Your voice, when it comes, sounds distant to your own ears.

“I was looking for you.”

Zayne takes a step toward you immediately. “Listen to me.”

No.

The word forms before he can finish.

You feel it like a blade. Not because he says it with anger. Not because he says it with guilt. Because he says it like the same man who has spent a year making you feel like the safest place in the world has just proved that safety was something you invented on top of the facts.

He reaches for you.

You step back.

“Don’t,” you say.

His hand stops halfway between you, fingers tensed as though he can physically hold the moment in place if he tries hard enough. “You are misunderstanding—”

You laugh once, and it is the ugliest sound you have ever made.

“Am I?”

He goes still.

That hurts more than anything else.

Because Zayne is never still unless something inside him has already turned catastrophic.

You look at Emcee then, just once, and there is no hatred in it. That almost hurts too. She looks sick with regret, but regret does not undo what you heard. It does not erase the sound of his room, the thud, the kiss, the way his voice had not once said your name until the damage was already done.

You look back at him.

You have tolerated so much, and that thought lands like a bruise opening under the skin.

You tolerated the way she never fully disappeared from the edges of his life. The emergency calls. The clinical excuses. The old history no one seemed to know how to bury. The way Zayne went to her whenever she needed him because her protocore syndrome made every crisis bigger, sharper, harder to refuse. You tolerated it because you understood duty. Because you understood illness. Because you understood that not every wound could be healed by the person who loved him most.

You tolerated it because you loved him enough to be generous with your pain.

And now you are standing here, with your own love in pieces at your feet, and all you can think is that generosity was not the same thing as being chosen.

Zayne’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

He looks, for the first time in your entire knowledge of him, like a man who has run out of language.

“That is not—” he starts.

You shake your head.

He moves again, slower this time, like he is approaching a skittish animal, like he believes gentleness might fix what he has broken. “You need to let me explain.”

There is so much in his face that might have saved you if it had been there five minutes earlier. Exhaustion. Panic. Frustration. Something raw and helpless underneath all of it. He looks almost angry with himself, which would be comforting if it did not arrive so late.

You are already backing toward the door.

“No,” you say again, and now your throat is burning with it. “I don’t.”

He says your name.

It is the same way he says it when you are tired. When you are frightened. When he is trying to soothe you after a long shift. It is almost unbearable, hearing it now, because every tender memory attached to it is coming apart inside you at once.

You shake your head harder. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Please.”

That nearly breaks you. He sounds desperate.

He takes another step and you hate the traitorous part of you that still notices how careful he is with you even now, how his hand hovers instead of grabbing, how his face has gone white with the effort of not making this worse.

But worse is already here.

It is already in the room.

It is already in your lungs.

“Tell me,” you say, and your voice is shaking now despite everything you are trying to hold inside it, “is there anything you could say that makes this make sense?”

He does not answer fast enough.

That is answer enough.

Something in you caves in with a terrible, silent finality.

You step back again, and he reaches for you, faster this time, his hand closing around your wrist just long enough to stop you from leaving.

The contact is intimate in the cruelest possible way.

His fingers are warm.

You know the exact feel of them. You have spent the last year learning it. Every touch, every slight pressure, every quiet gesture of affection he had never once made feel accidental. Now his hand at your wrist feels like the last thread tying you to a life you are already falling out of.

“Don’t go,” he says, and this time there is no control in it at all.

It almost makes you cry.

You look at his hand on you, then at his face.

Then you pull away.

His fingers slip off your skin like they were never meant to stay.

The silence that follows is so complete it feels violent.

You do not know whether Emcee is crying. You do not care. You do not know whether Zayne has said your name again. Maybe he has. Maybe he is still saying it. His voice is turning into something far away, something useless, something you can no longer afford to hear.

All you know is that your wedding dress is hanging in another room like a lie.

All you know is that tomorrow was supposed to mean forever.

All you know is that you have never felt so thoroughly, humiliatingly mistaken in your life.

You open the door.

This time he does not touch you.

That is somehow the final cruelty.

When you reach the hallway, your vision has blurred so badly that the lights smear against the carpet in pale streaks. You keep walking anyway, because stopping would mean falling apart where he could see it, and you refuse to give him that.

Behind you, his voice follows you into the corridor, lower and rougher than you have ever heard it.

Your name.

Again.

Then, something fractured and too human to be controlled:

“Please. Let me explain.”

But explanations do not matter when the thing you needed most was never the truth.

It was being the one he chose without hesitation.

And as you walk away from him, from the room, from the wedding waiting like a body in a coffin, that is the thought that hurts most of all.

Not that he lied about losing feelings for her.

Not even that he kissed her with your wedding just hours later.

It is the unbearable, shattering possibility that even after all this time, even after all your love, you were still only ever standing in the place where someone else belonged.

☾ zayne’s aurora

Part 2?👀

[monoidmango]

Gone With the Wind

Synopsis: From the moment you first saw him, you’re convinced Sylus would be your salvation in this life. Little do you know, in the end, you’re the one who finally gives him freedom. He rests in the wind. You are buried by snow.

Warning(s):TW!! Mentions of depression and suicide. If you are sensitive towards the aforementioned topics, maybe sit this one out (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ). Angst, Slow burn, Doomed romance, tragedy. Major character death!! (x3). Seriously. ANGST. HURT. No comfort. Non-cannonical universe, Mephisto is human whoops. GRAB SOME TISSUES!  

30.1k words

A/N: I don't say this enough but thank you to everyone who has the patience to read through my really long works! It makes the writing process all worth it <3 Anyhow, it's the end of March, which means I need to honor one of my top devastating animes of all time: Your Lie in April!! This is loosely inspired by Your Lie In April and Forest of Fireflies (but the worst of both worlds). I swear I'm only gonna be working on fluff after this for a while; I cried too many times writing the ending. As always, happy reading and enjoy!

1.  You lean against the old wallpaper as Mrs. Zhou, your grandma's domestic helper, takes your bags. "Thanks for coming back to visit. I know this place is shabby and far, but your grandma is very happy to see you. As you know, her health these days..."  You nod, stopping her from saying more.  "She's still taking a nap, isn't she? I'll walk around a little bit. Be back for dinner." Mrs. Zhou nods, instructing you, "Take the main road. Turn back as soon as it gets dark." "Okay," you reply, slinging your camera around your neck.

You head out, choosing the opposite direction your cab had came from, slowly walking along the cement road. The road seems to lead to the top of the mountain; it's all uphill, but fortunately, the dense foliage and cool breeze makes the walk less tiring.  The scenery of the mountain village is beautiful, but it's not quite enough to make you stop and enjoy the view. You don't reach for the camera around your neck. As you notice the sun slowly beginning to set, you decide to turn around after the next bend. 

But after passing the bend, you don't turn around. You stop, casually glancing up in the fleeting moment.

Before you lies a clearing off the edge of a cliff, twilight streaming through the rolling, thick clouds, forming beams of light. A figure stands there, tall and slender, like a pine tree growing on the cliff's edge. The pine trees on the cliff, standing year-round, heir branches and leaves shaped by the will of the breeze, seem destined to one day become nothing more than the wind itself. That person seems to be just like that as well; like someone who would become the wind.

You, lost in thought for a moment, raise your camera.

You press the shutter, and in that instant, the person in the lens turns their head, a cold gaze piercing through the twilight and mountain wind, meeting your eyes. Your heart feels like its been struck by a lightning bolt. You feel a momentary stiffness in your body, and you stammer as you lower the camera.

Without the filter of the lens, the coldness in that gaze is even more pronounced.

"Did you get my permission to take the picture?" His voice is icy cold. “Sorry," you say. “I’ll delete it now.” After doing so, you walk towards him, showing him the camera. “It’s deleted.”

You're only about a meter apart when the man reaches out and takes the camera from you, checking if you've actually done so. You don't mind. It was your fault at first. He looks down at the camera. You look at him.

The person before you seems to be around your age, maybe just a little older, exuding the chill of the early spring breeze. The light filtering through the clouds bath him, giving him an unreal, almost ethereal quality, especially since you've met in this place. It's as if he shouldn’t exist in the first place, a god who only appears in the depths of the clouds, among these mountains and rivers.

You're enraptured by his face when you suddenly notice a subtle change in his expression: He raises an eyebrow slightly. You quickly realize he must have saw something on your camera, like your selfies.

You snatch the camera back and, sure enough, the album is turned to a set of deliberately silly faces. You took those on a whim, wanting to see what your face, often described as icy, would look like with those expressions. You haven't deleted them yet, too lazy to do so, not expecting anyone else to see them.

“Who gave you permission to look through my things?” You ask with an annoyed look. The boy doesn't react much, replying lightly, “We're even now.” He turns away indifferently, continuing to look at the horizon.

Fine. It's even. You compose yourself and follow his gaze. It's then that you realize you could actually see the sea from here.

At that moment, the setting sun dips below the horizon, bathing the sea in a golden hue. The shimmering waves, like countless stars falling into the depths, blend seamlessly with the twilight. This is the perfect spot to watch the sunset. The scene before you is certainly worthy of a photograph, but you don't raise your camera again. Instead, you take a step towards the edge of the cliff and look down. The cliff is steep; you need to walk to the very edge to see the top. You look at the bottom with a thoughtful expression.

After a while, you say, "This is a good place to jump off."

The boy next to you isn't surprised by your comment; even humming in agreement. You, however, are quite surprised by his reaction. A normal person wouldn't react this way to such a remark.

You turn to look at him. He also glances at you. Your gazes meet in the evening breeze, neither flinching nor hesitant.

This eye contact lasts a long time, but neither of you show any real emotion in your eyes. You don't look away; you simply didn't want to look away. Looking into his eyes, an indescribable feeling rises in your heart. If you had to describe it, it's like sinking into the sea, having your breath taken away, but not suffocating. You feel your body floating, then sinking deeper and deeper, reaching the deepest point, where you see another deep blue sea.

It's something you've never seen before, so you wanted to keep looking.

Unfortunately, he doesn't intend for you to keep looking. He looks away, glancing at the sun completely below the horizon, and says calmly, "It's getting dark. Aren't you going back?" "Yes," you say, but you don't move. Instead, you ask him, "What about you?" "Yes." Unlike you, he turns around as soon as he opens his mouth. He has long legs, and in a few strides, is already back on the concrete road, turning to go down the mountain. You follow, going in the same direction. 

Before long, you catch a glimpse of your grandma's little house from the corner of your eyes. You watch the person before you keep walking ahead. You contemplate for a moment before stopping.

"Hey," you call out. He stops and turns around. He doesn't ask what you're calling him for, just quietly looking at you.  You walk a few steps closer and ask, "What's your name?" His eyes are half-lidded, meeting your direct gaze, his expression calm and indifferent. "Sylus Qin."

Sylus...

You silently repeat the name in your head. It fits, you decide. "The first time I saw you, I thought you were like the wind." You say, tone unwavering as if stating a fact.  Sylus disagrees, coldly replying, "I don't think so." You don't mind his unfriendly remark; instead, a slight smile appears on your lips.

You find him amusing.

"What's wrong with being like the wind? You seem quite resistant to the idea." "It's not that it's bad. I'm just not like it," he says. "Then what are you like?" You press again. "I don't know," he replies,  "I haven't thought about it." You look at him, a smile appearing in your usually calm, lake-like eyes. For the first time in years, you feel a desire to understand someone. You want to see what this man named Sylus is like.

“Will we meet again?” You ask. The evening breeze carries your voice to his ears, accompanied by the rustling of leaves.

Sylus looks at you. You stand a few feet above him on a not-so-steep slope, backlit, your hair blurred by light and shadow. Your face is hazy, like distant mountains at dusk. “Yes." You give him a faint smile. 

You don't exchange any more words that night.  The two of you continue walking. Sylus doesn't stop when you reach your doorstep, and you don't call out to him again either. Afterall, you aren't close.  But you have a feeling you'll meet again anyway.

Back home, you open your camera, press a few buttons, and recover the photo that was deleted earlier. You hadn't even properly looked at the photo before it was gone. Now, looking at the person in the photo, those eyes, your heart is struck again.

You have quite a few interests, but photography was never one of them. You simply used it as a recording device for your everyday life, so you don't pay close attention to things like composition or lighting. But this photo before you, in terms of composition, lighting, and atmosphere, is objectively excellent- enough to be breathtaking.

A cliff, a setting sun, a sea of clouds with twilight overflowing, and a person standing in the center of the light like a god. The god turns his head through the long wind to meet your gaze. Even looking into those eyes through the photograph, you can feel the wind suddenly stop, and the mountains and seas falling silent.

You recall the distance between yourself and Sylus at the time; it was only a few meters, yet he gives off an extremely distant feeling in the photo. Perhaps it is his aloofness, like a cold moon hanging in the distant sky. Unlike many boys your age who try to feign profundity and indifference, his coldness seems to emanate from his very bones.

There's a saying: People are always attracted to those who are completely opposite to themselves, but those who are extremely similar to themselves are even more captivating. It's a saying about love. You don't think you've fallen in love with Sylus Qin at first sight, but you can't deny that you consider him very attractive. You've never felt this level of intense curiosity about anyone before. He is the first. 

Before, you've always felt that life was meaningless. You were detached and uninterested in the world. Despite having just started college, you have no expectations for the future. Now, you finally have something to look forward to: Your second encounter with Sylus.

2.  After dinner, you push your grandmother out in her wheelchair for a short walk.

Whenever the sun is away, the mountains are exceptionally cool. Every breath of air feels like it had been filtered through snowmelt soaked in bamboo leaves—moist, cool, and refreshing. There are four roads in front of your grandmother's house. One leads to the cliff where you met Sylus, but it's all uphill. Another leads to the town, and you already saw the scenery along that route. You don't where the other two led, so you let your grandma choose: the flatter one it is.

This road isn't very steep, but it's still built on the hillside. One side is mountain, and the other a cliff. The view is extremely wide, showing the stream and dense forest below, and the distant, rolling mountain range. The scenery before you is undoubtedly beautiful, but you're somewhat distracted. You push your grandma forward slowly as she occasionally points out places to tell you their names and stories that had happened there.

"Do you see that bridge?" "Yes." "There used to be only a single plank of wood there. I walked on it since I was little and never fell. But the day I met your grandfather, I fell into the river. Your grandfather pulled me out, and then he built a bridge there." You aren't particularly interested in these old-fashioned love stories. "I see." 

Your grandma senses your nonchalance and sighs softly. Ever since the wanderer accident, your personality really hasn't changed at all. You've been indifferent to everything and uninterested in anything.

"Y/N," your grandma who had been recounting your past throughout the walk, suddenly asks, "You haven't dated anyone yet, your second semester of freshman year?" "No," you reply simply. "Why don't you try finding someone?"

You grandma had always believed that if you wanted to, there would be a line of men willing to be your boyfriend stretching all the way to France. She's certain you didn't have a lack of suitors.  "Too lazy," you grunt. Sure enough. She sighs again, then says gently, "Being in love is wonderful and interesting thing."

"Is that so?" You raise your chin slightly, but its unclear whether you were listening to her at all. Your eyes look into the distance, unfocused. Your grandma gently pats the back of your hand, deciding to offer one last word of advice: "Listen to Granny, give it a try. Fall in love a few times while you're young; it won't hurt."

You're silent for a while, before asking, "Does everyone have to fall in love in this life?" "There's nothing you absolutely have to do in this life." Your grandma follows your gaze, "But I've always believed that we should experience life to the fullest, with passion." "What we're passionate about is usually what we love, and love can be an object, an process, or even a person. If you find it hard to find something to love, then perhaps..." She smiles, as if thinking of something, "try to love someone."

As she speaks, your grandma turns her head, lowering her gaze to her wrinkled hand on the back of your own, softly saying, "Granny hopes you will do so. In this life, as long as you have and pursue something you love, no matter the outcome, it's worth it."

3.  You walk around town listlessly. There's not much to do around here, if you're being honest. You don't expect to spend your time here productively, mostly to accompany your grandma before her health declines further. 

As much as you're disinterested in the world around you, your grandma is someone you cared deeply about. 

10 years ago, your entire family except for yourself and grandma was wiped out by the Chronorift disaster. While you survived, the doctors noted a disruption in your bones, but nothing they could quite pinpoint for sure. All you understood was that your body was slowly weakening, your bone marrow gradually becoming unable to sustain you. They couldn't give you an exact diagnosis, but it was undisputed that you wouldn't live a full lifetime.

The last doctor's visit you had before coming back to visit your grandma, they told you at the rate your body was declining, you had at most 10 years left. 

You didn't really care. Your life as you knew it ended the day your house and everyone else in it was wiped out. You stayed in school in Linkon City because you knew it was what your parents would've wanted. You did judo because it was your brother's favorite sport. You stayed alive simply because there was still someone in the world that held onto you: your grandma, so you made sure to visit her every winter and summer break without fail. 

Other than that, you've never tried, or allowed yourself to get too attached to this world. You knew you were going to die anyways. There was no point, right?

You make your way to the older, mostly empty part of town. Abandoned houses line the stone-paved road. You wonder who used to live in these.

Turning a corner, you hear muffled grunts coming from behind a crumbling brick wall.  Cautious, you get into a defensive posture as you get closer.

A trio of teenagers kick at a younger boy on the ground. One of them spits into his figure as he mocks, "where's your big, bad, demon to protect you now?" You frown, stepping into their line of vision.

"Hey," you call out, your voice monotonous, but clear enough to get their attention. "What's going on?"

The group turns to look at you, freezing for only a second before realizing a girl is not a threat.

"You're an outsider, so stay out of this." The tallest one snarls. 

You simply stare at them with your dull eyes until one by one, they withdraw their gaze, clearly uncomfortable at your unsettling attitude.

"Let's go," the first speaks up again, giving the boy on the ground one last kick before leaving. You raise an eyebrow. He purposefully shoves your shoulder as he passes you. In the spur of the moment, you grab his arm and watch him eat a faceful of dirt. 

"You!" he draws his arms back as he gets up, about to throw a punch. You raise your own fists, not deliberately challenging him, but steadfast enough to signal that you weren't going down easy.

He gives you a hard look before scoffing, "I don't hit girls, so I'm sparing you this once. I better not see you in my face again, or you'll get the burnt of it." 

You watch as the possy of bullies leave, then make your way over the boy still on the ground. He sits up shakily, as if to check that they're gone.  "You good?" you ask airily, pulling him to his feet.  "Yes!" he quickly replies, "Thank you, I'm Mephisto! And you are..."

Your eyebrows raise at the unique name. It seems that there are more interesting people in this village than you originally assumed. "Y/N," you supply, turning around now that your job here is done. "Wait!" He calls, hurriedly limping next to you. "You were really cool just now! Did you train in martial arts before?"  "Judo" you say.  "I haven't seen you around before, whatcha doing in the mountains?" "On uni break, visiting my grandma." "Wow, that's amazing! I'll be graduating soon and heading to university as well!"

You have to admit that you're a little shocked. He seems quite a bit younger than you. His eager eyes remind you of a curious crow. 

"Are all of the kids around here as talkative as you?"  You already know one person who isn't: Sylus. Mephisto chuckles bashfully, "No, not really! I'm just thankful that you saved me!"   A cheerful voice fills the air around you as you walk back to the village center.

4. Mephisto waves enthusiastically as he escorts you back to your grandma's house, insisting it was the "gentlemanly" thing to do after you saved him. Actually, he's just excited to have another human to talk to. 

He'd have to take a long detour back home now. His leg is actually completely fine, but if he went the direct route and you saw him going up the stairs with no issues at all, you'd see through his intentions right away. 

After walking for a while, a large villa comes into view. Mephisto sighs, pausing for a moment before crossing a long bridge that leads to the gilded front gates. Upon reaching the entrance, he calls out loudly, "Boss? Boss! Sylus!"

A moment later, a figure appears in front of the second-floor French windows.

Sylus has superhuman eyesight, immediately noticing the injury on Mephisto's forehead even from up there. He turns to go downstairs to open the door.

"Who did this?" is the first thing out of his mouth. Mephisto answers truthfully, "Some brats from the N109 gang." He adds quickly, "Don't bother getting back at them, I won't be running into them for much longer." Sylus hums in agreement, indicating for Mesphisto to come in, "let's get you patched up."

The wound on Mephisto's head wasn't small. Sylus brings out the first-aid kit to bandage it for him, sighing, "you humans get hurt so easily." Mephisto perks up, "Sylus, I was going to get beaten up even worse today, but someone I never saw before helped me! Guess who?" "Y/N" Mephisto is stunned for a few seconds. "How do you know her full name?" "I already met her a few days ago. We got to know each other somewhat."

"Oh..." Mephisto lowers his head, seemingly lost in thought. After a while, he looks up and smiles at Sylus, saying, "I think she's a lot like you, Boss! She looks cold on the outside, but is actually a very nice person." Sylus doesn't react to his comment, only asking, "how did she help you?"

Mephisto gets excited. "She's amazing! When she saw me get beaten up, she challenged their leader to a one-on-one fight, promising to take me away if she won. Then she just did an over-the-shoulder throw and the big bully couldn't even get up!" Mephisto's eyes are shinning with admiration. "You didn't see her skills! Holy crap, it was so cool!" He's about to stand up and demonstrate, but Sylus presses him back down, putting the last strip of tape on him. "Alright."

"Boss, why aren't you surprised at all? An over-the-shoulder throw!" "She's from the city, it's normal for her to learn some form of martial arts or something." "True." Mephisto raises his hand to touch the gauze on his forehead, wincing for a second.

"Let's go, I'll give you a ride home." "Boss you have a car??" Mephisto exclaims in surprise. "I've never seen you drive before!" "I can't take it out of this mountain, what's the point?" Mephisto immediately shuts his mouth, following Sylus out.

The "ride" Sylus was referring to is an all matte black motorcycle, with minimal red trim "A motorcycle?" Mephisto looks at the tank of a motorcycle in front of him, its demeanor completely out of place in the rural mountains. "I thought it would be a truck." 

Sylus smirks, "If it were a truck, you think those squirts from N109 would've had the chance to hurt me?"

5.  White clouds drift across the sky, their reflections pale and soft, unable to hide the darker depths beneath. You arrive at the cliff long before sundown today. The path up the mountain twists through seven or eight bends before opening onto the precipice. You know it well already. You choose the pine tree near the edge and set up your easel there. The sea stretches endlessly in the distance, a quiet expanse of blue. You begin sketching it onto the canvas.

Somewhere along the path behind you, someone stops. Sylus. You don’t hear his footsteps, but you know he’s there, watching from afar. You turn around.

Across the distance, your eyes meet.

He starts toward you again, walking slowly, step by step. You don’t wait for him to reach your side. Turning back to your canvas, you continue painting.

“Are all city people so multitalented?” His voice sounds beside you—low, cool, but edged with a youthful tinge. You sit on a flat rock. The easel is heavy enough that you didn’t bother bringing a stool. Now Sylus stands next to you, tall enough that you would have to crane your neck just to see his face.

You decide not to.

“The multi-talented ones aren’t city people,” you say evenly. “It’s just me.” A chuckle escapes him. You glance up. You want to see what he looks like when he laughs.

“It seems,” he says, the corner of his mouth still lifted, “you can do more than just those two things.” A brief flicker of amusement passes through his eyes. His smile has the careless charm typical of boys his age—easy, a little roguish, unexpectedly striking. You watch him for a moment. “Two things?” “Judo and painting,” he says. “Aren’t those two?”

You pause, still looking at him. “Why does Mephisto tell you everything?” “Who else would he tell?” Sylus replies. You remember what your grandmother said: that Sylus is the only one willing to play with Mephisto.

Your gaze drifts away. You raise your brush and add the final stroke. “Finished?” he asks. “Yes.” “How long have you been here?” “About half an hour.” “You finished that quickly?” “Drawing the sea is easy.” He tilts his head slightly. “Then what’s difficult to draw?” “People.”

You look up at him again. “I want to draw another one.” He raises an eyebrow slightly, waiting. “Can you be my model?”

For a moment, Sylus says nothing. His long lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes, moving gently in the sea breeze as he looks down at you.

“Sure,” he says at last. “Stand over there.” You point to a nearby tree.

He walks over and leans against the trunk, posture loose and casual. Some people look like a painting just by standing still. You take a slow breath without realizing it. Then you lower your gaze and replace the drawing paper.

“Anything else?” he asks when you’re almost ready. You pause while fixing the paper, looking up to meet his eyes. “Look at me.” Your voice is cool and clear, like falling snow. “And keep looking at me.” The wind lifts strands of your hair across your forehead, half-covering your eyes.

Sylus watches you through them. In truth, he has been looking at you the entire time—but the moment you say those words, his gaze falters.

Cicadas cry in the trees. Leaves rustle. For two seconds, his focus drifts, your figure blurring before his eyes. Then it sharpens again. Beneath the chorus of cicadas and wind, another sound grows louder: A heartbeat. He doesn’t speak again. He simply follows your instructions: Looking at you, and continuing to look at you.

You paint for two hours. He watches you for two hours.

“Done.” You set the brush aside. Sylus straightens from the tree and walks over.

The painting is oil, but you’ve incorporated the loose spirit of ink wash. The pine trees and sky behind him are rendered with only a few strokes, more of a suggestion than detail. The portrait isn’t perfectly realistic, but it captures him unmistakably.

“Very well done,” he says. “Here.” You hand him the canvas. “Take it.” “Thanks.” His lips curl slightly. You asked him to model, yet somehow he’s the one thanking you.

“Let’s go,” he says, “Your family’s probably having dinner already. I’ll walk you home.” You glance toward the sun lowering toward the horizon and hum softly in agreement, packing away your paint box and easel. The easel looks heavy. “I’ll carry it,” Sylus offers. “No need.” You lift it easily. “You carry the painting. The paint isn’t dry.” He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Alright.”

You carry the easel while he walks beside you holding the painting. The evening breeze moves through his hair, tousling it like in the movies.

You recall your grandmother's words again: "Ten out of ten girls in this town like him." But judging from his expression, you don't recall ever seeing Sylus even be friendly with a girl before.

You're curious again. This time, however, you decide to ask directly. "Sylus, have you ever been in a relationship?" "No." Sylus' calm voice falls from above. "Why not? My grandmother said every girl here likes you. They're all so pretty. Are your standards that high?" "It's not that my standards are high, it's that I've never had that thought." He pauses for a second before suddenly stopping to look you in the eyes. "Hey. You know I can only play around with you, right?"

Something in the way he says those words make you think that his sentence might not just refer to you, but to everyone. 

You guess it might be related to his background and experiences; perhaps this is the crux of all your curiosity about him. You don't intend to find out now, fearing that once the answer is revealed, you'll lose interest.

"Have you ever liked anyone?" You decide to change the subject. Sylus takes a moment to think about it this time. "No. And you?" It's his turn to ask you. "Have you ever liked anyone?"

His voice is low and slow, revealing no emotion, sounding almost like he cared, yet also as if he's just asking casually. Liking someone… Just then, you realize maybe you do like him a little, but you're more annoyed he stole your question.  "No."

Sylus seems somewhat incredulous. A normal person of your age would definitely have someone they liked at some point, with even those a little less normal having felt some amount of attraction towards another person.

He is an exception though, of course.

“You've probably met many outstanding boys in the city, how come you don’t like any of them?” “There can be lots of people out there, but I’m not interested in any of them. Without interest, how can I like anyone?” You airily reply. “What kind of men would interest you?” he presses.

The mountain road is bumpy, as you don't dare be distracted while holding your easel. You halt in your step. The wind in your ears stop for a moment, and inertia causes the person behind you to lean forward. You feel his breath settle, brushing against the side of your neck.

Involuntarily, you tense and take a deep breath before turning around to meet his eyes.

“Someone like you.” Sylus' expression freezes. As if taken aback by your words, he pauses for a few seconds before asking, "How?" "You're interesting," you hesitate before adding, "you intrigue me." Sylus chuckles. "This is the first time I've heard someone describe me like that."

"Then listen carefully." You stare intently into his eyes, unwavering. Your surroundings are quiet, the wind gentle, the cicadas' chirping hidden deep in the shade of the trees.

Your words are crystal clear. 

"Sylus Qin, in this utterly boring world, you are the only thing I am curious about."

He trembles slightly upon hearing this. This is the first time you see such a clear surge of emotion in his eyes, like a raging storm brewing there.

"So, Sylus," you speak up again, "For the remaining month or so, either you make me fall completely, or you keep me curious forever, okay?" You tilt your head slightly, like a cat. Sylus' eyes darken, his gaze fixed on you. "Okay," he says.

Strangely, the road back home feels shorter.

5.  Halfway down the path, you get a call from your grandma. She asks if you’re already on your way back and says Mrs. Zhou is cooking tonight. Even before you reach the house, the smell of food drifts through the air.

At the doorway, you stop. Sylus stops too. “See you tomorrow.” You tilt your head slightly as you say it, your tone lifting at the end like a question. “See you tomorrow,” he replies. The same words. But his sound certain.

You smile as the evening wind lifts your hair.

Even after you step into the courtyard, the smile on your face lingers. Anticipating tomorrow feels… surprisingly nice. You realize this new feeling with a start.

This person before you makes your heart skip a beat so easily.  It's highly unusual for someone like you, but perhaps it's because Sylus himself is not of the conventional kind either. He's special, mysterious, and a good person, you reason. Anyone would be easily moved. But it still doesn't fully account for how you possess an inexplicable attraction for him. 

You think you may like him a little. At most, only a little. You haven't fallen for him yet. 

This makes you quite intrigued.  What if one day you really fall completely in love?

You've always wanted to know what it feels like to love someone, especially the kind of unwavering and intense love your grandmother had for your grandfather.

6. “Looks like my precious granddaughter is very happy today.” Your grandmother’s teasing voice greets you from ahead.

You look up and laugh openly.

She smiles too—warm, gentle, satisfied. It has been a long time since she has seen you smile like that. “Remember to smile more,” she says kindly. “At your age, your smiles are the most beautiful.”

You blink. She’s talking to you, but someone else comes to mind. Sylus. His smile really is handsome.

As for you—you’ve never tried to seem aloof. When something is interesting, you naturally smile. It’s just that nothing had truly amused you before.

“Let me see what you drew today.” You show her the seascape you held onto. “You went to the cliff,” she says immediately, recognizing the view. “You met Sylus there, didn’t you?” “Yes. Does he go there often?” “I think so.” She smiles faintly. “I first saw that boy there too. When I was young, I liked watching the sunset from that cliff. After I came back here, I went again a few times… and he was always there.”

She sighs softly. “The sunset there is beautiful,” she says. “But he shouldn't have to only watch it there”

You don’t quite understand what she means, the regret in her voice.

But you wonder, when you finally do understand... whether you’ll feel the same sadness because of him.

7.  It becomes routine now, meeting Sylus at the mountainside, keeping each other company until sundown. You curse yourself for not checking the weather forecast, the quiet sound of thunder rumbling in the distance cutting your usual meeting short. 

“We need to hurry. It might rain,” Sylus says, turning around to head back to the paved road. You don’t want to walk faster. “Even if we go faster, we won’t get much faster.” The hill is steep, only to become slippery if rain falls. “True.” “What do we do if it starts pouring?” you ask. “Let’s find shelter first. Rain here usually doesn’t last too long during the day.” “What if it keeps raining?” “If it keeps raining…” Sylus pauses, actually stops walking for a moment, to think. “Then we’ll just have to go back soaked.”

You roll your eyes, passing him on the road. But after only a few steps, you stop when Sylus calls your name from behind.

“Y/N.”

It isn’t as if no one has ever called you by your full name before. But when Sylus says it, your heart inexplicably skips a beat. Because of that subtle feeling, you pause for a moment before turning around. In the half second it takes you to turn, you hear a dull thud—like someone kicking the mountain laurel tree beside you.

Startled, you instinctively close your eyes. When you open them again, Sylus is standing beneath a tree. And the laurel blossoms begin falling like rain.

The two of you gaze at each other through the drifting white petals.

Time seems to slow down. Even the petals seem to fall more slowly, and through the gaps between them you clearly see the smile in his eyes. You see the curve of his lips. The slight arc of his eyes. Then he speaks, his voice already beautiful without lowering it:

“Before, this place was called once called Laurel Bend.”

You look at him, and suddenly your eyes burn—as if scorched by the fiercest midsummer sun.

It is midsummer. But the sky above is overcast.

Some powerful emotion slowly arises through your daze, steadily filling every corner of your heart. You think you will remember this moment for a very long time—

Petals drift down. The boy beneath the laurel tree laughs freely, like the wind.

In your illusion, time slows. But the real world never stops for anyone. Soon only a few petals drift from the breeze. Sylus notices the stunned look on your face, but he says nothing. He only looks at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Sylus.” You finally regain your senses and call out to him. “You’ve really never been in love?” “No.” “You're quite talented then.” Sylus doesn’t give you much of an reaction. “I probably won’t be in a relationship in this lifetime.”

You blink slowly, thinking for a moment, then ask calmly: “Can I be someone outside of that realm of ‘probably’?”

A flicker passes through Sylus’s eyes—then quickly sinks into something deep and dark. A breeze moves through the branches, knocking down another blossom or two.

He looks at you for a moment before answering: “That’s up to you, not me.”

His voice reveals little emotion, but the meaning is very clear. If you want to date him... he would be willing to go along. The prerequisite for love… is like.

He likes you.

You suddenly laugh. “Sylus, when did you start liking me?” He smiles too.

He’s used to your bluntness, but he’s still slightly surprised whenever you say something unexpected.

“It’s hard to explain,” he says. He really can’t explain it. But when you asked that question just now, the answer in his heart was already yes.

You tilt your head slightly. “It’s not love at first sight then.”

You had thought it might be; otherwise, falling so quickly would feel out of character for someone like him.

But human nature is complicated. Even the coldest person can smile when they meet the right one. Someone with a terrible temper can become gentle for the person they truly like. And those who seem confident and generous, who knows what insecurities they hide inside? Most people have two sides. Many sides. Sometimes even contradictions. Some even have hidden parts of themselves they don’t realize exist.

Those simple labels people give each other are just stereotypes.

“I’m the kind of person who doesn’t fall in love at first sight,” Sylus says. He pauses, then adds, “But I can be attracted.”

Your brows relax. “You and I are quite alike.”

The first time you saw him, you saw a little part of yourself in him. Now that feeling is even stronger.

You aren’t someone who falls in love at first sight either. But you were intrigued.

Love at first sight is often just lust at first sight. If you could fall for someone instantly, you wouldn’t have spent nineteen years without ever liking anyone. “But I feel like I’m the opposite of you."

Sylus takes two steps forward until he’s standing beside you.

“That just means I don’t understand you well enough yet,” you finish.  “You will understand,” he says with certainty.

You once told him he would either make you fall completely… or keep you curious forever. His tone suggests he’s confident about which one it will be. And he has the right to be confident.

Right now you’re not sure whether you only like him a little… or if you’ve already fallen completely. You have no experience with love. You don’t even know what “falling completely” feels like.

“Let’s go,” Sylus says, glancing up at the dark clouds rolling in from the horizon. “It’ll definitely rain within two hours. I don’t know if we can make it back before then.”

You start walking. “Then why were you doing that earlier?” You mention the trees. Sylus follows beside you, saying nothing—only chuckling softly.

Without the blazing sun, walking isn’t too exhausting. The two of you abandon your usual languid stroll and walk quickly. At this pace, you definitely won’t need two hours to get home.

But the dark clouds move even faster. The rain suddenly pours down. Large drops splatter across the concrete road, leaving dark spots until the entire road turns black. There’s nowhere nearby that can fully shelter you from the rain, so Sylus pulls you beneath a dense canopy of trees.

“Give me your phone,” he says. You look at him in confusion. “Why?” “My pants are waterproof.”

His pants are cargo shorts—besides the side pockets, there are snap pockets on the front. Once they’re closed, rain can’t get inside.

You take out your phone but don’t give it to him immediately. Instead, you twirl it in your hand while looking him up and down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks. “Sylus… did you know it would rain today?” “If I had known,” he says, “would I have taken you this far?” “So it’s just a coincidence? You just happened to be wearing these pants.” “Yeah.” He chuckles. “Another coincidence.”

You look at the curve of his lips and press your tongue lightly against the inside of your mouth.

“At first, I thought you were someone who didn’t smile much.” “I don’t like to laugh,” he says. He says it while smiling. You narrow your eyes. “Then why have you been laughing so much lately?” “Don’t you know why?” Sylus looks at you with those deep black eyes. “I don’t know.” You keep twirling your phone and gesture at him with your chin. “Tell me.”

You want him to say it himself.

He’s always circling around the truth—saying things like I’ll play along, I’ll play to the end, whether you’re there or not is up to me. Indirect admissions, never a clear answer.

But this time he only says three words. “I won’t say.” “What can’t you say? You already admitted it.”

His expression remains calm.

Compared to you, the one whose heart is moving, he looks like someone experienced, someone who’s navigated countless emotions without ever losing control.

“Admitting it is one thing,” he says. “Saying it out loud without a positive response is another.” You stare at him. “How do you know I didn’t respond positively?” “Then let me ask you something.” He leans against the tree trunk, eyelids half-lowered. Calm? Confident? It’s hard to tell which. “Have you fallen for me?” His voice is relaxed, lazy even. “Completely?" You’ve already thought about this question before. You don’t know the right answer. And if you’re unsure… then maybe you haven’t. “No.”

Sylus laughs again. “What are you laughing at now?” “I won’t say.”

The three light words land in your ears like feathers, tickling your heart. This ambiguous, but tempting feeling is unbearable. “Sylus, you’re annoying.” “Yeah,” he admits easily. “I am.”

Fine. Maybe he isn’t the one who’s annoying. Maybe you’re the one about to explode.

At that moment, a raindrop falls from the tree and hits your forehead.

Sylus chuckles. “Give me your phone. This tree won’t last much longer.” You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down, and finally hand it to him.

The rain continues pouring. Drops keep falling from the leaves, and judging by the heavy clouds, it doesn’t seem like it will stop anytime soon.

You glance at the sky. “Will this rain stop?” Sylus looks at the darkened sky. “It’ll probably rain until tomorrow.” Then he adds, “It should get lighter later.” “Should we wait here for a while?” you ask. “Rainy days get dark early,” he replies. “If we wait too long, it’ll be night.”

“So…” Sylus turns toward you. He slips his hands into his pockets, tilts his head slightly back, and slowly steps out into the downpour. “Want to get soaked with me?”

Within seconds his hair is drenched, yet he doesn’t look messy. Because his head is tilted back, the rain sweeps his hair away from his face instead of plastering it down. His forehead is fully revealed—clean, youthful—only a few strands falling forward. There’s a natural wildness to him. Reckless. Free.

Your heart starts pounding uncontrollably again.

You’ve seen plenty of good-looking people in your life. None of them impressed you much. You always thought you were indifferent to appearances. But apparently… you can still be stunned.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “Do I have any other choice?” Your voice remains calm despite the chaos inside you.

Sylus keeps his head tilted back. “There’s a big difference between choosing to get wet and being forced to get wet.”

“But I don’t want either.” You want to see what else he can come up with. Then he says: “What if you get an invitation??”

A third option.

He always seems to find one.

You clasp your hands behind your back. “Are you inviting me?” “Yes.” He extends his hand toward you through the rain. “I’m inviting you.”

No bowing. No kneeling. That kind of Western formality doesn’t suit someone raised in the mountains. This is what suits him best: head slightly tilted back, long fingers casually extended. Open. Effortless.

You lower your gaze to his palm as rainwater quickly gathers in it. A quiet laugh rises in your chest.

You place your hand in his, just as naturally, and look up at him. “Then I’ll reluctantly accept your invitation.”

Sylus smiles.

His fingers tighten around yours as he pulls you along The two of you run together into the rain.  

8. You overestimate your abilities.  The dowsing of rainwater sends you into a fever the same evening. 

Your grandmother frets over you, aghast, "what were you thinking? It's not like you don't know the severity your own condition!" You register her words, barely. But for once, under the onslaught of the failure of your own body, you feel no regrets.  

The night goes on, your fever unrelenting. Thunder roars across the skies, followed by cracks of lightning. You grandma rubs her knuckles in worry. Because of the storm, the roads are in no condition for cars to traverse. If you needed any medical attention, there's no taxis or drivers around to help. 

Finally, around 3am, she goes to knock on Mephisto's door. 

The young boy opens it in surprise, immediately wheeling the old lady in.  "I have an important favor to ask of you," she croaks, still shivering from the rain. "Can you please ask Sylus to borrow his motorcycle? My granddaughter... she needs to go to the hospital." "I... I can call," Mephisto agrees, hesitantly. "But you are aware that..." "Yes, I know. I was hoping you would be able to take her." 

Mephisto stiffens, but makes the call. After briefly explaining the situation to Sylus, he hands over the phone.

"Grandma, Mephisto isn't experienced enough to take the motorcycle down the mountain in these conditions." Sylus' voice crackles across the phone line. Her hand tightens on the receiver, "what can I do, Sylus?" A pregnant pause falls between the two of them before Sylus finally speaks up again. "I'll take her." Your grandma's voice falls to a hushed whisper. "Thank you, Sylus."   "No need, it was my fault to begin with."  "Don't... strain yourself. If Mephisto can go with you, drop him off with Y/N as soon as they can get a ride." Her voice is thick with emotion as she thanks him again, and hangs up the phone. 

Sylus arrives within the hour, wearing nothing but a wide-rimmed hat and a wind-breaker. Your grandmother barely has time to scold him about staying warm and dry as he towels off, wrapping you in a blanket, then a rain poncho. Mephisto comes by as well, sandwiching you between himself and Sylus on the motorcycle, holding you up for extra support. 

The steep, winding road down the mountain is even more eerie at night, the headlights of the motorcycle providing the only source of illumination a few yards ahead. The shadows of the forests seem endless, the darkness close to swallowing the road on both sides, as the rain continues to hammer down. 

After nearly an hour, the lights of the town below finally come into view. As Sylus turns onto the main road, his arms begin to tremble slightly. 

Mephisto is about to say something, but he interrupts, "we're almost there." 

Sylus manages to pulls up to the front of the urgent care clinic, stumbling a little as he dismounts. Mephisto grabs his arm to stabilize him, before gathering you in his arms. 

Sylus nods at him to go in as Mephisto gives him one last look of worry as he carries you into the building, calling out, "she's safe with me now. You should hurry and head back now, thank you for all the help... I'm sorry." 

"Don't worry about it." He suddenly remembers, "Oh right, I have one last favor to ask of you." "Yeah?" "If Y/N wakes up and asks about me, tell her I had to go home because of an emergency. Don't tell her anything yet." Hearing the sound of more vehicles pull up to the entrance, Mephisto seems to visibly deflate a little, then agrees. "Alright." 

Taking one last look at the hospital, Sylus sits back heavily on his motorcycle, taking a moment to gather his breath before turning around. 

The twins held his father's men off for as long as they could.  At least he got you here.

Tall figures emerge from the cars, saying nothing. Some walk ahead as others follow behind, coming up to Sylus. He follows them back to a dark vehicle, and the car quickly starts and returns the way it came, taking him back to the villa on top of the mountain. 

The car drives straight into the villa's garage, and Sylus belatedly wonders if they brought his motorcycle back with him too. 

He gets out of the car, and the other people in the driver's seat and backseats follow suit. The last person walking in from the yard closes the garage door. The driver walks up to Sylus and bows to him. 

Straightening up, he speaks with a condescending tone, a weary smile dancing across his face. "Sorry, young master. Your father's orders." 

With that, he raises his leg and kicks Sylus in the stomach mercilessly. 

9.  Sunlight streams through the blinds when you wake up. 

The first thing you notice is the smell of disinfectant in the hospital. Then, you crack open your eyes to see the pure white ceiling of the ward and the IV drip hanging from the medical pole in the corner of your vision. 

Your first reaction is a smile. You weren't dreaming. You had a high fever, and Sylus really did bring you to the hospital. 

"Y/N, you're awake!" It's your grandmother's voice.  You turn your head to see her holding your hand, her expression a mixture of joy and worry.  "You don't know how scared I was!"  "I'm not dead" You speak comfortably, though your voice is still a little hoarse. "How could I not worry? Being unconscious for two full days is no small matter." Your grandma's brows are still furrowed.  "I'm awake now, aren't I?" "Yes... It's good that you're finally awake." She pats your hand, saying nothing more, no scolding for getting caught in the rain. 

Mephisto, standing nearby, quickly says, "now that you're awake, I'll go get some food. How's porridge? What kind do you want?" "Corn, mung bean, chicken, anything is fine." "Ok, I'll go now." "Wait," you call him as he's about to bolt out the door. "Where's Sylus?" His expression flickers with unease. Your grandma also shifts her gaze out the window.  "He... had an emergency and went back home first."

"Oh..." You realize you've never heard Sylus mention his family before. Your voice trails off, but no emotion can be discerned. 

Just then, a nurse comes in to inquire about your condition, asking you a laundry list of questions. A few minutes later, a doctor comes in to do a simple examination, and says there's no problems. You were free to leave after your IV drip, but with your condition, there was a possibility that the fever would come back. Since your grandma lived all the way up in the mountains, he recommended you stay in the hospital for another night for observation.

Your grandma immediately agrees, opting to stay on the safe side. You had no wish to stay in the hospital any longer; you hated the smell of disinfectant, and was tired of the white ceilings and sterile walls you've gotten used to in the city.  But, you endure it to not worry her. 

Before meeting Sylus, the only person you cared about in your life was your grandma.  Now he is included too. 

Mephisto returns right as the doctor leaves your room. You didn't have much of an appetite, but you haven't eaten anything for over a day now, so you force down half a bowl of mung bean porridge. 

Evening falls, yet you don't feel sleepy at all. Probably from being knocked out for nearly two days. 

Noticing your state, your grandma puts down her book and looks at you.  "Want to chat for a bit?" she asks. "What do you want to talk about?" She smiles and says, "I saw you and Sylus were quite close last time. How far have things progressed between you two?" You think for a moment. "Still... kinda ambiguous I guess." "So he's interested in you, and you're interested in him too?" "I like him." You say it directly.

Your grandma is startled at first, then a look of relief washes over her face. "My precious granddaughter! It's like an iron tree has finally bloomed!"

"Shouldn't you be opposing this?" you ask. "Why not?" "I'm leaving after summer. I'm not going to live past thirty. There's no chance of a happy ending for the two of us."

Your grandma slowly takes a breath, then smiles. "Just because something doesn't have a good ending doesn't mean the process can't be beautiful. How can you choose not to start a beautiful relationship just because of an uncertain outcome? What era are we living in? Not every relationship has to be aimed at marriage. And of course, I'm happy that you've finally taken this step. As for Sylus... I'm also happy for him that he's willing to open his heart to someone."

For some reason, tears well up in your grandmother's eyes, but she quickly blinks them back. "Perhaps... Your appearance is God's only gift to him"

You don't know what Sylus has gone through, but hearing those words, you feel a small stab of pain. Before, when your grandmother said he was pitiful, you felt only curiosity. Now, you feel none. You only feel heavy-hearted. 

That night, you remain low spirited, listless, almost lost in thought. 

10. The next morning, you wake up unusually early, as if you couldn't wait to go back and see someone. 

It's nearly noon when you return. After showering and washing your hair, you quickly eat lunch and grab Mesphisto to set out and find Sylus. 

The road to Sylus' home is winding and sharp. Before each turn, the view in front is completely blocked. At each bend, you feel a small surge of anticipation rising in your chest, hoping to see him around the next corner. 

Yet, you get all the way to the bridge in front of the large villa without seeing anyone. 

Arriving at the front door, the gate swings open before you knock. A pair of twins stare at you with beady eyes.  "Wait two minutes."  The door closes in your face again.

Frowning, you keep time on the watch on your wrist.  Two minutes pass. You look up to see Sylus standing in the doorway. 

A flicker of surprise crosses your eyes, followed by a frown.

Sylus has a black eye and other abrasions on his face. His exposed arms and calves are overed in bruises. He doesn't hide his wounds, simply standing before you, battered and all.  He looks disheveled, but seems unconcerned, even raising his sharp chin in greeting. 

"Did you get into a fight?" you ask.  He replies lazily. "It wasn't much of a fight." You tilt your head. "Indeed. A one-sided beating."

Your answer must have tickled his fancy. He chuckles, but the corners of his mouth turn down, his expression telling you: yes, not only was it one-sided, but he had gotten beaten up pretty badly.  "Who hit you?" "Don't ask." "Tell me." Sylus' tone is indifferent. "Didn’t you say you wanted me to keep you curious?” Your gaze hardens. “You’ve already made me curious enough.”

Sylus has no intention of telling you, simply stepping aside and saying, "Come in, don't you mind the sun?"

You don't press further, following him through the foyer and into the living room. 

The house is huge, opulent, and decorated ostentatiously with a variety of metals, stones, and even jewels.  You notice, however, a corner with a completely different style. Several glass display cases are filled with maps and antique globes.  "Can you show me the your maps?" you ask. "You're interested in cartography?"  "No." You reply without a beat. "But I'm curious about the things you're interested in." Your words successfully make Sylus laugh again. "Let's go then."

You're about to follow when you're tripped by a fluffy ball of fur. You look down to see a ragdoll cat, cream with luxurious fur, rubbing against your leg, meowing sweetly. 

Hearing the meow, Sylus turns around to look at you. "It wants you to hold her." He supplies.

"I've never held a cat before." Your mother was allergic to animal fur, meaning you never had much contact with animals growing up. As you got older... well, you weren't curious about them either. You couldn't say whether you liked or disliked these pretty animals; you've never had the urge to touch them. But your eyes would unconsciously follow pet owners and their companions. 

Seeing you standing there motionless, Sylus walks over and picks up the cat. "Her name is Dragon. Raise one hand and put it on your stomach."  You do as you're told, palm facing inwards, as if you're rubbing your tummy. Sylus couldn't help but laugh. "Palm facing upwards, or else Dragon won't have anywhere to stand." 

Your face shows a rare hint of embarrassment. Once you're in the right position, Sylus holds the cat, letting her hind legs rest on your hands and her front paws on your shoulders. He pats the cat's head gently, murmuring, "you keep those claws in."

You're startled by the deep voice. 

You blink, then instinctively raise your other hand to place it on Dragon's back. Your attention is instantly drawn to the soft, cotton-like texture, almost as if you're holding a cloud. 

Dragon sniffs your chin, then lightly licks you.  Your eyes widen instantly.  It's the first time Sylus has seen such an expression on your face, and he looks on with amusement. 

Dragon licks you again, and your eyes widen even further. "It's... licking me?" "Yup." "Why is it licking me?" "To leave her scent on you, to assert dominance." He chuckles. You're a little confused. "Does it assert its dominance on everyone like this?" "Nope. Only you, and me." Sylus emphasizes the last two words slightly, his gaze fixed on you. His eyes seem to hold a whirlpool, and you feel yourself falling into it. 

Your gaze doesn't last long, as Dragon shifts her attention to your neck, suddenly deciding to nip at it. You look at Sylus again, frowning. 

"You never answered my question."  "Hmm?" "Were you beaten up here?" "Yes." "Was it the other gang of kids?" You wouldn't think so... "No." "Was it..." you remember Mephisto's saying he had a family emergency. "Was it your family?" "No." He pauses for a second, then adds, "actually, you could say that."

You look at him. He's expressionless as you involuntarily frown. 

Dragon takes the opportunity to leap out of your arms.

Finally, as the room dims, he speak up, softly. "Do you want to watch a movie?" You hum, neither in agreement nor objection. "I have a large collection" he replies, making his way to the couch.

You watch Dragon purr as she nudges at his legs. "You can choose; I don't have a strong preference for these kinds of things."

Sylus turns on the TV and clicks on the viewing history. Down the list, you see some familiar, highly-rated films, but the majority are documentaries and road movies. 

Sylus flips through the films one by one: "The Most Dangerous Game", "Pretend It's a City," "BBC Earth", "Planet Earth", "South Pacific", "The Polar Regions", "Where the Trail Ends"...

"You have... very interesting tastes," you comment offhandedly. Sylus raises an eyebrow. "Not everyone can go to many places."  He finally lands on "The Shawshank Redemption", and presses play.

11. The Shawshank Redemption tells the story of Andy, who, after being wrongfully imprisoned, meticulously plans his escape and eventual freedom.

Combining this story with the other collections in Sylus' home, you can't help but wonder: does he see a reflection of himself in the main character? Is he also trapped in something like a prison, unable to escape, confined without freedom?

If that's the case, then your first curiosity about him has an answer— He said he wasn't like the wind, because the wind is free.

A piece of your chest collapses like a landslide during a storm, with boulders tumbling down and mud rushing through. This shouldn't be happening. The first day you met him, at first sight, you felt that he was like the wind, unconfined and limitless.

"Sylus." You turn to look at him, your voice hoarse. “You said that not everyone can go to so many places. Does that include you?” Sylus seems unsurprised by your question. “Yes,” he answers, face expressionless.

You already anticipated this answer, but you still wanted to hear him confirm this yourself before you move onto your subsequent question: 

“Then where can you go?” Sylus barely moves his gaze as he calmly replies. “Just this mountain.”

A sharp pain shoots through your heart, followed by surprise. You thought he could at least go to the town; after all, he had taken you to the hospital just two days ago... Thinking of this, your pupils suddenly contract, gaze fixed on the wound on his cheek. “So…” You involuntarily clench your fists, pausing for half a second before continuing, “You got hurt because you took me to the hospital, out of this mountain, right?” “Yes.” “Why?”

You desperately want the answer, but not out of curiosity. You simply wanted to know out of concern for him.

But Sylus simply replies, “Don’t ask. Didn’t you say that I have to keep you curious until you completely fall for me?” You're momentarily stunned, only then remembering what you had said in the beginning. Seeing your expression change, Sylus smiles and continues. "When that day comes, or when you leave, I'll tell you everything."

You don't give him a reply, your eyes unfocused, as if deep in thought. After a while, a shadow of gloom crosses your gaze, as if you've made your mind up about something.

"Then I'll ask you one last question: Can I help you?" Compared to this relationship, you believe his freedom is more important. He's like the wind, so he should be free.

"No." Sylus speaks with utmost certainty, adding, "I'm absolutely certain."

The moment he utters the first word, you feel your single pillar of hope crumble. 

The way you were before, you thought you had made peace with the world, allowing everything to happen the way it was, and accepting it with equanimity. But with Sylus, you find that his situation was the one thing you can't seem to be ok with.  How can someone like him be trapped here?

You're certain that he'd be the most outstanding not matter where he goes. Yet, he can only stay away, deep in these mountains. He was born with the the most magnificent wings, yet is robbed of the ability to fly, trapped in this cage.

How could this be… Even if his cage is decorated in gold, it's still... just a cage.

You think that if Sylus was given a choice, he'd prefer to be the most average, unexceptional person if he could live a peaceful, ordinary life. 

But why can't he escape?

You can't think of any logical reason why he's trapped here. You also can't understand why he's so certain you couldn't help him.

As if sensing your doubt, Sylus speaks again. 

"Don't try to do anything for me, lest they do something to you. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me." He looks at you quietly, continuing with a low voice, "Especially not you." You're even more puzzled. "What could they do to me?" "It's the mountains, the terrain is complicated, and there's no cameras. It's easy to do anything." He doesn't even mention the supernatural aspect, but it's already clear enough.

Your eyes widen as you frown, clearly shocked. “Are you sure they dare to go this far?”  As if recalling something, Sylus' eyes darken. “I’m sure.”

The room is enclosed, yet you suddenly feel a cold wind rush in.

Your heart feels as if it's been torn open by this wind, your entire chest filling with an unbearable chill. Yet even this biting wind doesn't dispel the heavy, oppressive clouds that blot out the sky. Your whole world turns a suffocating, leaden gray.

You don't want to accept this reality, yet you have no choice but to.

You look at Sylus. After a long time, your gaze gradually returns to the calm they had in the beginning. “I understand,” you murmur, lowering your eyes. You appear calm on the outside, but it hurts to breathe. 

“But…” You remember your grandmother's words, smiling bitterly as you say, “You shouldn’t be someone who’s only meant to stay here.”

12. It is in this moment that you realize with a start: something is off with Sylus' emotions. You, a bystander, are feeling this unbearable sorrow, while he acts as if nothing's wrong. Just now, he directly tore open his greatest wound for you to see, yet his expression remains terrifyingly calm, smiling even. 

Suddenly, you recall the first day you met him, when you stood on the edge of the cliff and offhandedly mentioned that it was a good place to jump off of. He wasn't surprised at all, humming in agreement.

A terrifying possibility surfaces in your mind.  Your expression hardens.

"Sylus." Your throat tightens, and you swallow before continuing. "The day I met you, you were standing on the edge of the cliff. What were you thinking?" Sylus' eyes darken for a second before letting out a slow exhale.  "About jumping." He admits lowly. Just as you thought...  "Then... why... didn't you?"

The words leave your mouth before you have time to regret it. In truth, you have no right to question him. You were also indifferent to life and death, vowing to fully respect others' choices. You know very well that death was a release for some people. At long as they have carefully thought it through, you wouldn't try to dissuade them. Even if you loved them. Even if that person was your grandmother.

Those who truly wish to die cannot be persuaded. They will simply find a time and place no one can stop them and make the choice without hesitation. The reason someone hasn't taken that step means they still have some hesitation, or fear death. 

You're sure Sylus is not the latter. Then the reason he hesitated... must be that something has brought him peace.  You want to know what that something was. A strong intuition tells you... it has something to do with you.

"I realized it was too worthless to go like this." Sylus speaks, his expression serene, his gaze falling on you like the first, thin rays of morning light.

He turns to face the screen, the light and colors constantly shifting on his face. Sometimes bright, sometimes dark, but his eyes seem completely undisturbed by the outside world, like a dense forest shrouded in perpetual fog.

"I always felt... I had to wait a little longer, that I was waiting for something that would make me feel that my existence isn't in vain." A faint flicker finally appears in his eyes. Your voice is slightly hoarse. "You waited this entire time?" He turns slowly to look at you. His expression is indifferent, but the gaze in his eyes are very deep. "I found it." 

You feel a slight tug at your heart. After a long pause, you let out a dry laugh.  "Don't say it's me." "It's you." he says it so frankly.

Your heart clenches, as if his gaze pierces straight through your chest, into the deepest crevices of your heart. 

"There's things that I want to tell you later." Sylus looks at you, his tone soft. "I thought I lost the right to love someone the moment I was born, until you appeared before me." He smiles. "Meeting you, maybe my life has been worth it after all." His gentle voice is like a knife cutting through stone and ice, striking your eardrums with every word. 

You're stunned. 

Your grandmother's regretful words echo in your mind. You finally understand an inkling of what she meant. For Sylus, his life in the mountains are shackles, a burden, or maybe even irony. 

But you are different. 

You don't belong here. You wouldn't, can't, be trapped by him, not by your free-spirited heart, or by your inherent virtues. Otherwise, no matter what you looked like, Sylus probably would've treated you the same as all the other girls in town. 

Meanwhile, he could let himself sink into despair at will.

This is probably why your grandma had knew from the beginning that something was bound to happen between the two of you.  It was inevitable that he would fall for you. But it seems... that they (and you yourself) had overestimated you as well.

You take a deep breath.

"Don't tell me you're going to jump off that cliff as soon as I leave." "No." Sylus smiles. "If you hadn't appeared, I probably wouldn't have lasted another season. But now, I think I can continue to live for a few more years." You can't describe the feeling when you heard this. "Promise me?" "I promise." He laughs. "Just don't think of me once you're gone."

13. After much convincing and hedging, Sylus later teaches you how to ride his motorcycle.

He pulls out the key and holds onto one of the handlebars.  "Get on first." You obey, hopping onto the seat, your feet dangling off the ground. "Hold the handlebars and straighten it."

The bike is quite heavy as you get used to the weight of steering.

"These are the front brakes," Sylus explains, pointing to the brake lever on the right handlebar grip, "and the rear brake is by your foot. You'll mainly rely on the front ones, and the rear when going at slow speeds. But it's a delicate balance, especially if you're going at higher speeds." He moves closer as he speaks. "Scooch up a little, I'll show you how to use them."

You release your hands as Sylus leans in from beside you , reaching for the right handlebar, bringing you even closer together. You can smell his scent.

"Position your hand like this so you can grip the brake easily." After demonstrating, he releases and pulls his hand back. "You try." You follow his lead and squeeze. "Good. Now looks here," he points to the throttle next. "This is the throttle. You can think of it as the accelerator. Twist it here to move the bike, but don't twist it too hard at the start, or the bike will lurch forward. This also controls the speed; twist it lightly for a slow bike, and twist it all the way to maximum speed." You nod in understanding.

"Do you mind if I touch you?" Sylus suddenly asks. You raise an eyebrow, slightly incredulous. "Mind what? Haven't you manhandled me plenty already?" Sylus lips curl into a slight smile as he lightly taps the handlebars with two fingers. "Look here."

You look down to see him raise his hand, then lower it, his palm covering the back of your own. Though you've held hands before, the moment his palm touches the your hand, you still feel a jolt of electricity. Every nerve in your body seems to tremble.

"Don't get too distracted." Sylus' deep voice falls beside your ear, his breath brushing against the back of your neck. Your eyes snap back into focus. "Watch carefully." His breath sweeps over your ears again. You want to raise your hand, as if to itch it, but you refrain, his hand still on yours. Sylus holds your hand and slowly turns the handle.

"Try it yourself." He withdraws his hand, but doesn't pull back completely, still leaning beside you.

You go through the motions twice.

"Let me turn on the ignition so you can feel it." He inserts the key and reminds you, "Remember to turn it slowly like how I showed you." "Got it." You slowly turn the throttle and feel the bike start. The speed is quite slow, enough for Sylus to walk beside you.

Feeling adventurous, you increase the speed a bit, leaning forward into the bike. Sylus beings to jog. Soon, you reach a dead end, having to either turn around or stop.

"Try turning," Sylus calls.

You do so without any hesitation, but as someone with no experience and wobbly in a straight line, you immediately fall off. Fortunately, you weren't going too fast. You react quickly, bracing yourself on your feet. Sylus appears beside you in a flash, pulling the bike back.

"You're going a little too slow; the slower you go, the harder it is to maintain balance." "I'll go faster then." You frown, taking the handlebars from him, ready to try again. "Wait," Sylus stops you. "Let me take you for a couple of laps first."

Without waiting for your reply, he lifts his long legs to sit behind you, hands covering your own again, the way he did during the demonstration. You're stunned.  In this position, you're completely enveloped in his arms, as if you're being hugged from behind.

"Let's go." Sylus doesn't give you much time to adjust. He twists the handlebars, turns the corner, and takes you on two laps around the field.

The wind blows from the front, lifting your hair. It's possible that it's blocking his view, so he releases one hand to brush your hair behind your ear, the movement so natural as if you are longtime friends, or even lovers.

The breeze is cool, but you feel a restless heat. “Hold on tight, I’m gonna let go.” You blink, then hum in agreement.

Perhaps your voice is drowned out by the wind. Sylus brings his lips even closer to your ear and asks, "Did you hear me?" His voice is incredibly magnetic, deep and resonant. “You can let go now.” Despite your erratic heartbeat, your voice is steady.

Sylus doesn't completely remove his hand, but places it to the side as before, so he could control the direction and speed in case of danger.

Riding faster definitely makes it easier to maintain balance. You feel the handlebars are lighter and turning more smoothly. You successfully complete a lap around the yard.

“Keep going.” Seeing that you're almost ready, Sylus suggests, "Wanna try riding on the actual road?" 

The roads outside are all winding mountain roads; even the slightest misstep could send you tumbling down a cliff. Even experienced drivers have to be extremely careful here, yet here he is, letting someone who's only been riding for less than half an hour attempt it.

You brake and turn your head. Sylus leans back for a split second as you turn, otherwise you definitely would have kissed.

Your gaze flickers as you realize why he had turned back, your mind blanking for a moment before remembering your words. "Do you want me to die?" "I'm here, what are you afraid of?" Sylus maintains his lounging posture, releasing his hands and bracing himself against the back. His voice carries a lazy, half-smiling tone.

"I'm not afraid of death, but I don't want to die now."  A clear smile appears on Sylus' lips. "So little confidence in me?" You scoff. "After all, you're keeping secrets from me."  "It doesn't matter." Sylus speaks slowly and deliberately, "Then I'll die with you."

His voice trails off naturally, carrying an indescribable weariness, like amusement, or nonchalance, or perhaps a calm indifference to life and death.

You realize with a shudder that perhaps he isn't just joking. He is truly willing to die with you.  That deep, languid voice involuntarily echoes in your mind again. You can clearly feel your heart contract — then pound wildly.

14. "Boss!"

Sylus turns his head, seeing Luke and Kieran jogging up the hill towards him, their wings momentarily coming out of hiding to help them reach the peak of the mound quicker than their otherwise human legs. 

"Just now, Y/N ran into some of creatures in the N109 gang on the road! She seems to have hit their leader at some point, so two of his underlings tried to stop her from leaving, and she got into a scuffle with them again." Luke is nearly out of breath as he is the first to approach the resting halfling. 

"We were cutting grass in the nearby field when I heard them say once "His Highness" is no longer bed-ridden, they'll send more of them out to find her."

Sylus' expression turns cold. "Thanks." He utters the single word, having already taken several steps forward.

"Boss!" Kieran catches up to him, daring to grab his arm. "You know those demons plays dirty. You've already crossed paths with them because of Mephisto before. In your current condition, are you sure you want to completely antagonize them because of this girl?"

Sylus frowns, glancing at the hand gripping him. "Let go."

Kieran refuses, still clamping down tightly. "I know you like her. I've had this feeling for a while, that you wouldn't stand by idly. But please, don't be impulsive. She's only here for a little bit. Don't let someone who's only staying here for two months cause chaos for you in the future. She has to leave eventually. Just let her leave sooner."

"I don't want her to leave early." Sylus turns to look at the twins without a moment's hesitation. 

Besides, he knows that you won't leave early because of this. He's only known you for a few weeks, but  based on that lone, he's certain that you aren't someone who fears trouble. In fact, he'd dare to say you're more rebellious than you initially let on.  He doesn't tell the twins this.

Kieran is taken aback by his words. When he speaks again, his tone is incredulous. "Boss, you really like her that much? She's only been here for days!"

Compared to their lifetimes, your presence in Sylus' life is nothing more than a drop of water, yet he's already willing to be punished because of you, and to go against the N109 gang? What would happen next once he spends more time with you?

"Are you really going to let yourself get so deeply involved?" Luke presses, voice rising. "She'll leave gracefully while you'll be stuck in all sorts of trouble! Why bother?" "Are you really going to let yourself get so deeply involved?" Sylus laughs. The twins freeze.

Having known him for decades, they've rarely seen him smile. But now, not only is he smiling, but his eyes hold a tenderness they've never seen before.

"I never thought of moving on," Sylus says with a smile. "I will always love her. Until the day I die."

15. Despite your mundane life up in the mountains, summer passes too quickly for your liking. On an otherwise sweltering late summers day at sea-level, Sylus brings you to a special place.

Stepping out of the mist between tree branches, you arrive at a clearing. 

The trees are surrounded by rolling grasslands; a lush green expanse as far as the eye could see, with an exceptionally quiet atmosphere. Your stop in your tracks. It looks even more magnificent than the scenes in movies.

"How did you find this place?" You ask, breathlessly. "When I don't know what to do with myself, I wander aimlessly around the mountain." Sylus replies. "One day, I was walking and walking... until I ended up here." "Have you explored the entire mountain?" "More or less. There's no place in this mountain I don't know."

The expression on his face when he says these words carry a hint of melancholy. You immediately understand. It isn't something he is proud of; simply proof of his captivity.

"Do you think anyone else has been here?" You try to change the subject. "Of course." "Who else could have found this place?"

Throughout the journey, you haven't seen a trace of humankind. You and Sylus waded through water, climbed trees, and ducked under overgrowth to venture this far into the deep forests. Very few people are as fearless as Sylus.

Sylus simply laughs. "Guess how these trees came to be?"

Only then do you realize that the species of cypress trees here are an introduced specimen, originally native to the Mediterranean. 

"This tree is so big, it must be many decades old..." you murmur in appreciation as you lean against the twisting trunk. "When were cypress introduced here?" "They say... that there was once a group of highly educated youth who returned from studying abroad. Well, it was more like wealthy young people experiencing life than getting an education, but maybe one of them brought back cypress seeds and planted them here."  "Then he must have had quite an adventurous spirit." You remark. "How was he not afraid of getting lost and dying up here?"

As you speak, a breeze picks up behind you, the tassel-like flowers of the cypress swinging in the wind, carpeting the ground with small white petals. 

Sylus looks up at the tree, its white blossoms falling like a mist. A fleeting look of sorrow crosses his eyes, but it quickly transforms into a faint smile.

"Do you know the meaning of cypress in flower language?" He asks. You shake your head. "What?" "Waiting for love in despair." Your breath hitches.  Both you and Sylus had waited for each other in despair. 

"However," Sylus lowers his eyes. "There's a source that adds another sentence before that." He turns to look at you.  "Falling in love at first sight." 

Your eyes widen slightly. It takes you a moment to find your words. "Didn't you say you didn't fall in love with me at first sight?" Sylus chuckles. He may not have fallen in love with you at first sight, but that one glance was enough to seal his fate.  But when he speaks, he simply says, "It's about the language of flowers, not about me."

You don't reply, looking up at the huge cypress tree. 

The breeze continues to pick up, petals fluttering down before your eyes like rain, mirroring the melancholy, pure white snow that falls on your heart.  You think that from now on, every time you see a cypress tree, you'd remember this day, and Sylus who brought you here.  Your heart clenches, the memory of the night Sylus admitted his situation to you. 

"Don't think of me," he had said. But...

Cypress trees were everywhere in Linkon City. There, due to the warmer climate, the flowers bloomed in April.  From now on, as long as you stayed in Linkon City, every day in April, you'd think of him.  The longing wouldn't be confined to April. The boy, as free as the wind, would forever burn brightly in your memory.

16. Returning from the cypress grove, you feel as if you've been beaten; your whole body aches, from your muscles to your bones.  If it were just you and your grandma, you'd stay in bed for a few days, but during dinner, you hear your grandma casually remark, "It's already August." August... You and Sylus don't have much time left.

The next day, you decide to go to Sylus' house instead. The consequences of going to his place is for your body to ache even more.

Between playing games with Mephisto and the twins, as well as Sylus deciding lying on top of you is more comfortable than the couch or bed, you think, perhaps, going out wouldn't be so tiring after all. 

After a riveting game of dodgeball, you, freshly showered, lay limp in Sylus' embrace. Seeing a white butterfly land outside the French windows in the twilight, you say, "let's go catch butterflies tomorrow."

"I'll make a butterfly net tonight," Sylus leans down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.  "Isn't catching them with a net pointless?" You frown. "Then let me ask you, what do you get out of catching butterflies?"

You think for a minute, unable to come up with an answer. "I've never caught one before... but if I had to say... it's the sense of accomplishment when you get one?" "Catching them doesn't necessarily bring a sense of accomplishment," Sylus replies. You don't understand. "What do you mean?" "Catching them with your hands will get your hands covered in powder, and the butterflies are likely to die or be maimed. Do you want the butterflies to die in your hands?"

Hearing his words, you let out a chuckle. Sylus pinches your chin and lifts it to meet your gaze. "What are you laughing at?" You don't express it out loud, but Sylus already knows what you were about to say.

"I know, from a biological standpoint, butterflies don't possess emotional cognition. Keeping them until they die naturally isn't cruel. Although I feel sorry for depriving them of their freedom, I don't feel too much guilt. I'm not the saint you imagine, someone who sees all beings as equal, nor am I some great philanthropist. Many of the things I've done that you consider benevolent are merely to satisfy my personal desires. I don't have a strong sense of morality." He shakes his head.

Even after his entire spiel, you still think he's a very good person. Whether it's out of selfishness or anything else, only a person with a good heart would be so kind, even in their selfishness. Moreover, a strong sense of morality felt restrictive when it came to Sylus. His way of thinking... it makes you comfortable around him. 

He's truly an undeniable person. You admit, it's impossible not to fall in love with him.

"No need," you say with a smile. "Didn't you think it was pretty?" "I do, but that doesn't mean I like it. Since I don't like it, I don't have the idea of turning it into a specimen to collect."

You turn to face Sylus, your gaze suddenly deepening. Sensing you're about to say something important, he waits quietly.

After a while, you carefully choose your words. "I don't think I've told you directly, but I don't like anything else besides you." "I know," he replies. You're surprised. "You know? Did my grandma tell you?" "She didn't tell me, but you're the one who said that the world is utterly boring and I'm the only thing you're curious about."

"Then you still don't know." You sigh before continuing. "I suppose you can call me someone with a personality flaw. I said I don't like anything but you, not now, but starting from when I was nine until I met you this summer." 

Hearing this, Sylus freezes. He thought you were simply indifferent. You continue calmly. "Before meeting you, for 10 years, I never knew what anticipation or happiness felt like."

"Sylus, do you know what I thought you looked like the first day I saw you?" You suddenly counter with a question. He takes a deep breath. "Didn't you say I looked like the wind?"  "Not that." "Then what else?" You stare at him intently before finally saying, "Like a god."

"So, Sylus-" you raise your hand to cup his cheek, "To me, you're not like a god." "You are my god."

Something falls heavily into Sylus' eyes. In this world, trees are plentiful, but gods are rare. Will his bird meet another god? It will. It most certainly will. He tells himself this, but his heart tightens, his throat bobbing uncontrollably.

You know he wouldn't feel good hearing your confession, but it seems that only by telling him this could you persuade him that even after you leave, you can always return.

Perhaps this is somewhat selfish. Your existence, while a comfort to him, is another constraint you put on him. If you didn't leave in the first place, you feared he wouldn't be able to end his own life, perhaps living a life of hardship for your sake, just like your grandma. 

You overheard by accident a conversation between your doctor and psychiatrist when you were thirteen that your grandma had tried, and failed to commit suicide three times because of you.

To ensure you felt loved, your grandma lived on, despite her own intense wishes to let go of the world that no longer had anything left for her. 

You tried to fake being healed, but your grandma saw through your act each time. Finally, you thought of ending your own life to relieve your grandma of her burden, but after learning of your thoughts, she told you:

"Suicide will send you to hell. If you go to hell because of me, I'll hate myself."

You didn't want Sylus to become another grandma. So you had made up your mind. Either you die first, or you die with him.  You'll go to hell together. 

"Sylus, I only feel the meaning of life when I'm with you, so are you still going to push me away?" You look at him. He stares back at you, eyes red and swollen.  You speak again. "It took me ten years to meet you. Do you think I can hold on for another ten years?"  Hearing your words, Sylus' eyes widen for a moment.  "Yes!"

He seems provoked by the meaning behind your words, his expression tensing. "You can definitely hold on for the next ten years! You're only eighteen! You've just started your adult life, so of course..." "Sylus Qin!" You shout, interrupting him.

You don't want to hear him say idealistic things, that your health will be fine, or that you'll meet someone else.  You only want him.

"Y/N!" Sylus calls you out too, almost as if scolding you. But just as quickly, his voice softens. "Do you still remember the meaning of the Cypress tree?" You do. 

Waiting for love in despair. 

“I’ve waited and waited, but you haven’t reached that point yet. Just wait a little longer, and you’ll find a god who will always protect you... Just a little longer…” Sylus' voice is so hoarse, as if he's reached his limit. His eyes are bloodshot, filled with a desperate plea.

You've never seen him like this before. A man as carefree as the wind shouldn't be like this.  Ah.  So it still won't work? He still insists on pushing you away.

You can't bear to ask him your last question: what if you couldn't wait any longer?  Even more, seeing him like this, you can't tell him the words: I want to die with you.

"Then just pretend I..." your voice trembles as you whisper. "Pretend I said nothing today." Sylus' voice is equally hoarse as he says, "Okay."

No matter if you could hold on for the next ten years or not, as long as you don't decay in this mountain here with him, there was still a glimmer of hope. 

You take a deep breath, open your eyes, and get up from Sylus' arms. "I'm going to catch butterflies."

Sylus watches you walk to the center of the flowerbed. Butterflies flutter around you, your eyes clear and light, like a pool of spring water. With each one that flies by, a delicate shadow flashes across your eyes. You tilt your head back, unaware that a blue butterfly had landed on your shoulder. It rests there, fluttering its wings slowly. The scene is beautiful. Serene. As if nothing just happened at all, no fervor, no heart-wrenching pain. 

That afternoon, the two of you catch many butterflies, in all sorts of colors. But you don't intend on depriving them of their freedom. As dusk creeps up the treetops, and the sky is tinged with varying shades of orange and red, you release the butterflies back into the forest together. You watch as the dozens of butterflies fly out of their cage. A spectacular sight. 

You can't help but think, if only Sylus can also be freed like them. 

In your life though, this moment was enough. More than enough. 

17.  Your last night in the mountains is another rainy evening. 

Sylus holds an umbrella and walks you home. The raindrops pound relentlessly above your heads, and you can't help but think that the sound reminds you of fireworks that echo all night long outside your window on new years eve. 

You stop and look down at the raindrops splashing on the ground. You remember a phrase from a poem: rain is the fireworks of the gods.

People use fireworks to bid farewell to the past year. Is this rain a farewell from the mountains?

"What's wrong?" Sylus asks, stopping with you. You look up. "Sylus, can you walk with me in the rain one more time?" You hold out your hand. "This time, it's my turn to invite you."

Sylus readily agrees, tossing the umbrella aside and grabbing your hand, running into the rain.

There's a feeling of exhilaration, running across the endless grasslands of the mountains through the rain. With the sound of Sylus' laughter, it's almost as if you weren't about to part, but rather, eloping hand in hand. 

The rain continues to fall, soaking the entire forest.   Sylus doesn't mind the rain getting into his eyes, his gaze remains fixed on your figure. "My girl, please, keep running forward like this" he thinks silently.

The mountain rain shrouds the forest in a verdant haze. It's hard to make out anything distinct in the haze, yet you still manage to find the white house. 

Your pace slows. "We're almost there," Sylus calls. You don't reply. "I want to ask you for something," Sylus continues. You stop. "What?" "Your camera." A glint flashes in your eyes. "You won't even let me keep a single photo of you?" "Didn't you delete it?" You pause. "I'll get it for you." You release Sylus' hand and take a few steps forward, pushing open the door to go inside.

Sylus doesn't follow you in, instead leaning against the wall, letting the rain soak him. A moment later, you remerge, holding an umbrella.

"Here." You hand him the camera and the umbrella together. Sylus takes them, then takes a step towards you, holding the umbrella over his head.

The two of you stand under the umbrella once again. Very close. 

You look up. "Do you want to talk for a little longer, or should I go now?" Sylus smiles. "Go home early, don't want you catching a fever again." "That's all?" Your expression is somber. "You have something to tell me, don't you?" "Live well, eat well, go out more, make friends, be careful, don't get sick, don't do anything to hurt yourself., and enjoy your life to its fullest." "And..." He pauses for a moment, "...don't think of me anymore."

Your gaze darkens, as you remain silent.

Sylus doesn't say anything more. The only sound is of the rain hitting the umbrella. It's pouring, with the visibility close to zero in the distance.  "We won't see each other again, hmm?" Sylus asks again.

But it's not a question. He's telling you that even if you come back in the future, you shouldn't meet again.

You feel as if a knife just stabbed you in the heart. The cold, damp air rushes in, making it hard to breathe. "Yes, we won't see each other again." You try to force a smile, struggling to keep your voice even. Sylus laughs. At his laughter, your eyes instantly redden, but you still desperately try to hold back your tears. 

How can you cry when Sylus laughs? 

"Sylus, you're such an asshole." Despite knowing he isn't as nonchalant as he appeared, you still complain, resenting his ability to not show even a hint of reluctance, his refusal to say any longing words, or even to just call your name again.

"Then forget about this asshole."

A sudden pang of pain shoots through your heart, and your pulse seems to stop for a few seconds. You feel tears freely run down your cheek.

Sylus, seeing you struggle to hold back, couldn't stop his own eyes from reddening. He doesn't want you to suffer too much, nor does he want you to see the heartache and pain that was about to overflow from his own eyes. 

While he could still control his voice, he says, "I'm leaving. Since we won't see each other again, this is goodbye."  Leaving you with this last sentence, he doesn't linger for a second longer.

Without the shelter of an umbrella, the rain drowns him. He couldn't tell if his eyes were filled with rain or tears. In his flooded vision, your figure quickly disappears into the depths of the mist.

You suddenly feel unsteady, your body swaying, forcing you to hold onto the wall to stand as if you're a piece of glass about to topple and shatter. You feel as if you're drowning, unable to breathe, a suffocating pain surging through you like a tidal wave. A pain you couldn't bear, a pain so intense you wanted to die in that moment. 

If only you knew it would hurt this much... You'd still want to meet him. 

You crouch down, umbrella long forgotten beside you, crying in the rain, your whole body trembling. 

On the mountain path, swallowed by the torrential rain, another person, like you, cried until he couldn't move, standing motionless in the rain for a long, long time. 

There was only a bend in the road between you.  If it wasn't for the pounding rain, surely, you would have heard each other's cries.  But there are no "if's" in the world. 

18. The rain stops after nightfall. By morning, only the piles of fallen leaves by the roadside are still damp with rainwater.  When you come downstairs with your luggage, the post-rain dampness in the air has evaporated, the sun blazing overhead.  Summer isn't over, but from now on, there will be no more Sylus in your summers.  But what kind of summer is it without Sylus?

After having your last lunch with your grandma, the driver arranged to pick you up arrives.

"Grandma, I'm leaving." "No rush, dear. Come here, let me see you one last time."

Your grandma takes your hand, stroking the back of it gently again and again, carefully looking into your face as if trying to memorize its lines. You suddenly realize your grandma has truly aged. In the past, she's never shown such reluctance to part. 

You think perhaps she's worried about you.

"Grandma, I'll be ok." "I know, I just want to see you one more time." You hold her hands in your own. "Linkon City isn't that far. If you miss me, just call, and I'll come back to see you." "Alright." She gives you a smile and pats your hands. "Let me know once you reached school." "Okay."

You get up, pulling your suitcase with you, and head out of the living room. Your grandma, on her wheelchair, follows you to the front door, watching you get into the car.

After you are settled in your seat, you roll down the window and wave goodbye.  She lingers at the door for a while, even after the car has disappeared. 

The scenery outside your window recedes like the tide. 

You gaze intently at the vast expanse of mountains and forests, your eyes unblinking, as if trying to imprint every tree deeply into your mind.  After driving for a while, the vehicle beings a steep descent. The speed isn't fast, but you feel your heart plummet.

Goodbye, Azure mountains. Never again, Sylus Qin.

The sun hangs overhead, but the wind blowing from the depths of the forest are somehow cool, as if soaked with the chill of yesterday's rain. 

19. The old lady stands alone, gazing far into the distance, her thoughts drifting. 

"Grandma," a clear voice sounds from in front of her. She turns her head and calls out with a smile. "Sylus." "Are you here to see Y/N off?" she asks.

Sylus neither confirms nor denies the question, simply handing over the umbrella he's carrying to her.

"I'm returning her umbrella." "I see." 

His goal is achieved, but he shows no sign of leaving.

"Is there anything else?" Your grandma asks. "I'd like to ask you for a favor." Sylus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it over to her. "This is my phone number. If Y/N comes back to see you in the future, please let me know. I..." He pauses. "It's best if we don't see each other again." Your grandma sighs, "Alright," and takes the paper. 

Looking down at the string of numbers, she seems lost in thought for a moment. 

"Sylus?" She looks up. "I also have something I'd like to ask of you." "Please, go ahead." "No rush." She holds up the piece of paper. "I'll call you." "Alright. Please call me anytime if you need anything."  "Thank you, Sylus." 

Your grandma's expression isn't a casual thank you, but a heartfelt, genuine gratitude.

A gust of wind blows by. Feeling the coolness, Sylus says, "It's chilly today, grandma. You should go back inside." The old lady nods.  "If there's nothing else, I'll get going now."

Waving goodbye to your grandma, Sylus returns home. Having heard his footsteps, Dragon is already waiting for him, perched by the shoe stands. 

Sylus doesn't stop, only leaning over to pat her head as he passes. 

Dragon follows him, meowing and weaving through his legs as he moves. Seeing he isn't stopping to pick her up as usual, she runs ahead, lying down to demand petting in a rare display of affection. 

Seeing his path blocked, Sylus finally stops. For some reason, the pent-up emotions suddenly become unbearable. 

A headache from staying up all night tears at his nerves, accompanied by a long, sharp ringing in his ears. Hunger unable to be satisfied by food claws at his abdomen, as if he's being stabbed with knives. The pain is so intense he like he might collapse at any moment. He can only lean against the wall, slowly sliding down as he waits for the pangs to subside. 

The stomach is truly an organ of emotions.  He hasn't experienced such cravings in a very long time.  But even the intense physical pain doesn't mask the ache in his heart. The two entwine and coexist, making him feel like he's dying. 

Dragon seems to sense her owner's discomfort, gently nuzzling against his hand, and occasionally letting out a soft meow, as if worried.  "Don't worry, Dragon. I won't die." Sylus says, reaching out to run his fingers through her fur. His lips are pale, yet he smiles. "I promised her I'd keep living for a few more years."

Sunlight streams in through the window, casting shadows on the white wall.  Sylus sits in the corner, watching the light climb higher and higher until it stops, turning a pale gold, and gently fades.

As the sky begins to dim, he finally struggles to his feet and heads upstairs.  On his bedside drawer sits the camera you gave him. 

After a quick shower, he lies down on the bed and picks up the camera. He hasn't turned it on yet. 

Clicking into the photo album, he sees the first photo is of himself - the same one you originally said you had deleted. He chuckles.

Scrolling down, there's a few selfies of you.  You thought he wanted your camera because he didn't want you to leave with the photo of him.  In reality, he wanted it for the photos of you. 

Staring at the screen, Sylus hesitates for a long time before raising his hand to gingerly touch the face on the screen. "Y/N, I will always remember your face," he says to himself.  "They say, that you can pray to cypress trees. Though it never granted my wish to leave this mountain, I'll keep praying for you. My only wish is that you find happiness in your life." Sylus' eyes darken, as if he's thinking of something.  "I will love you forever, but don't think of me anymore." 

As the echoes of his words fade into the room, Sylus doesn't say anything anymore, simply staring into the face in the camera until a low battery warning pops up onto the screen. 

He turns to the window. The night is already deep.  There are no stars in the sky tonight. "Goodnight, Y/N." He puts down the camera. 

19.  From that day on, Sylus goes to the cypress grove every afternoon, returning at dusk, and playing with Dragon. It becomes his routine. 

In November at Linkon City, the weather turns cool, with hints of winter already visible.  The wind blowing through the air instead reminds you of a cold, early spring. 

You pause, paintbrush in hand, turning to look at the swaying shadows of trees against your window. You walk over, but not to close it. Instead, you lean outside, letting the breeze caress your face.  Only after the wind subsides do you return to your easel. 

Since coming back to Linkon City, you spent most of your time painting in your dorm, depicting the same person in different scenes- the boy on the mountain, as free as the wind. 

The person who wanted you to forget him, but you couldn't. How could you forget? A mere breeze reminds you of him. The wind is everywhere, ubiquitous.

And not just the wind, but rain showers, a single star in the night sky, a cypress tree, yet to bloom on campus, even any painting in the school corridors - everything reminds you of him, and how he is trapped on that mountain.

You couldn't forget him, and you don't want to. 

When the feelings are intense enough, they become physiological. When you saw him, you would smile unconsciously, and seeing him walk away made your heart ache. Now, when you can't see him, every sleepless night turns the moon into his image. 

You start suffering from insomnia the first day back in Linkon City.  Whenever you couldn't sleep, you take out the book of poems you took from Sylus' room, and read it over and over again, letting the words take you back to him.  After reading all 520 of them, you'd usually fall alseep.

The only thing that kept you sharp was your search for a sorcerer, a fortune-teller, someone who could tell you why Sylus was trapped on the mountain and how to save him. 

With something to do, you feel that each day isn't as unbearable as before, except... You missed him terribly. 

Your longing is especially intense the day a typhoon hits. 

Typhoons are quite common in summer, less so in spring and autumn. The name of this typhoon is "Ourea", god of the mountains.  You wonder if there was a deity of Azure mountains, and if it was looking down on you and Sylus too. 

The typhoon hits at 3pm. Dark clouds cover the afternoon sky, the winds howling like the roar of wild beasts. Trees snap, and windows rattle. 

You stand by the window, silently gazing outside. 

Under the ravaging of the rain, the scene before you nearly looks like the end of the world, yet you feel no fear.  You almost wish it is actually the end of the world.  If that day was today, you only wish for a chance to make a phone call.  You want to hear Sylus' voice again and tell him "Sylus, I'm in Linkon City, battered by the wind, and I miss you so much."

20. By the end of November, the temperature on the Azure mountains is already nearing freezing. The days are getting shorter, the forest quieter.  Leaving the cypress grove, Sylus rubs his frozen hands, feeling his phone vibrating in his pocket.

It's an unknown number. Sylus knows who it is.

He answers the phone, an elderly woman's voice coming through. "Sylus, it's me, Y/N's grandma." "Hello." "Sylus, can you come over tomorrow? I need your help with something." "Ok, grandma. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sylus heads over to your grandma's house after breakfast. Upon seeing him, she tells him what she needs help with. "It's nothing, really, I just wanted to ask you to take me down the main road to that bridge."

Sylus knows which bridge she's referring to, of course. "I'll take you there."

With the cold, it takes nearly an hour along the dirt path. When the paved sidewalk ends, your grandma turns to Sylus. "Don't take me in, just tell me how to get there." "There's quite a few forks in the road." Sylus kneels down in front of the wheelchair. "I'll carry you over." Your grandma hesitates, then put her arms around Sylus' shoulders. "Thank you, Sylus." "Of course. It's not that far from here."

Upon finally reaching the bridge, Sylus puts your grandma down. 

After so many years, your grandma's emotions are indescribable. Her eyes fill with tears. She trembles as she touches the railing.  Sylus initially thought about retreating, to let her reminisce about the bridge herself, but he fears she might stumble, instead following behind her slowly.

Your grandma walks from one end of the bridge to the other, tears streaming down her face. She doesn't speak, only weeping silently.  She stops after reaching the other end.

Gathering her emotions, she turns to Sylus and smiles.  "Let's go back now, Sylus." "Won't you like to stay a little longer?" "No need."

On the way back, she mentions how she hears him go deep into the mountains often. "Are you thinking of Y/N?" She asks. "Yes." Sylus replies honestly. She smiles and says, "don't worry, I won't tell." "Thank you." "Don't keep thanking me, I should be the one to thank you. You filled the void in Y/N's heart, making my extra ten years of life worthwhile." "You overestimate me." "Not at all, I'm truly grateful to you. Because of you, I finally..."

She doesn't finish her sentence, pausing abruptly, then laughs and changes the subject. "Accompany me for dinner. You seem to have lost weight lately." "Alright." Sylus agrees.

Seeing your grandma return, the housekeeper starts cooking.

Sylus sits with you grandma in the living room, nursing a cup of tea. "I heard there was a typhoon in Linkon City," Sylus mentions casually. Your grandma smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry, Y/N is fine. She called to let me know she's safe."  Sylus doesn't speak, watching the leaves float in his cup. 

Your grandma looks at him, her gentle eyes flickering. After a while, she sighs and says, "Sylus, you're a good child. Truly. Except you're too stubborn. Listen to what you want instead of focusing on an overly idealized future. Since there's hope, shouldn't you try?" "With me, there's no future." Sylus says in a deep voice. "Why? Even a short future is still a future." "Can something so short really be considered a future?" Sylus lowers his gaze, taking a deep breath. "My existence is a curse in itself, and the other creatures will see her as a threat. They'll worry that she'll find a way to get me out of this mountain. I worry they'll create an... accident."

Your grandma is shocked, clearly not having considered this. 

"I don't know why I was born like this, but I suspect the reason they won't let me leave the mountain is related to their interests. If my own father can break my tendons and chain me here like livestock, there's no end to what they could do." Sylus takes a deep breath. "So, Grandma," he looks at her, gaze deep, "I have no other choice."

Your grandma's eyes turn watery. She clenches her firsts and says bitterly, "They're inhuman." Sylus gives a small laugh. "They're not human to begin with."

Just then, Mrs. Zhou comes out of the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

"Don't think about it, Grandma. Please eat." Sylus calmly reaches out to help her up. “Let's eat." Sylus never had an appetite for human foods, but to cheer your grandma up, he eats a full bowl, only to vomit terribly afterwards. But that's a separate story.

After dinner, your grandma insists on seeing him off. As they reach the door, she slips an envelope into Sylus' pocket, pressing his hand as he tries to take it out, and gesturing for him to be quiet.

Sylus understands and stops trying to refuse. 

As Sylus reaches his front door, he takes out the envelope. As he expected it contains around 500 dollars in cash, and a letter.  He unfolds the letter, which reads:

"Sylus, there are some things that I feel are better said to you in a letter.  The day you left Y/N, she cried for a long time in the rain. I've never seen her cry like that, not even as a baby. After the Chronorift disaster, she was far too quiet, rarely crying or smiling. Over time, to avoid the pain of loss, she locked herself away, no longer having anything she liked, so it wouldn't be taken away from her. Without love, there is no joy. You appearance was one of the few moments of happiness in Y/N's life; it was like a miracle. I don't know if she's told you this, but I'm telling you now. Living is very hard for her.  That day, she told me she wanted to die with you, but you valued her life too much. However, I want to say that there are things more important than life.  When Y/N was younger, I attempted suicide three times because the love of my life had passed away. But when I woke up in the hospital the last time and saw Y/N standing alone in the corner, I decided to live. I thought this little girl also needed to feel loved and wanted to save her. I can't save her.  When she learned that I was living for her sake, she wanted to end her own life. I know she wanted me to be able to see her grandfather, but also to free herself.  Living is painful for her, but I still keep wishing she'd hold on a little longer, until she meets someone worth living for, until she experiences a love that won't betray her previous suffering. I know this is what you want for her too. But you know what? If she hasn't met that person by the time she's 24, I don't plan to let her suffer any longer. Sylus, if one day Y/N comes back and tells you she can't hold on anymore, please, make a promise with her for when she turns 24.  Sylus, I've considered many possibilities, both good and bad. If you hear bad news from her, use this $500 to go see her."

Tap-

A tear falls onto the paper. 

Sylus closes the envelope, tucking it back into his pocket. He closes his eyes in the oncoming wind. 

21. Night falls, and the mountains are silent. Under the starless night sky, everything is dark, except for a single beam of light shining from a small house. 

The door hinge creaks, and an elderly woman in a wheelchair emerges from the courtyard, flashlight in hand. She follows the direction she remembers, departing from the paved path. A lone motorcyclist stops the old lady, calling out, "Grandma! Where are you going so late at night?"

She simply smiles, "I'm afraid you'll laugh if I tell you. Today is the anniversary of my husband's death. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to come out for some fresh air. Maybe I'll run into my husband's ghost."

Ghosts are terrifying to some, but to others, they're a gift to see. 

Seeing the old lady's sincerity, the other person doesn't suspect anything, simply sighing. "I admire the deep devotion you have for your late husband, but it's too dangerous for an elderly person like you to be out here at this hour. Let me take you back." Your grandma waves her hand. "No need, no need. My wheelchair is quite sturdy. I'll make my way around."  The young man can only say, "Please be careful. Head back soon, it's very cold out here, don't get sick."

After saying goodbye, your grandma continues on her path alone. It's already very late. No one is out in this weather. 

The place she stops is just ahead of the muddy path Sylus had taken her earlier that day. Shining her flashlight around, she shakily stands up, grabbing her walking stick, and pushes her wheelchair into the ditch beside the road. 

Hanging the flashlight around her neck, she steps onto the muddy path, struggling to keep walking. She stumbles after a few yards, but gets back up again. By the time she sees the bridge, her body is bruised all over, clothes stained with mud and blood. Finally reaching the bridgehead, she uses her last bit of strength to sit up, leaning against the post. 

A star appears in the sky. She looks up at the single light in the darkness. Perhaps her love was on the star, watching over her. The chilling wind blows across the river, bitterly cold, but the old woman smiles.  She's been waiting for this moment for many, many years.  "Darling, I'm coming for you," she says, then slowly closes her eyes. 

The temperature drops to below freezing at night, the river slowly beginning to freeze.  No one would be able to survive outside on such a cold winter night, let alone an elderly woman. 

The next day, when people found her, she had already passed away peacefully, a smile still on her face. 

Her body was taken back to the village. 

By the time you return, she's already lying peacefully in a coffin at the funeral home.  Looking at your grandma's smiling face, you smile too, but tears stream down your face. 

Mrs. Zhou, eyes red, comes over to pat your shoulder, trying to comfort you. "Don't be too sad. Your grandma left on her own, on the same bridge your grandpa built for her." "Then she must have seen him," you say.

You genuinely felt happy for her. 

From the moment you saw her lying there, you knew that she didn't die of an accident or any sudden health condition. She had missed your grandfather and gone to find him.  Finally. She didn't have to suffer anymore.

You place your hand in the coffin, cradling your grandma's hand, saying in a hoarse voice, "Grandma, you've suffered a lot all these years."

22. Screams ring out, as a boy nicknamed "His Highness," finds himself utterly powerless under Sylus' relentless blows.

He knows, of course, why he's being beaten. As Sylus pauses for a moment to ask, he takes the chance to speak first, shouting, "Stop! Stop! I was wrong, I was wrong!" Sylus simply holds him by the collar of his shirt. "What did you do wrong?" "I shouldn't have cornered Mephisto, I shouldn't have burned his college application. I was wrong! I know I was wrong!" 

Sylus looks down at him, eyes devoid of any warmth. "Then I'm not doing anything wrong, am I?" With those words, he gives the spirit one more hard kick before turning away. 

As he walks away, a larger group of creatures surround him. Recognizing them as part of Onychinus, he lets them take him. They don't fight him, instead, they push him deep into the woods, until they reach a cave. 

In the den, sitting on a plush throne, is the figure of a man. Sylus' father, whom he hasn't seen in nearly half a century. 

Hearing the commotion, his sharp, reptilian eyes sweep over the group before him.  Sylus meets his gaze, his own even colder, chillingly so. "I've disturbed you, haven't I?" Sylus chuckles, tone dripping with undisguised sarcasm.  

The figure doesn't speak, simply standing up and walking slowly towards Sylus, stopping in front of him. 

Slap—!

A loud crack echoes against the walls. 

Sylus staggers back two steps from the blow, a metallic taste filling his mouth. He licks it with the tip of his tongue, giving the man an cold look. His father seems enraged by his indifference, grabbing Sylus' chin with a grip so tight, it feels as if he wants to crush his bones. 

"Try glaring at your father again." Sylus smiles as if he just hard a joke. "My father?" The smile vanishes as he sneers, "You think you're worthy of that title?"

The man's anger flares instantly, and the figures morphs into a huge, draconian form. A single swipe of his tails knocks Sylus to the ground.

"We treat you like a emperor here, and here you are, always trying to run away or cause more trouble!" Sylus spits back, "Otherwise what? Should I be grateful to you?" Another blow lands on him. "You should be grateful I even allowed you to live! You curse! You killed your mother!" Sylus doesn't have more words to argue with this kind of person. "I didn't ask to be born."

Seething, the dragon crouches down, his claws tight around Sylus' neck. "I told you you'd die if you leave this mountain. You want to try?"

Hearing no response, he chuckles. "If you want to die that badly... Then go die."

While his face is still expressionless, Sylus' pupils visibly dilate at the last three words.  His father, seeing this, sneers, then turns around to leave. 

Sylus is shoved back into the car. 

A while later, all is silent back at Sylus' house. Dragon, afraid of strangers, finally emerges from her corner. She goes to Sylus' feet, rubbing against his leg, emitting a low purr.  Sylus picks up the cat and buries his face in its soft fur. 

Dragon rests quietly on Sylus' shoulder, head nestled in the crook of his neck, as if embracing him in her own way. 

After a long silence, a hoarse voice echoes hollowly in the room. "Dragon, you're all I have left."

It's new years eve, the liveliest night of the year. Sylus once again spends it without his family. The only difference was that before, he had Mephisto, and sometimes the twins with him.  This year, its just himself and Dragon. 

There's no ban on fireworks in the Azure mountains. Every new year's eve, before dusk, the sound of fireworks and firecrackers fill the air, growing louder as the night deepens. On this night, even the brightest stars pale in comparison to the fireworks that blanket the night sky.

Every year, at that time, Sylus would climb onto his roof and look at the sky ablaze with colors and flames. Not a single firework blooms for him.  None of this earthly warmth belongs to him. 

He doesn't need to get close to see the lights from homes far away to know what goes on inside: families gathering together, some watching the countdown, some playing cards and drinking by the fireplace. 

In previous years, he doesn't feel his heart moved all that much, but this year, it does.  Because he's thinking of someone.  He wonders.  Now that your grandma had passed away, were you alone, just like him?

Sylus knows its futile for him to long for this kind of human warmth, but he genuinely hopes you could feel it. 

23. Meanwhile, a hundred miles away in Linkon City.

A large group of college students are gathered in a bar, having dinner and enjoying their New Years Eve celebrations. Everyone is chattering and laughing, except one, who seems to be in her own little world. 

Since getting here, you haven't uttered a single word, like a silent shadow, completely out of place in this festive scene. 

Looking at the smiling faces before you, the laughter and joy in your ears are suddenly interrupted by a sharp ringing. You reflexively lower your head, closing your eyes, frowning as you try to endure the tinnitus. 

After a full minute of ringing, the noise finally subsides, and you open your eyes to see a glass of beer placed in front of you. "Y/N, drink up!"  You're startled, because accompanying the voice is the chirping of cicadas hidden deep within the forest.  But it's the dead of winter. 

Your look of surprise vanishes just as fast. This isn't the first time you've heard the sounds of summer in winter. You know it's an auditory hallucination. But since when did you start getting hallucinations after tinnitus?

It wasn't after your grandmother's death. No. It was a month before. 

You had went to see a fortune-teller that day. Late that night, you opened the poem book on your nightstand and came across a poem titled "Winter". It read something like this: "Is this winter? I'm not sure. But when you're not by my side, I can always hear the cicadas chirping in the height of summer."

From that moment on, the poem became your reality.

Initially, the symptoms weren't severe, but they had worsened after your grandmother's death. You didn't need to go see a doctor to know why this was happening. Your hope was gone, and your support as well. 

In your hallucinations, every smiling face before you gradually blurs into a phantom, the joyful sounds of your classmates becoming indistinct; only the sound of cicadas remains clear. You feel as if you're standing on the edge of the world, or in a different dimension. The scene of celebration, seemingly within your reach, feels incredibly distant. 

You finally understand why your grandmother disliked such gatherings - because the one she loved wasn't there. Such lively and warm moments only evoke more painful memories, reminding you of the one person you wanted to see. 

You miss your grandma. You also miss Sylus.  Sylus, is anyone counting down the new year with you right now? I'm surrounded by dozens of people, but without you, I only feel lonely.  The more lively the scene, the more I want you by your side. 

"Y/N?" It sounds like someone's calling you. "Y/N, are you alright?" Someone is shaking you, trying to pull you out of your imaginary world, but it only makes you more dizzy.

Buzz-

A sharp screeching tears across your ears. You cover your face with your hands, shrinking back in pain. People around you panic, crowding around you, calling your name anxiously.  The cacophony of shouts and the piercing ringing in your ears makes your head throb. Breathing becomes difficult. Surrounded by the crowd, you feel as if you've been thrown in a kettle and boiled dry. Your eardrums are being torn apart, the air unbearably stuffy. 

"Move out of the way! Don't surround her!" "Someone get her to the hospital!"

In the chaos, someone knocks over a glass, which shatters on the floor with a loud crash. The sound of shattering is so crisp, it knocks you out of your torture. Time stands still, and all the noise vanishes. 

You open your eyes to see the broken glass on the floor. A sudden surge of tears well up in your eyes, as if you, too, had shattered along with it.

"Y/N, look at me." Voices reach your ears again. You look at the person in front of you slightly sluggishly, your eyes unfocused. "Y/N, tell me, what's wrong?" You open your mouth, but no sound comes out.  "Someone take her to the hospital, she's not right in her mind." Only then does your gaze finally converge.  "It's nothing, just tinnitus." You tone is eerily flat. "You should still go get checked..." "No," you interrupt, standing up. "You guys continue, I need to go somewhere." No one chases after you. 

24.  Stepping out into the cool breeze, you call a taxi.

"Hello, I'd like to go to Azure mountain, now," you say to the driver. "Miss, it's New Years Eve today, I..." the driver is clearly reluctant. "Take me there, and I'll give you a thousand dollars."

Only a fool would turn down a thousand dollar single trip. The driver lets you in.

The journey from Linkon City to the foot of the mountains takes around four hours. However, it had snowed, making the ascent difficult. It's nearly midnight when you arrive at Sylus' home.

Getting out of the taxi, you bid the driver farewell as you walk across the bridge and stop at the door.  Before you even raise your hand to knock, the door opens automatically, with Sylus stepping out.

"Call the driver back," are his first words to you, tone cold. You stare at him, then take out your phone, and smash it into the ground behind him.  "Can't. My phone's broken." Sylus furrows his brows. "What do you want?" "I miss you." His expression darkens as anger flashes in his eyes, his gaze icy. "You promised you wouldn't hang onto me." "Then I apologize, but I can't do that." Sylus' lips tighten as he replies ruthlessly. "If I had known you'd be this shameless, I never would've bothered with you in the first place." You ignore his harsh words, simply stating, "But you did." "I regret it." "Regret is useless," you don't buy his act. "Ask yourself honestly. Do you really regret it?"

Sylus doesn't answer, silently staring at you.

Fireworks burst in the sky, one after another, from the town below. One explodes right above you, ephemeral and beautiful, but neither of you look up. You stare intently at each other, one with icy coldness, the other with unwavering determination. You're locked in a stalemate, neither willing to back down. 

A breeze blows across the pond.  You squint, the hairs on your neck bristling, clearly feeling the cold. Sylus' gaze falters. 

Linkon City isn't as cold as the mountains. You're only wearing a thin coat, no match for the freezing temperatures at higher altitude. 

Sensing a softening in his gaze, you take the opportunity to step towards him. Sylus takes a step back. You pause, forcing a bitter smile. "You want me to freeze to death?"

Sylus remains silent.

You keep walking towards him. He doesn't back down, only stepping back when you lift your arms to give him a hug. "We'll talk inside," he says, turning and going into the house. Passing your broken phone, he bends over to pick it up. You pause for a moment before lowering your arms and follow him inside. 

You sit down facing each other.

"What brings you here?" Sylus asks. He doesn't look at you, instead working on retrieving the SIM card from your phone. "Sylus, look at me." You say. Sylus hesitates, then lifts his gaze. "What?" "Sylus, what would you do if I told you I can't hold on for much longer?"

He freezes. When he speaks again, his words are curt, as if his brain was short-circuiting, unable to process the information at hand. "You... you can't..." You know what he's going to say. "I'm not lying to you." You smile, voice strained. "I really don't want to hold on for much longer." "Why?! You said... you still have..." Sylus pauses, realizing something. "Is it.. is it because your grandmother passed away?" You reply calmly, "If she didn't pass away, I could have held on for much longer. But she's gone now. I can't do it anymore."

The house is warm, but Sylus feels a chill run down his spine. 

He remembers the letter your grandma gave him.  "Sylus, if one day, Y/N comes back and tells you she can't hold on any longer, please, make a promise with her... I've thought of many possibilities, good and bad. If news comes from afar, use this money to go see her one last time."

Good news: you'd survive, fall in love, and get married. He'll go to your wedding to see you one last time before ending his own cursed life.

Bad news: you've passed away, then he'll go die with you. 

Sylus takes a deep breath, suppressing the suffocating feeling in his chest. He looks at you intently. After a long time, he finally opens his mouth. 

"Let's make a promise." "What promise?" You're intrigued. "If you haven't met a person that makes you want to continue on by the time you're... 24."

His adams apple bobs, the veins on his neck bulging as if he's desperately holding back some emotion. 

"Come back here, and I'll die with you."

25. Fireworks continue to bloom outside the window, firecrackers crackling incessantly, yet you feel a sudden, eerie silence around you, save for Sylus' words echoing repeatedly in your ears: "Come back, and I'll die with you."

Suddenly, you laugh. "Okay." "But under one condition." Sylus hardens his gaze, "Until you turn 24, you can't come back here, no matter what."

He emphasizes the last three words.

You agree easily. "I understand." "If you break your promise again..." Sylus starts, but then hesitates, unsure how to continue. Finally, he could only weakly say, "Don't break your promise, I beg you." "I won't." "And one more thing." He clenches his fists, "You must, you absolutely must do everything you can to hold on until then." You smile, "With this promise, I'll do anything."

Looking at your smile, Sylus suddenly feels as if he's fallen into a trap, yet he also couldn't imagine using you going back on a promise like this. 

"Sylus," you call out to him, yawning, "I'm sleepy." "It's New Year's Eve today, aren't you staying up all night?" he asks casually, his thoughts still somewhat scattered.

You smile at him, siting down on his sofa, and reach out to hug him, resting your chin on his shoulder. "I don't want to stay up, I just want to watch you sleep." You clasp your hands around him tightly.

Sylus turns his face away, but gives up on removing your hands. "Do you think I'd let you sleep with me?"  "Very likely." "Impossible," he says firmly. "Say that again while looking at me this time."

Sylus turns around, ready to repeat himself, when you lean forward and kiss him.

You want to make sure he doesn't say a single word. 

Sylus initially manages to control himself, but his restraint could only last so long. When it comes to you, he would always inevitably succumb.  His kiss is fierce, almost aggressive, as if trying to brand the kiss deep into your bones. You feel as if he's stealing all the air from your lungs, yet you kiss him back with reckless abandon. 

He finally breaks it off, watching you gasp. "You know, I don't actually... sleep."

From the moment Sylus saw you, he knew that he'd be powerless against you.  Love is something you always want to control, but can't. 

26. That night the two of you let go of all control, staying up the whole time, only falling asleep in each other's arms at dawn. When you wake up, it's already afternoon. You would've slept for a bit longer, but your stomach growls in protest. Sylus gets up to cook for you instead. 

By the time you go downstairs, Sylus is nearly done. You wander into the kitchen, drawn in by the smell. Watching him busy in the kitchen, you feel as if you've returned to last summer. Leaning against the door as you observe the light dance across his hair, it's almost like you reached the end of time. You desperately wish that time could stop in this moment, never to move forward again. 

Your footsteps are light, but Sylus heard the moment you got out of bed. He turns around with the dishes in his hand.

"I was going to bring this up for you." You smile, "My legs are sore, but not bad to the point I can't get out of bed. You haven't been that bad to me." Sylus chuckles, "I see."

His smile holds something deeper. 

You look over at him with interest. "I thought you were going to pull up your pants and then act all cold and chase me away." Sylus' eyes darken slightly, before he says softly. "I won't chase you away." You raise an eyebrow. "Really? Have you finally realized?"

That it's pointless?

Sylus knows you have no intention of loving anyone else. But he still hoped that you wouldn't come back six years later.  "Think what you want," he says, taking the dishes to the table. "I'm not going to kick you out, but don't linger for too long." Putting the dishes on the table, Sylus turns to look at you. "Come and eat.” “Coming.”

Just then, as if drawn by the aroma, Dragon jumps onto the table. You reach out to touch her, but your gaze drifts to the window, remembering the butterflies from last summer.

When Sylus returns with a bowl of rice for you, you ask, "Can I go see the  Cypress grove one more time?" "Okay."

It's very windy outside. You head out wrapped in Sylus' wool coat, it's sleeves too long for you, and the hem nearly dragging on the ground. Sylus holds your hand the entire time, his hand buried in the sleeve. 

Once you veer off the mountain path, the route becomes less familiar. 

In the summer, the sky was blue, the grass green, the atmosphere exceptionally beautiful. Now, only a serene, undisturbed layer of snow.  You can't help but feel sad. So much time had passed, along with your grandmother.

Your eyes are downcast when suddenly, a snowflake lands on your nose.  "It's snowing," Sylus says from beside you. 

You look up. 

From your memory, the last time you saw snow was when you were a child. You don't remember your age, but only that your family was still alive then. Back then, you loved the snow. You gaze at the falling snowflakes, reaching out to catch one, quietly watching them fall into your palm and melt. 

"I'll leave after this snowfall," you say.  Sylus seems almost taken aback. "I thought you'd stay a little longer." "Do you want me to stay longer?"  "No," Sylus shakes his head.

You smile, knowing he'd answer that way. 

You aren't sad. Still smiling, you turn to him. "I won't stay long this time, it's not like I'm going to die with you the first day I come back after six years." You pause.  "We still have time." There's still time to love each other.

Sylus doesn't speak, silently watching the snow fall with you.

You continue. "After I turn 24, let's wait until the winter to die. I heard that when you die, time will forever stop in that moment. I love snow. If we die on a snowy day, the snowfall won't end."  And you'll never leave again. You'll be together forever in that snowstorm. 

This time, you leave with a smile, just like the first day you met. You knew you'll meet again, so you smile and look forward to that day.

After you leave, Sylus cries.  He stands in front of the cypress tree, praying to whatever is out there for someone, anyone, to save you.

That spring, after the cypress blossoms once again create a thin white mist, Mephisto tells Sylus he was admitted to Linkon University. At the end of August, Sylus sees Mephisto off on his way to school. 

"Don't worry about things back here, you'll always have myself and the twins." "Boss... thank you, you've helped me so much. I don't know how to repay you for everything." Mephisto sniffles.  "If Y/N asks about me, don't say anything. That's all I ask for." Sylus says. Mephisto nods, "Alright. I won't tell." "Also, please try to persuade her." "About what?" 

Sylus doesn't tell him about his pact with you about turning 24, only saying, "persuade her to live a good life and make more friends."  "Alright."

Mephisto has never left the mountain since he could remember. Up in the village, there are no buses, no trains, no subways. After arriving in Linkon City, it takes a while for him to adjust.  The city is too big for him, and Linkon University was much larger than he imaged. 

27. In a campus as large Linkon University's, it's hard to see even someone you know if you're not in the same major. Moreover, Mephisto didn't know what you are studying. He didn't think he'd find you again, yet he also felt certain that he would. Wherever he was, Mephisto is always looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you somewhere. 

As summer turned to autumn, then winter, he keeps going. 

Finally, on a cold, rainy, winter evening, he sees your familiar figure. Even if it's just a fleeting glance around a corner, he immediately runs over to you without hesitation. 

As he sees you walk towards the dorms, he calls out, "Y/N!" You turn around to see the boy in front of you, soaked but still smiling with bright teeth. "It's really you!"  You blink, seemingly in a daze, before finally opening your mouth, "Mephisto."

You take him back to your dorm to dry himself off and brew him some ginger tea. "Sit down and drink this." "Thank you, Y/N!" Mephisto sits down across from you. "You got into Linkon University?" you ask. "Yes," he nods. "Why didn't you tell me?" Mephisto subconsciously touches the back of his neck. "I didn't know how to contact you." "Sylus knows."  "Oh..." Mephisto doesn't know how to reply. "What does he do everyday now?" You ask. Mephisto had promised Sylus he wouldn't mention him, so he simply says, "I don't know either."  You chuckle, "did Sylus forbid you to mention him to me?"

Mephisto doesn't know whether he should tell you the truth of not, apprehension visibly obvious in the way he shifts his eyes. He wants to insist not, but when he looks up to see your clear eyes that seem to see right through him, he swallows the words he's about to say, finally nodding while avoiding your gaze.

You pick up a cup of hot water, taking a sip, and slowly puts down the cup. You say unhurriedly, "Did Sylus tell you I made a pact with him? If I haven't met anyone else I like by the time I turn 24, I'll go back to the mountains and die with him." 

Mephisto's eyes widen. 

You continue calmly, "I've never considered falling in love with anyone else, nor do I think I can. I'm just holding on until I'm 24 to go back to him. So whether you tell me or not, the result will still be the same. But if you can let me know how he's doing, I can at least be a little happier in the meantime."

"Y/N..." Mephisto whispers. "Although I don't know why you have such negative thoughts..." "Mephisto," you interrupt, asking him a question, "what do you think is the difference between humans and other animals?"

Mephisto doesn't know where you're going with this question.

"Humans have a will that will go against their instincts." You have no intention of waiting for an answer, stating your own conclusion first. "Animals can't go against their instinct to survive, but as humans, we can. I will only live to a certain age anyways, but I can choose to go when I want, according to my own will."

Mephisto doesn't know how to refute you, but he still finds it hard to accept.

"Don't look so gloomly," you casually lean against the softa, tilting your head slightly. "You look quite handsome when you smile, so make sure to smile more."

Mephisto knows he can't change your mind overnight, so he might as well... let you be happy. 

He supresses his emotions and raises the corners of his lips, trying to smile- "Forget it, you look worse than if you cry." You stand up and head to the kitchenette. 

"You good with some ramen?"

During the meal, Mephisto thinks over what you told him, silently whispering an apology to Sylus in his heart. He then tells you the story of how he met Sylus as an orphan in the mountains when he was young. He tells you about the time Sylus fought three creatures people at once and held his own - he was so impressive! He also told you that Sylus was really good at skipping tones, they were like shooting stars across the pond. He also said that there was a girl from the town at the bottom of the mountain who once chased Sylus up to the village, and Sylus ended up claiming to be gay and using him as shield, hence why the other boys picked on him so much... and so on.

You listen with amusement, a smile finally gracing your face.

28.  After that dinner, you add Mephisto to your contacts. 

He frequently makes plans with you, sometimes to grab something to eat, other times to go for walks, bike rides, or kite-flying. Sometimes, he'd bring along handsome guys from his department, subtly trying to set you up. Like Sylus, he hoped that you'd eventually fall for someone else and not go back to the mountain to find him. 

Mephisto brought a camera around with him, and would take photos to send to Sylus, reassuring him you were doing well and making friends. To give Sylus some sense of comfort, you'd reluctantly put on a smile, and Mephisto would smile along. 

But his smile froze in the winter of the following year.

That winter, Sylus continued his daily routine in the mountains: tutoring children at the library on weekends, visiting the retirement home at noon, going to the cypress grove in the afternoon, and spending the evening playing with his cat and looking at the photos Mephisto sent him. He genuinely wished that you'd find someone else, but he couldn't help but feel a sting whenever he saw you in photos with other boys. 

One day, he returns home from the cypress grove as usual, arriving after dark. Sitting at his empty dinner table alone, he suddenly feels a sharp pain in his gut, an uncontrollable surge of nausea rising up into his throat.

He immediately covers his mouth and rushes to the bathroom, vomiting violently into the toilet. His stomach churns on nothing, but he feels so nauseous he can't open his eyes, and his head spins wildly. After an unknown amount of time, he feels as if he'd blacked out, all other senses were gone. He finally loses consciousness, body convulsing as he collapses to the side.

When he wakes up, the world is still spinning. Feeling dizzy, he struggles to sit up, but the next second, he snaps to attention as he sees a pool of dark red, still-wet blood before him. 

Stomach still cramping, he leans against the wall as he endures the pain to return to the living room. He tries to pick up his phone to call the twins, but his arms were too weak to support any weight. He collapses onto the couch, and closes his eyes. 

In the past, he would've gladly died, but now, he's made a promise to you. He has to wait for you.

He knew his spirit would fade at some point, but couldn't think of why his health would take such a sudden spiral.  The stomach is an organ of emotions.  His condition might not have seemed that serious in the beginning, but since you left, his symptoms had worsened dramatically with his longing for you. 

After taking a few deep breaths, he picks up the phone and dials a number. 

After hanging up, he lies back down, feeling utterly weak. He doesn't know how much time has passed when he hears a car outside. It's the twins, bringing a shaman with them. 

The shaman doesn't carry any diagnostic equipment, merely asking about his symptoms. He then takes out a few scrolls, and instructs him to light them at specific times at night. He then leaves, with only Sylus and the twins remaining.

The wind howls outside, the dim room silent. Sylus feels cold, his eyelids heavy.  Luke and Kieran could only stare at him sadly. 

"Boss... You... you really can't keep going on like this." Luke feels a lump in his throat. "Would you please consider-" "No." Sylus cuts him off deftly. "I will not have anyone else die because of me. My birth was a curse, one which I will end myself."

He looks at the scrolls on the table. He then tilts his head slightly, staring at the vast villa around him, and a cold smile slowly spreads across his lips. Now, he only hopes that the scrolls would really work. 

Enduring the pain, he takes the scrolls upstairs. For the next two days, he doesn't get out of bed. His symptoms show no significant improvement, still in pain with the slightest movement. On the third day, he vomits blood again, this time, so weak afterwards that he couldn't return to his room. Leaning against the wall, he closes his eyes to catch his breath. He recalls what the creature he should call his father had told him at this time last year: "If you really want to die, then go ahead and do it." They genuinely wanted him dead. 

Thankfully for them, if he went on like this, it wouldn't be long before he did.

"Y/N." He softly calls out your name to the empty room. He smiles, but a single tear glides down his cheek.  "What should I do? I think... I'm going to break my promise."

The room falls silent again.

After a long while, he slowly takes out his phone and sends Mephisto a text message:

[Mephisto, can you come back tomorrow? I'm sick and would have to trouble you to take care of me for a couple days.]

From Linkon City, to take the train, then transfer to a bus to the foot of the mountain, then get a taxi up to the village, it'd take a little over four hours total.

Mephisto arrives shortly after noon. 

Arriving at Sylus' house, Mephisto gasps seeing Sylus' pale face, nearly devoid of any color. He immediately tries to bring him to the hospital, but Sylus stops him, saying, "they won't be able to do anything. These scrolls should be enough. The shaman wrote them for me."

Mesphisto is very worried, but he knows there's nothing he can do. He offers to stay and watch over him for the night, but Sylus insists that he goes back to town to grab something to eat. As Sylus speaks, he takes something from under the covers and puts it in Mephisto's pocket. 

Looking into his unfathomable eyes, Mephisto remains silent, his heart pounding.  "Then... boss, I'll... I'll be going." His voice trembles slightly. "See you." Sylus' tone is casual as always. "See you tomorrow." Mephisto does his best to control his emotions.

Leaving the villa, Mephisto hurries home. On the path outside his house, he takes out what Sylus had given him earlier, using his phone's flashlight to illuminate it.

In his hand is a wad of cash, a folded piece of paper, and a key.  He unfolds the paper, his hand shaking. He has a very bad feeling about this. 

The paper reads:

[Mephisto, I don't know how much time I have left, so I want to see Y/N. Find a taxi, take this money, and have him pick me up at 3 AM tonight. Tell him I need to go to the cross-river bridge next to Linkon University. Also, could you please arrange for Y/N to meet me? Tell her to go to the dessert shop in the photo you sent me last weekend at 8am tomorrow. But don't tell her I'm going there. Just say you have something important to tell her in person and ask her to wait for you until 10. If—and I mean if—I don't come back tomorrow, could you please take this key and bring Dragon out? Find her a good home. It's so beautiful; plent of people should be willing to adopt it. As for Y/N, you know I made a promise with her for five years from now. No matter what, I hope she'll at least... at the very least, live well until then. I'm so sorry, I probably won't be able to be here for you anymore. The days ahead may be tough, but please hang in there. Your tomorrow will be bright. If you can do what I've said, send me a text message and ask if I'm asleep.]

The winter night is quiet, with only the sound of wind whistling through the bare trees branches.

A text message notification sounds exceptionally clear in the silent room. Sylus' phone lights up with a message:

[Sylus, are you asleep?]

He looks at the notification, a smile appearing on his pale face.

At three in the morning, the sound of a car driving over the road son the deserted mountain path, its headlights illuminating the distant clouds. Clutching his stomach, Sylus slowly makes his way out. As he reaches the road, the car pulls up. Sitting in the backseat, he turns his head, "Driver, let's go." The car starts and begins heading downhill. 

It's still early before dawn, the sky pitch black. Sylus leans back in his seat, eyes open, quietly gazing at the handful of sparse stars in the night sky.

29. After descending the mountain, bypassing the town, and heading straight for the highway, the sky gradually lightens, the fields and houses on both sides of the road appearing into view.  

Looking at the unfamiliar scenery, Sylus' eyes seems to brighten with the dawn, despite feeling his body weaken the further he goes from the mountain. It takes nearly five hours to get to Linkon City without traffic. During rush hour, at least seven. Because they left early, the driver brings Sylus directly to the bridge in four and a half. Stopping on the bridge is not allowed, so Sylus gets off at the bridgehead and slowly makes his way to the middle. 

Winter in Linkon city isn't that cold, but Sylus wraps himself securely in a scarf, leaving only his eyes exposed.

It's about quarter to eight o'clock; there's still no one outside the dessert shop along the riverbank near the bridge. Sylus looks into the distance, where the river flowing beneath the bridge merges into the sea.

The wind blows from the sea, following the river's surface.

Sylus pulls down a bit of his scarf to take a deep breath of the sea air. He longs for the sky and the water. The sky symbolized freedom, while the sea was his dream.

He's caught glimpses of the sea since childhood, yet he's never been there in his centuries of existence.

He gazes at the horizon until a familiar figure appears in his peripheral vision. You arrive at the dessert shop.

The dessert shop isn't open yet, so you can only sit on a bench outside. All the stores nearby are closed, and there's only few people on the street, with the occasional car passing by.

You look around the street, glancing by the river. You naturally notice a figure standing on the bridge, but don't pay it any attention, gaze drifting over before staring blankly into the distance.  You don't know that the person is watching you, watching you all along.

Sylus traces your face with his eyes again and again, calling that name in his heart over and over again: "Y/N... Y/N... Y/N.." "Every time I call your name, it's saying, 'I love you.'" He still remembers the way you smile when he says those words.

Unfortunately, he can no longer call your name.

Two hours pass quickly. You receive a phone call and get up to leave.

Sylus' gaze follows your figure until you completely disappear from his sight.

That's enough. He's content to get to see you for so long.

Sylus looks up, removing his hat, then his scarf. Just as he is about to take off his coat, two familiar cars appear at the bridgehead with several people getting out. Watching them walk towards him angrily, Sylus narrows his eyes. They had arrived much faster than he expected, but thankfully, not too fast.

Sylus smiles. He takes off his heavy coat to stand on the railing of the bridge. He opens his arms, and with a smile, falls down, as if embracing freedom.

A huge splash erupts on the lake's surface.

After falling into the water, Sylus doesn't surface. He swims towards the deepest part of the water.

He had lied to Mephisto after all. This time, he has no intention of going back. He doesn't want to die in that mountain.

He swims and swims… He wants to go deeper, and deeper still, until no one can find him, and then let the river carry him to the sea... never to return. Finally, all his strength leaves him. He closes his eyes, letting the icy river water rush into his body.

His consciousness begins to blur… Sylus can no longer feel the suffocating pain, just his body slowly sinking.  Death seems to be just ahead, and then, in a daze, he thinks he hears your voice, calling his name. 

He doesn't have the strength to open his eyes again, but the face is still in his sight.

It's just a hallucination. He smiles. A hallucination is fine.

“Y/N.” He likes to call your name before speaking. "You know, I'm happy to die in the city where you are. You'll never know."

Because I'm about to die.

"Hey, Y/N. Live well. Find someone else to love, and don't come looking for me at the mountain. I'm not there anymore." After saying this, he sees his own reflection before him.

He suddenly understands.

It's not a hallucination, but the legendary replay of memories that occurs right before a person dies. He sees the two of you standing by the cliff. He sees the two of you running through the woods and across the mountains. He sees the two of you standing under a jacaranda tree, petals falling to the ground. He sees the two of you embracing and kissing in the evening breeze, you handing him a bouquet of flowers.

The memory ends with you standing on the hillside, asking him: “Will we meet again?”

Will we meet again?

He thinks for a moment.

Yes.I will become the wind, embracing you every night.

30. Since the time Mephisto stood you up at the dessert shop, you don't see him again until the following spring. 

That time he invited you out, he kept saying you'd regret it if you didn't go. Otherwise, you never would've gone to the riverbank so early in the morning to stand in the cold wind for such a long time.

As you were leaving, you asked Mephisto why he insisted you to come here. He simply said that he found a guy who looked a lot like Sylus, but he was only free in the mornings, so he set up the date so early. Unfortunately, the guy first said there was traffic, then canceled on him.

Hearing this, you give Mephisto a good scolding, making it clear that you wouldn't tolerate this kind of behavior. Mephisto, being as good natured as he was, apologized and promised to treat you to a meal when he had time. But after that, he doesn't contact you again.

By that time, there was only a few weeks until spring break, so you assume Mephisto was overwhelmed with midterms, not noticing anything amiss.

Coming back to school, Mephisto continues to ask you to come out every week, but often didn't show up himself, leaving you alone with other boys. You assume he found a new tactic to set you up with other people and don't take his unusual behavior seriously. 

It's not until you finally spend some time with him alone that you belatedly realize something is incredibly wrong with Mephisto.  He's not the same as before.  He used to be such a cheerful person.

31.  Given your personality, you can't help but ask directly after noticing this shift.

"Mephisto, why don't you smile anymore?" Panic flashes across his eyes "Is...is it?" "Yes."

Mephisto lowers his eyes, his dark eyelashes concealing emotions that are hard to hide, but you can easily see that he is deeply troubled.

You don't have a particular penchant for prying into other people's sorrows. Since Mephisto hasn't mentioned anything, you assume he doesn't want to talk about it, so you try to casually change the subject and move on.

However, starting from that spring, through summer, fall, and yet another winter, Mephisto still doesn't smile like he did before. Previously, his eyebrows and eyes sparkle as if bathed in sunlight. Now, even when he does give you the occasional smile, his eyes always seem to be tinged with sadness.

You think maybe it is because he is homesick, missing Sylus and the twins, and because he works many part-time jobs.  With this guess in mind, you remind him he can always ask you for any help, and that he can stop trying to keep setting her up with other people.

"Don't feel pressured because of me. When you have time to go home, just tell Sylus that you're busy with work and school. I really don't think he'd be happy to hear that I'm with another guy anyways."

Hearing you suddenly mention Sylus, Mephisto finally breaks down, struggling but failing to hold back the tears welling up in his eyes.

Seeing his bloodshot eyes, you feel a little lost. Does he really miss home that much? Back then, he didn't even show this much grief when you told him you wanted to die with Sylus. 

After thinking for a moment, you guess that Mephisto must have finally realized the extent of your resolve, explaining his apparent despair. 

You sigh and place a hand on his back, patting him comfortingly. 

"I told you a long time ago, I can't love anyone else. I only cooperated with you before so that Sylus would know that even if I tried to go meet other people, I'd still only have eyes for him. That way, he'd feel better so when I turn 24 and go back, he'll be more comforted during our last moments together."

At this point, Mephisto can't stop himself anymore, large tears streaming down his face. 

Helplessly, you hand him a tissue. "Don't cry, Mephisto. Life isn't about how long you live, it's about the gains and losses. This is the best ending I could think for him, and for myself."

"But..." Mephisto chokes back sobs. But Sylus is already gone... "There are no buts!" you say. He shakes his head, "I can't just watch you die..." His voice is too hoarse to continue. You already know what he's going to say: that he couldn't bear to watch you wait to die. "Can't you try to move on?" Mephisto grabs your arm, his voice breaking as he pleads, "I beg you..." Your expression is calm, unwavering. "I know you want to help me, but please understand, everyone has their own way of living. This is how I choose to spend my time on earth. Not everyone has to face the sun. You have to allow some to walk into the shadows; that's what they yearn for."

Mephisto falls silent, sobbing quietly.

You know that Sylus entrusted you to Mephisto, so you understand his grief. But what you didn't know was that the ending you longed for, earnestly awaited, was already impossible to achieve. You wouldn't be able to die with Sylus Qin.

You knew nothing, nothing at all, believing Sylus was still alive, thinking of you, and waiting for you to return. 

32. Winter arrives in a flash.

In the classroom, the teacher stands on the podium lecturing; the content is probably something dry, as students below are dozing off.

Suddenly, the tightly closed window hums—the wind is picking up. You glance out the windows to look at the shadows of the trees swaying in the wind.

Outside this school building is a grove of cypress trees, where cicadas always chirp incessantly in the summer. In this deep winter, you stare at the barren branches, the cry of cicadas still loud in your ears. You no longer get tinnitus, but every winter you still hear those cicada chirps that only exist in your mind.

In the brief moment you drift into thought, the bell rings, signaling the end of class.

There's nothing else on your schedule for the day. When you don't have classes, you usually go back to your apartment to paint. Over the last two years, you made so many paintings that your own place couldn't store it all, so you rented a storage unit specifically for your art. The subjects were usually landscapes, mountains, cliffs, but most often... Sylus. Every day, you'd walk around there. Each time you pass by the paintings, memories would flash before your eyes like a revolving lantern, the face that only exists in your mind would come to life before you.  It's the happiest moment of your day. 

Stepping out of the teaching building, a gust of wind blows against your face. You stop, waiting for the wind to ruffle your hair. The wind doesn't stop, and you don't move.

Two girls stand nearby, sheltered from the wind, seemingly waiting for someone. Standing close, you can overhear their conversation: "MC! You posted pictures of your cat, Dragon, on your Moments again." "I can't help it... Dragon is just too beautiful." "True... her looks are top-tier even amongst Ragdolls!" "That's right." Dragon...? Ragdoll cat...

You're struck by a devastating bought of tinnitus. The ringing so loud your whole body feels numb.

This can't be a coincidence.

You want to immediately snatch the girl's phone to confirm if the "Dragon" the were talking about is actually Sylus' cat, but your legs suddenly feel like lead. Several moments pass before you're able to move a single step, and then, like a robot with rusted parts, you stiffly make your way over.

"Hello, may I see a picture of your cat?" You can barely contain the tremor in your voice. Seeing you look like as if you'd shatter at any second, the girl hurriedly shows you the photo. "Are you Dragon's original owner?" You look at the cat on the screen.  It's exactly like the one in your memory. Your eyes instantly blur with tears.

How could Sylus give Dragon away? She's his most loyal companion... unless...

"I adopted her," the girl offers when you don't reply. You look up sharply. "From who?" The girl hesitates for a second, unsure how to answer. "Sylus? Sylus Qin?" You ask directly. The girl shakes her head. "Then..." you frown. "Mephisto...?" The girl nods slowly.

"Thank you." You walk away, posture still somewhat awkward, as if your limbs are refusing to obey your commands. It takes you a while to pluck your phone out from your bag.

You immediately call Mephisto.

He picks up quickly, and you don't even wait for a greeting on the other end, blurting out, "come to my place, now!" You practically shout the last three words, then hang up abruptly as you keep walking. Your entire body is tensed, the piercing ringing in your ears tearing at your nerves.

Not long after you get home, Mephisto arrives as well. Mephisto already knows what happened; the girl that adopted Dragon had called him.

Your door is unlocked, and you sit on the sofa facing the entrance.

Mephisto ran all the way here without stopping, not daring to catch his breath. He doesn't know how to tell you, only weakly managing to say, "Y/N..." You simply stare at him. "Either you tell me what happened or I go back to Azure mountain right now. You choose." "Sister Y/N..." "Don't say my name. I'm giving you one chance to talk." Your voice is terrifyingly calm. "What happened to Sylus? And why was Dragon sent away?" "Boss... he..." Mephisto couldn't speak, his voice trembling violently.  "Don't tell me..."

You couldn't utter a complete sentence either, your voice like shattered pieces of glass.

"Don't tell me he's dead." Mephisto doesn't confirm nor deny, but his tear-filled eyes give you the answer. A single tear slides down your cheek.

You grip the sofa tightly, your nails nearly splintering from the force, but you feel no pain. The heartache is a thousand times worse, the pain so intense it makes breathing difficult. 

"How did he die?" you ask, enduring the agonizing pain in your heart. "He was sick."  Mephisto doesn't tell you that he had tried to come see you, that he died in the same city where you are. 

Your face collapses into confusion. You don't understand why fate has to play such a cruel trick on you.  Why? Why was it so hard to even die by his side?

"Do you know where his grave is?" you ask. “I know.” You stand up shakily. “Take me there now.” Mephisto runs over and supports you as your legs nearly give out. “I’ll take you, I’ll take you.”

“Wait.” You suddenly stop before you reach the door. “Is there anything strange about his grave?”

Mesphisto's expression freezes, seemingly puzzled as to why you would ask such a question. Sylus' grave does indeed have something strange about it, but you couldn't have seen it before.

“It is a little strange,” he answers truthfully. Your hand on his arm tightens as you hear the words. Your voice comes out strained. “How is it strange?” “His grave has many rune patterns carved on it, and there are six seals around the grave.”

You close your eyes. Sure enough.

Another piercing ringing courses through your nerves.

Your first bought of tinnitus occurred two years ago, on an autumn evening shortly after you left Azure Mountain.

That day, you visited a very famous fortune-teller. After telling the her about Sylus' situation, the the old lady asks you, "Since you've found me, you must have heard of ancient folklore and the sacrifices of witchcraft common in the mountains?" You nod.

She sighs, fingers sifting through the box of dark sand before she continues, “What you're describing is similar. Your friend seems to be... an unfortunate child. Since birth, he belongs between worlds, but unable to survive in either of them... His cursed energy feeds the spirits of everything around him, but he cannot survive on mortal sustenance alone; only the blood of sacrifices can nourish him. As for why he can't leave the mountain... let me give you a simple analogy: your friend is a god of wealth, and the mountain is the his shrine. Of course the inhabitants on the mountain won't let him go." “Is there any way to convince them so that he is able to leave the mountain?” you ask. The old woman shakes her head. “The environment shapes the people. They've kept him there for far too long, there's no way they'll change their minds now. But in reality, even if he leaves the mountain, they'll still prosper. What truly holds him back isn't his destiny, but his heart.” She sighs, "Your friend might be trapped on that mountain with a soul-locking array. Even in death, he'll be unable to pass on, forever feeding their greed. If that's the case, the only way to release him is to break the array."

So, back then, you had lied to Sylus. You would endure it, even if it meant your own death, fearing it would really be what the fortune-teller had said; that he would be trapped on that mountain until his death and after.

Now that it has been proven true.... You would give him his freedom.

33. It's three in the afternoon when you arrive at Azure Mountain.  The climate up here is much colder than Linkon city, but you're oblivious to the change in temperature, your face expressionless. 

Mephisto leads you to Sylus' grave.

Looking at the runes on the grave and the six eerie seals, you feel a chill. You clench your fists, saying nothing, but snatch the small drill you brought from your house. Holding it steady with both hands, you press the on button without hesitation.

The drill bit roars against the dirt before hitting something hard.

The cement crumbles and peels away, revealing a hollow chamber. Inside, there's no coffin, only a simple iron urn containing ashes. You take out the urn, hugging it to your chest, and quickly walk out of the cemetery.

You refuse to let Sylus stay there for even a second longer.

Following behind you, Mephisto, who has been silent the whole time, calls out to you. "Y/N." You stop. "Where are you going to take Sylus?" You don't answer, only saying, "the driver is still waiting on the road. Go back to Linkon city and pretend you never came here today."

With that, you continue walking.

"Sister Y/N!" Mephisto calls out. This time, you stop abruptly and turn around to stare at him, gaze hollow. "He was very weak then. He didn't know how much longer he had, so..." Mephisto chokes on his words. "So... he came to find you."

Your pupils dilate.

"When... when did he come to find me?" you ask. "Last year. When I called to you meet me at the dessert shop by the river. Sylus was on the bridge."

You've never been a crybaby, and you weren't intending to cry today. But at this moment, tears well up in your eyes uncontrollably.

You don't remember if you saw anyone on the bridge that day, but you do recall hearing someone had jumped into the river from the bridge on the news that night. Later, you heard that the man's father spent an enormous sum of money searching the river for days before finally recovering the body at where the river met the sea. People online discussed that the deceased family must have loved him very much, otherwise who would spend so much money to bring their child home?

Clearly, they didn't love him at all. 

Because of his birth, which he had no choice in, they deprived him of his freedom, and locked him alone deep in the mountains for centuries. If they had loved him even a little, they wouldn't have refused to let him go even after he died.

Tears stream down your face uncontrollably, but you didn't cry for long.

Taking a few deep breaths, you wipe away your tears and look up at Mephisto, saying, "Mephisto, thank you for telling me everything." Mephisto is crying even harder than you, unable to form a full sentence between his hiccups. You force a wry smile onto your face, "come on, what kind of guy are you, crying like this?" He didn't want to cry either, but he couldn't help himself. "Don't cry, please. You should go back," you say softly. "I have to go as well." "Sister Y/N..." Mephisto's voice is hoarse, almost inaudible. "Go back and study hard, smile more, and spread your wings." Mephisto sobs uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. "Do you hear me?" Mephisto really couldn't talk anymore, he only nods. "I'll be leaving then." You smile at him one last time, then turn around and leave.

Mephisto doesn't follow. He stands there, his body gradually slumping as if all his strength had left him.

He knows what you're going to do.

34. The deep winter sky had always seemed gray, especially in the mountains, shrouded in a misty white fog, like an inescapable dream.

Carrying Sylus' ashes, you arrive at the place where you first met him.

Reaching the corner, your steps unconsciously slow down. Looking at the cliff, in a daze, you seem to see Sylus standing there. But the figure vanishes quickly, as if he had turned into the wind, and gone to the distant sea.

You blink once, slowly, then continue walking forward.

Stopping at the edge of the cliff, your gaze falls on the sea, as if recalling some stories about the ocean. After a long pause, you speak. "Sylus, I know you like coming here because of this sea. If you wait for me, I can take you there."

His choice to jump into the river was mostly likely in hopes that the river would carry him away, into the sea.

"I already saved up money for a boat. I'm just waiting for a snowy day to sail to the deepest part of the sea, and we'll jump in together." You smile. "That way, no one can find us, and no one can trap you anymore." "Unfortunately..."

Your voice drops, and your smile fades.

"You didn't wait for me." You lower your eyes, quietly gazing at the urn in your arms. "This time, you broke your promise first."

A gust of wind blows by.

35. The wind on the cliff usually blows head-on, but this gust comes from the mountain path, heading towards the sea.

You pause. Before the wind subsides, you open the urn, scooping up some ashes with one hand, and release it into the wind. 

Watching them drift into the air, you smile. You can almost see... the wind of freedom piercing through his soul.

As if by some divine intervention, the wind only stops after all of Sylus' ashes have disappeared into the atmosphere. Watching the last of the ashes float away, you smile and whisper: "Sylus Qin, you are free".

He is finally free.

Now it's your turn.

"Sylus, have you ever heard the saying: the highest purpose of life is to die in freedom and love?" You gaze towards the sea, a smile playing on your lips. "You can die in freedom, and I'll die in love."

Grandma said that love can be an event, an object, or even a person. For you, he was love.

Grandma also said that suicide would send her to hell, so…

"Sylus, I'm coming to hell to join you." After saying this, you suddenly feel a chill on your nose. Thinking it's rain, you look up at the sky, and freeze.

Snowflakes fall heavily from the sky. It's snowing.

Everything seems like it was perfectly choreographed for this moment. You had been waiting for a never-ending snowfall.

A bird flies in from the swirling snow and perches on a tree on the cliff edge. You look down, your clear pupils reflecting the bird's image. "Sylus, you said I'm a bird, but did you know? The cliff is a bird's nest." You slowly walk towards the edge of the cliff.

Just then, a long gust of wind rises, like a kiss, gently brushing your face. It's a chilling gust, yet you feel warmth. It makes you think.

Sylus, is it you coming to take me away?

On the first day you met him, from your first sight, you felt that he was like the wind. Now, he truly has become the wind.

You smile, close your eyes, and open your arms to embrace it. Then. You leap.

The snow continues to fall, slowly floating to the bottom of the cliff. The wind finally dies down, but the snowstorm never stops. From then on, the snow falls endlessly.

He rests in the wind. You are buried by snow. Your god is forever free.

[allyyyyysposts]

Something something, Bridgerton AU with Duke/General Zayne and he marries only to do his duty. For political advantage only, resigning himself to the fact he will not, and does not intend to find love. He marries a suitable enough lady, thinking the most interaction he's going to get with her is at formal events and the occasional passing each other in the hall.

Imagine his surprise when the woman he married just refuses to leave him alone. She's following him everywhere. Whether it's in his study, him carrying orders, training men or paying visits to important people, she is there. Questioning him, challenging him, daring him sometimes to do send her away. He doesn't.

She has no sense of propriety, growing up in a household warmer than his, noisier than his too. Traditional customs that noble ladies should follow? Out the window, she is following that man no matter what he says or does. She has an answer for everything, isn't put off by his demeanor, and the first time she visits the estate garden she finds a stray cat and decides to name it after him ("Duke" if we're going for him being a Duke route).

He should be apalled, mortified, regretful, whatever. He isn't. It's much worse, he's falling in love.

Now he has to deal with that fact, that realization. In classic Bridgerton fashion though, he realizes this after he's broken her heart/offended her/just royally fumbled in general. Maybe he snaps at her, sees her attempts to at least make this marriage enjoyable and tells her straight to her face he does not and will never love her. That their marriage is a mere transaction to him.

Cue him begging on his knees for her forgiveness. Maybe she decides to leave, to live in seperate households and he corners her just before she can go. Wet, pathetic dog energy because so far he has been so damningly composed, and now he chooses to let it all out.

Or or maybe it's during a ball. Another lord, some insignificant baron, tries to make a move on her - a married lady - and he comes in behind you to glare at the man in silence until he leaves her be. Then he's dragging her somewhere to hash out all the complicated feelings he's been too good at ignoring lately.

Doesn't even need to be angsty, just one of those 5 times bla bla bla and 1 time he did something about it.

Will I write about this? Yes. Will it take a while? Absolutely.

[demonicangelll]

WAS THAT A 'YOUR NAME' REFERENCE IN 'WEATHERING WITH YOU'??

(I was so excited seeing both the characters)

[demonicangelll]

HOW'RE MY LOVE??

good!!! pretty good actually! How are you doing???

[nanaonline]

I need a platonic fic about sylus raising the twins 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭IM GONNA DIEEEE

[nanaonline]

Music of the rink

ice skating coach rafayelx reader (first person)

I've been having this ice skating itch for a while now... I really like where this is headed but I'm not sure if I'll extend it ♡ ₍ ᐢ..ᐢ ₎ Also first time writing in first person since I was 13 LOL ☆⌒(ゝ。∂) Enjoy!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Some people think only musicians can make music. I disagree.

There's music in everything that surrounds us. There's music in everyone, there's music in every little thing we do that only we can hear. My music is at the ice rink.

The scratch of the metal, the echo of the rink, the sound of my breath leaving my lungs, the overhead rink lights that feel like stars. The crack of my bones. The beating of my heart.

And for the longest time, I only heard that music in me. When my skates hit the ice rink, the background noises drowned. All I could hear was the music I produced as I danced around, my arms following the beat that only I seemed to be aware of. My body moved flawlessly to the music in my head. My music.

That is, of course, until I met Rafayel. My current coach.

His skates like the world bends to the flow of his hands. Whenever he performed, his audience was mesmerized. The rink fell silent, almost like a siren luring her victims.

And somehow, he became my coach.

I stand up after tying up my laces, twisting my ankles around a little. "Heyyy, cutie."

Right, I forgot to mention. He was also entirely different from the untouchable beauty on the rink once you know him personally. I turn towards him.

"I don't think coaches are supposed to call their students that." He pouts, following behind me on the rink.

"They do when they have a favorite student."

"I'm your only student."

"Exactly." He grins, leaning against the railing with one arm as he watches me stretch. His expression quickly turns serious, but that air of playfulness still lightly clung to him.

"So, what are we training today? I think doing spins is a good idea, your form wasn't great last time."

I hum. He was right, I still struggle a little with the spins. I've been trying to get a layback spin for a while now. A bit ambitious, but I'm oddly drawn to the idea of gazing up at the lights as I spin around. If I tell Rafayel the dizziness is the part I look forward to the most, he'd probably scold me.

I stretch my arms one last time before setting off. I glide a few laps around the rink before coming back next to him, taking a deep breath.

"Spot your balance point," he advises. "Once you find that, lead with your chest, not your chin."

I repeat his advice in my head before gliding forward. I do a three-turn and shift onto the edge of one foot, using it to push into the spin. My body slowly lowers as I extend my leg. I feel my knees tremble a little. No, I have to do it this time. I quickly arch back, trying to lift my chest as Rafayel instructed, but I fall back on my chest. I click my tongue in annoyance.

"You're rushing it." Rafayel offered me his hand, smiling at me. Was he mocking me? I furrow my brows.

"Because I lose my balance if I don't." I snap back. It landed a little harsher than I meant.

His hand leads mine closer to him, and he turns me around, my back against his chest. He brings both his hands to my waist, making me gasp quietly.

"Here. This is where your balance lives. Your hip is pulling you off center, but don't bend from your waist—"

His left hand glides from my waist to my back, stopping in the end and pressing one point.

"—From here. Feel the difference? The arch aligns better," his voice lowered, almost to a murmur.

I'm probably imagining this. I am, aren't I? I need to focus.

His hands continue their journey to my shoulders and blades, gently correcting my posture.

"Keep your chest lifted."

"I-I did," I say, my voice coming out as a murmur as well. I clear my throat. God, that was embarrassing.

I hear a faint giggle, and I turn my head to look at him sideways.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"I am," he admits, his hand falling down my arm. "You look all flustered. Is this how a student should behave with their coach?"

Oh, I knew that tone. His voice was dripping with tease. So I wasn't imagining it then.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You said keep your chest lifted, then?"

I try to stir the subject back to the training. To the whole reason his hands were on me. He hums, squeezing my upper arms.

"Not rigid. Your arms should guide the spin, not choke it."

He moves my arm around, his hand falling all the way down to my hand. I close my eyes for a moment. I need my music to really put this theory to the test. But he doesn't allow me that much time. His hand guides mine to turn around in an effortless spin.

"Think like… you're reaching for something you can't touch."

"Something I can't touch," I whisper again. "Is that how you learnt it too?"

He nods, sliding back a little to put some distance between us.

"I used to imagine you up there as I spin around."

I roll my eyes, turning away from him as I prepare to put his words to practice. "We didn't even know each other back then." I hear no response, but I can feel him smiling.

"Don't fight it, cutie, your body knows the movement. The second you tense, you lose it."

I take a deep breath and try again.

And again. And again. But by the 4th or 5th time, I managed to nail it. A quick turn and an arch low, my hands almost feeling the rink. The music was so beautiful. The lights blinded me in the most pleasant way. The arch in my back hurt deliciously. Rafayel's cheers were melodious.

Rafayel's voice was melodious.

"You did it! See, it wasn't hard!"

I stood straighter again, and the moment I did, his hand held mine. He was smiling. His smile was pleasant-sounding as well.

"Your music is beautiful." I blurt out. Fuck, that sounded too weird. He tilts his head, smiling a little, amused. "My music?"

"No, I mean.. I meant your advice. Your— your style of.. of skating, and all."

His hand reaches for my cheek, caressing it. Perhaps it was the rush of the moment, perhaps it was some untangled feelings I held for him, or perhaps it was just the lighting, but his touch felt tender. It felt warm and alive. His eyes were kind. And his smile was soft.

"I think your music is beautiful as well."

[nanaonline]

Can we bring this back since alysa is trending haha guys

[monoidmango]

Paper Airplane Dreams

Synopsis: On your fifth wedding anniversary, Caleb's first love returns to Linkon City. That night, you catch him masturbating in the bathroom, muttering MC's name. Huh. So that's why Caleb didn't touch you in your five whole years of marriage. Caleb: I promised MC I'd celebrate her birthday with her. I'm just fulfilling a promise I made a long time ago. You: Okay. Caleb: I'm going on a mission, MC will be acting as my assistant, she has experience as a Hunter, she's suited for the role You: Go ahead. When you stopped getting angry, stopped crying, and stopped making a scene, he's lost. Of course you weren't angry anymore, because you were leaving too.

Warning(s): ANGST. 30k WORDS OF PURE HURT/NO COMFORT. Non-cannonical timeline/events (no evol shenanigans). I had an interesting time exploring Caleb's selfish, egoistical, possessive, but also oblivious sides. MC and Gideon are assholes. Liam and Yvette are shockingly the best couple. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

29.9k words

A/N: This was a monster of a fic to write; I literally made myself cry in the process. Please tell me in the comments how much your blood pressure increased by reading this and how you'd like Caleb to die (or if you think he deserves some redemption). In the meantime, feel free to ship non-mc with any of the other LIs! Thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for this super long piece; I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations <3

T - 30 days The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom. Caleb is taking a shower. At 3am. He had just returned from god knows where.

You stand at the bathroom door, a little nervous, wanting to discuss something with him. Just as you are trying to figure out the best way to phrase it, you hear a strange sound coming from inside. After listening carefully, you realize with a gasp that he was taking care of himself…

Each breath and groan is like a heavy hammer blow, relentlessly pounding on your heart. The pain spreads like a tidal wave, leaving you sinking in it, unable to breathe.

Actually, today is your wedding anniversary. Your fifth year of marriage, and you've never consummated it. So, he preferred to take care of himself rather than touch you?

As his breathing grows more rapid, he suddenly lets out a low growl, his voice strained with barely suppressed emotion, "Pipsqueak-" That one word delivers the final, fatal blow.

Your heart pounds, as if something just shattered into dust. You try to cover your mouth to stifle your sobs, and turn to run, but stumble on your first step, bumping into the sink and falling to the floor.

"Y/N?" Caleb's voice inside hasn't calmed down yet; you can tell he is trying to control himself, but his breathing is still heavy.

"I...I need to use the restroom, I didn't know you were taking a shower..." you stammer, clumsily grabbing the sink to stand up.

The floor and sink are wet. The more you try, the more helpless the situation becomes. By the time you finally manage to stand, Caleb emerges from the door, his white bathrobe hastily pulled on with the belt fastened tightly.

"Did you fall? Let me help you." He makes a move to pick you up. Tears well in your eyes from the pain, but you push his hand away, your expression a mixture of distress and determination. "No need, I can do it myself."

After nearly slipping again, you limp and stagger back to your bedroom. No, "escape" is the more accurate word. For the five years you were married to Caleb Xia, you've been doing nothing but constantly running away.

Running away from the outside world, from everyone's strange looks, and from Caleb's pity and sympathy—his wife is a cripple.How can a cripple be worthy of the brilliant and successful Caleb Xia?

You were not always like this...

Caleb follows you out, his voice gentle and concerned. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me see." "No, I'm fine." You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding your disheveled state under it. "Are you really alright?" He sounds genuinely concerned. “Mmm.” You nod vigorously, back facing him. “So, are you going to sleep? Didn’t you want to go to the bathroom?” “I don’t want to anymore now, let’s sleep?” You whisper.

“Alright," he pauses. "By the way, today is our anniversary. I bought you a present. You can open it tomorrow and see if you like it.” “Okay.” The present is on the bedside table; you've already seen it, but you already know what is inside without even opening it.

It's the same size box every year, containing the exact same necklace. In your drawer, there are already nine identical ones. This is the tenth.

The conversation ends there. Caleb turns off the light and lies down across from you. The damp scent of bodywash fills the air, but you barely feel the bed sink. In the two-meter-wide bed, you sleep on one side, and him on the other side at the very edge; there is enough space in between  for at least another 3 people.

Neither of you mention "pipsqueak", nor what he had just done in the bathroom, as if nothing  happened. You lie stiffly, eyes burning with pain.

Pipsqueak, or MC, was his adopted younger sister, his first love, his goddess. Upon high school graduation, MC went abroad, leaving Caleb behind. He was devastated.

You and Caleb were classmates in middle and high school. You admit that you had a crush on him at the time. Back then, he was the school heartthrob, a cool and aloof academic star, while you considered yourself pretty ordinary. Not the most academically gifted, nor the most popular or pretty. You had a face everyone could recognize, but not many could describe. Besides, you had larger dreams back then. You were a dancer; started when you were young. The stage was where you felt the most at home.  So, it was just a secret crush for you; you never thought you would ever stand beside him. 

Until you return home for summer vacation after graduating from the conservatory and encounter Caleb in a wreck.

That night, he was drunk, walking erratically, crossing the street without looking at the traffic lights. A car sped towards him, and you, worried and following close behind, pushed him out of the way, getting hit by the car yourself.

You thought you had done good for yourself up to that point, successfully completing your dance studies and hoping to get a position in one of the large dance companies in the city.

The accident left you with a serious limp. You'd never be able to dance again.

Shortly after, he swore off drinking and married you.

He was forever guilty, forever grateful, forever soft-spoken, and forever showered you with gifts and money. Yet at the same time, forever indifferent. The only thing he couldn't give you was love.

In the beginning, you naively thought that time could heal all wounds, dilute all the pain. But you never could have imagined that five years later, he would still remember the name "pipsqueak" so vividly, calling out to her when he is serving himself. In the end, you were simply too foolish…

When Caleb gets up for his Colonel duties, you still pretend to be asleep. You hear him talking to the housekeeper outside: "I have a company dinner tonight. Tell my wife not to wait for me and to go to bed early." After giving the instructions, he comes back into the room to check on you again. You hide under the covers, your pillow soaked with tears. Usually, when he goes to any of the Farspace Fleet galas, you would prepare his outfit in advance.

But not tonight. He goes to the dressing room to change himself and heads to work. You open your eyes, feeling them swell uncomfortably.

Your phone alarm rings. It's the time you set for yourself to get up and study.

Because of your leg injury, since getting married, you spend most of your time at home, rarely going out. You divide your day into blocks, finding something to occupy your time.  You pick up your phone, turn off the alarm and start scrolling aimlessly through various apps. Your mind is a jumbled mess, unable to absorb anything. Until, you suddenly come across a video on a certain social media platform.

The person in the video looks so familiar… The account name: Pips_apple. The posting time was last night.

You click on the video, and immediately, upbeat music starts playing, followed by someone shouting: One, two, three, welcome back Pipsqueak! Cheers! It's Caleb's voice. He broke his vow of abstinence from alcohol. He's even a little drunk.

But would Caleb really shout like that? The Caleb you remember from high school was a friendly, but aloof academic genius. Not only was he serious when doing course work, but even more so on the sports field; he paid no attention to any of the girls who offered him water bottles and love letters.  Later, the Caleb who became your husband was even more polite, his emotions so stable they were almost unwavering. He never smiled, never got angry. He was always detached, so detached that when you occasionally touched his fingers, even his body temperature was cold.

The camera pans across everyone's faces in the video. You see a slightly tipsy Caleb, his eyes sparkling, raising his glass and laughing loudly at the camera: "Welcome home, Pips!"

So, he could smile after all. He could be passionate too. He would call girls by their nicknames. Just not you. 

You close the app immediately, struggling to catch your breath. You open your email, and read the acceptance letter on your phone over and over again, at least a hundred times.

A graduate school offer from a foreign university, the thing you originally planned to discuss with him last night. You wanted to study abroad for a master's degree; was that okay? But now it seems there is no need to discuss it with him. Five years of marriage, countless sleepless nights.  You needed to get out. If you didn't find something to do with your life now that MC is back, how would you pass the long hours? Would you spend your whole life waiting for Caleb to come home?

You had already waited for too long. The pain of waiting... is unbearable now. Today marks the countdown to you leaving him.

T - 29 days Today your plans are a little different than the usual.

Your offer was likely part of the program's last round of admissions, so you wanted to confirm it as soon as possible. The first item on your agenda is to pay the confirmation fee to the school. You breathe a sigh of relief as your phone lights up with the notification from your bank card deduction.

In the evening, you change your clothes and prepare to go out.  Your housekeeper, Mrs. Chen, is surprised. "Madam, where are you going?" Without Caleb's company, you seldom leave the house.

"Oh, friend of mine is performing at the theatre tonight and asked me to meet them," you say. Actually, you were going to stay in a hotel in the city. You have an interview tomorrow morning with an alumni of the program in the area. You were worried about traffic and not making it on time.

“But…” Mrs. Chen looks at your leg, “Shall I go with you?” “No need, it’s a get-together with my girlfriends.” Your expression remains unchanged. “Then I’ll inform the Colonel.” Mrs. Chen is uneasy, genuinely afraid something might happen to you, and didn’t want to take responsibility for whatever goes down. “No need, don’t disturb him. I’ll call him after and have him pick me up.” 

As you step out into the street, you instinctively lower your head and hunch your shoulders, hiding your face into the collar of your coat. Since injuring your leg, the confident and vibrant you on stage has disappeared. 

Mrs. Chen always said that it was best if your husband goes out with you. Caleb always said that you should stay home if he isn't with you. Neither of them knew. The only thing you were afraid of more than going out alone was going out with Caleb. Because everyone who sees you looks at you with the same question: "How did someone like him marry a girl like that?"

T - 28 days Your interview goes surprisingly smoothly. After slowly wandering around Linkon City alone for the first time in many years, you hail a taxi and head home. In the car, you silently gaze at the lights outside the window, when suddenly, you see Caleb's car parked on the side of the street.

"Wait, please stop for a moment," you quickly call to the driver. Caleb's car is parked in front of a restaurant. Yesterday before leaving for work, Caleb had casually mentioned that it was his turn to treat his friend group to dinner.

You get out of the car as if possessed.

Upon arriving, you tell the server at the front, "reservation under Mr. Xia," and give them the the last four digits of Caleb's phone number. The waiter leads you to a private room. "Thank you," you say, hesitating in front of the door. From outside, you can hear lively voices.

"I need to get home early today, I got home drunk last night and my wife was furious at me!" "Come on~ Are we still tight? Who's the one that used to always toot "bros before hoes"? Now you're henpecked? Sounds like Caleb's the only real one left!" MC jokes, her voice cheery and light.

So this is the kind of person she was. This is the kind of personality that Caleb likes. Unfortunately, you are far from it; you couldn't even pretend to be if you tried. 

Inside, Caleb's friend continues, "How can Caleb be the same as me? Y/N wouldn't dare raise her voice at him!" "Hey, by the way," MC's soft voice rings out again, "Caleb, I heard your wife is disabled? Why?"

No one answers MC's question. Your heart clenches.

Caleb's group of friends start talking amongst themselves. "Seriously, Caleb, we feel sorry for you. Look at you, you have money, power, you're handsome, a real catch. What kind of woman couldn't you marry? Why did you have to marry a cripple?" "Honestly, dude, you're the most outstanding among us. Now that you've married Y/N, whether you're at a meeting, a social event, a press conference, or any other occasion that requires a partner, you can't even take her out. Don't you think you're losing out?"

So that's how it is…

Caleb always said he didn't need you to get involved in his affairs; he was more than happy to provide for you. Everyone praised you for living a life of luxury, but as it turns out, it is simply because he doesn't think you are presentable enough.

A bitter laugh comes from Caleb. “She was so kind to me after all; I owe her.” “You owe her? You've given her so much; you've paid it back ten-fold by now!” “Exactly! You should have just given her a lump sum back then. Was it necessary to jeopardize the happiness of the rest of your life?” “I'm telling you, you should really think about it. What can she do for you? She's useless at social events, and you'd even have to worry about her spilling water at home. "Caleb~ have some water" like this? Like this?"  A burst of laughter erupts from the room, mixed with MC's exaggerated gasp. "Caleb! Does your wife really walk like that?"

You feel all the blood rush to your head as the anger and humiliation tips you off balance. You force the door open and are immediately met with a roar of laughter.

T - 27 days One of Caleb's friends, Gideon, carries a cup of water in both hands, walking with an exaggerated limp, and calling out in a high-pitched voice, "Caleb, Caleb, have some water, Caleb, ah—I fell down, Caleb, hug me—" The mocking performance is a hit. MC, sitting next to Caleb, leans on his shoulder as she shakes from laughter. 

You turn to look at your husband, hoping that the person you loved most would show some sort of reaction.  Caleb, however, remains completely silent. Gideon turns around with a triumphant smile, "How does that sound, Cale-" Before he could finish the question, he sees you standing in the doorway, and his smile freezing. "Y/N..."

Everyone looks towards the door. They are stunned.

MC quickly removes herself from Caleb's shoulder, smiling as she reaches out her hand. "Ah! This must be Caleb's legendary wife! Please come in, I'm Caleb's childhood friend."

You look at everyone in the private room, heart turning cold.

Caleb finally stands up and walks towards you. "Y/N, what brings you here? They were just joking, don't take it to heart." You stare at the man in front of you, feeling utterly unfamiliar with him, more unfamiliar than ever before. He calls this joking? So he's actually siding with them?

"Yes, sister-in-law... sister-in-law! I'm sorry, I was just joking, don't be angry," Gideon apologized, putting down his cup.

Caleb walks up, intending to put his arm around you. You suddenly remember MC laughing on his shoulder, his hands pleasuring himself in the bathroom, him calling out "Pipsqueak" as he came, and suddenly the thought of his hands on you is utterly filthy. You dodge his arm. “Y/N,” Caleb looks at his empty hands in surprise and sighs. “I apologize on their behalf. Don’t be angry, okay? I’ll bring you something when we get back; whatever you want.”

MC glares at Gideon playfully. “Go on, apologize! You've made the Colonel's wife angry! Do you think everyone is like me, clumsy and clueless, letting you joke around like that?” Gideon immediately gets defensive. “I already apologized! I didn’t know she'd suddenly appear out of thin air; I was just joking.” “A joke is only a joke if the person it is about finds it funny.” You summon all your courage to spit out the words. 

"Alright, that's enough," Caleb puts himself between you and Gideon. "Y/N," Caleb's gaze is as calm as ever, "They mean no harm; they were just joking. For my sake, forgive them. Shall I have the driver take you home?"

"Sister-in-law..." MC pouts as she stands beside him, "If you're really angry, be angry with me. Don't ignore your husband. They only organized today's gathering because I came back... Caleb, why don't you ask your wife to stay for dinner? I'll offer her a toast as an apology." "Sorry," you look at the two of them with a scorning smile. "I don't drink alcohol, especially not this tea-flavored liquor."

Caleb's expression turns serious. "Y/N, MC was trying to make it up to you, why are you so sharp-tongued?" Make it up to you? Only a fool would think so. Is Caleb a fool? No, he isn't. He is simply biased; whichever side his heart leans towards is right.

You look at the two people in front of you, and the several people behind them. They were all on the same side, while you are just an outsider who had intruded into their world. No, in fact, you've never truly entered their world; not even the periphery.

You struggle to hold back tears, letting out a soft "heh," before turning to leave. Behind you, MC's voice calls worryingly, "Caleb, your wife!" "It's alright, she's very understanding. I'll go comfort her when I go back." He sneaks a glance at your retreating figure and texts the driver to pick you up. 

You wipe away your tears forcefully, gait getting more unsteady. Surely, they'll continue to laugh at you after you left, right? You are crippled; you aren't good enough for Caleb Xia. This realization had haunted you like a curse for the past five years. 

By the time Caleb's driver arrives, you are no longer by the restaurant. Caleb frowned at the text from the chauffer. He calls you, but you didn't answer. He tries again, but your phone is switched off now.  His buddies speak up more. "Caleb, how did you manage to spoil such a girl? With your status and appearance? There's women willing to grovel at feet! You're too good natured, letting your wife give you the cold shoulder." Caleb doesn't say anything.  "Marrying her is already a huge blessing! Who else would want her if not you?"  MC quickly interjects at just the right second. "Gege, don't listen to everyone saying bad things about Y/N. They're just want the best for you. Don't take it to heart!" "I'm not angry," Caleb puts away his phone. "It's alright, she won't go anywhere."

After all, for the past five years, you really haven't been anywhere except stay at home; you had nowhere to go.

T - 26 days You don't go home. You check back into the hotel you stayed at the previous day. All the grievances and pain erupt the moment the hotel room door closes. The image of Gideon limping, mocking you, kept flashing before your eyes, the laughter echoing in your ears like a curse.

Actually, you already know what Caleb's peers say about you in private, just never mentioned it to him before. They were his ride-or-die colleagues, you understood. He worked very hard for the safety of Linkon City; you understood. Therefore, you didn't want to cause him any trouble or fallouts with his friends and coworkers

But now it seems that you were overthinking things.

How could he have a falling out with his friends because of you? Those were his brothers since his DAA days! And you? Merely a debt he owed to himself as repayment for gratitude; a burden. Without you, his life would be happier.

"She's just a cripple! Who would want her if you didn't marry her?" "What more could she ask for than marrying someone like Caleb?" "If I were the Colonel, I'd rather be the one crippled by a car accident than marry someone like that."

Your heart and lungs ache terribly.

With trembling hands, you open a photo album on your phone you haven't dared touch in five years—a record of your training and performances during your undergraduate years. Since you could no longer perform on stage, you sealed all your dance-related photos and videos here, password protected, and never opened them again. Now, your trembling fingers randomly click on a video. Perfectly in time with the music, you twirl, leap, and land lightly on your feet Back then, you were radiant, graceful, and received thunderous applause…

So, was saving him a mistake?

Honestly, the moment you pushed Caleb out of the way, you never thought of marrying him. He was the one who said he wanted to marry you and planned a grand proposal, knelt before you with a huge diamond ring, and gave you hope…

For the first time in five years, you collapse onto the bed and sob uncontrollably. You cry for a long time

So long that no more tears flow from your eyes, leaving only pain in your chest, burning and licking like flames. Yet the more it hurt, the clearer you became about your situation.

You go the bathroom and wash your face thoroughly to calm down. Looking at your lifeless reflection in the mirror, you silently tell yourself, "Crying once is enough. Don't cry anymore. Now please take care of yourself for once."

T - 25 days Perhaps because you didn't sleep a wink the night before out of nervousness for your interview, you actually sleep quite well today. You wake up on time and turn on your phone.

Countless messages flood in all from one person—Caleb.

Walking alone on the sidewalk, head down, you review the student visa application process until a pair of leather shoes appear in front of you. You didn't expect someone to deliberately block your path, and bump into them.

If the person didn't catch you, you definitely would've fallen.  Unfortunately, that person is the last one you wanted to see.  Caleb.

"Y/N!" You can tell he is angry, but trying his best to speak in a controlled manner. “Y/N, why didn’t you come home?” He holds your shoulders, voice softening as gentle and tender as ever.

You should know why I’m not going home, you think, hurriedly stuffing the notes you took from your interview back into your bag, fastening it tightly. “What’s this?” he asks, looking down at your bag. “Nothing, just some paper.” You feign composure, fingers gripping the bag so tightly they turn white. “Give it to me,” he offers. No, you can't let him see them. You clutch the strap tighter. "Do you need something?" "Give me your phone," he demands. You hesitate for a moment, then take your phone out and hand it to him. The phone is off. He glances at it only once before handing it back. "I called you so many times and sent you so many messages. Why didn't you reply? Are you still angry?"

You breathe a sigh of relief. He wasn't asking where you were the night before. If it's only about that… You stay silent for a moment, and decide you didn't want to be angry anymore. You just want to get away. Seeing your silence, Caleb assumes you're still angry and sighs. “Y/N, you're supposed to be the understanding one. Why didn't you come home?”

You swear you didn't want to get worked up about it anymore, but Caleb's words are somehow innocent yet cruel enough to break even a saint.  “So you still think what happened yesterday was my fault? Was I being unreasonable? Should I have praised Gideon for such an accurate depiction as soon as I went in?!” You couldn't take it anymore.

Caleb's face slightly twitches in embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, you can’t control what others say, so just manage your own reaction and pay them no mind.” “I can’t control it, but you can!” you shoot back. “But what were you doing then? You and your pipsqueak, hugging and all over each other.” “Y/N!" His expression finally changes into something that resembles anger, more intense than anything you've seen.  You laugh inwardly.

The name “pipsqueak” is his Achilles’ heel, an untouchable minefield. You have nothing else to say. You clutch your bag, planning to walk past him, but he reaches out and pulls you close by the waist. “I’m sorry, it's my fault. I raised my voice just now,” he says softly. “I just didn’t want you to misunderstand MC. We’re just ordinary friends, like everyone else. I treat her like my sister. She’s not married yet. Don't talk about her like that.”

You don't understand. They were the ones acting like that, MC brushing up against him so brazenly; why is he so afraid to admit it? 

"Oh," you reply monotonously. “Y/N…” Caleb can sense the coldness in your voice. “Why are you still angry? I haven't even confronted you about going to a hotel by yourself without telling anyone, about not reply to any of my messages and calls. Yes, it's all your fault. You're the unreasonable one here. 

Earlier in your marriage, hearing this from Caleb would have been your worst nightmare. But now? You don't intend on striving to be good enough for him anymore.

T - 24 days Caleb insists on taking you out to eat to "smooth things over".  “Caleb, I’m not hungry.” You don't touch your chopsticks. “I have something to tell you.” “What?” He smiles slightly. “I’ll go with you wherever you want. I’m free all day.” You stare at his almost imperceptible smile, thinking hard about what you can say to those dreamy, purple eyes.

"Caleb..." your throat closes up, betraying your resolve. “Hmm? Y/N?” He takes your hand. “What’s wrong? Want to cry? If you want to cry, just cry. Don’t hold it in.” His voice is so gentle, so incredibly gentle.

Just like back then, when you first emerged from the operating room, the nurses wheeled you back to the floor. He stood by your bedside, his voice so gentle it was almost painful, saying, "Y/N, does it hurt? If it hurts, cry it out, don't hold it in..." Back then, you thought such gentle care was a good remedy for pain. Unfortunately, it took you many years to truly understand that a man's gentleness and care could never be transformed into love...

"Caleb, let's get a divorce," you say softly, pulling your hand away. He frowns; clearly, he didn't expect you to say that. After a brief silence, he picks up a piece of fish, and gently removes the bones with his chopsticks, putting it in your bowl. "Y/N, I know you're still angry, but bringing up divorce is irrational. What will you do if you divorce me? How will you live on your own?"

T - 23 days: Your breathing quickens

In everyone's eyes, for the last five years, you've been Caleb's dependent; without him, you were a pitiful creature, unwanted and unable to survive. He thought so too. "I can do it!" For the first time, you speak up against him, wanting to stand up for yourself.

He just smiles, still assuming you are being stubborn, and places the deboned fish in front of you. "Eat. You're allowed to be angry for a while, but you can't be angry until after you finish eating." "I'm not angry, I really want a divorce!" How can you make Caleb understand that you mentioning divorce isn't just an emotional outburst?

“Y/N.” he puts down his chopsticks, “I canceled two meetings and a practice flight today just to come and spend time with you. I might not have that much time tomorrow or the day after. Let me say it again, MC is a good friend. I treat her no differently than I treat Gideon and the others. She also likes you a lot and has always wanted to be your friend. With your attitude… how can I bring her to you?” “Then there’s no need for us to get close.” You don't think MC actually wants to be friends with you. “Y/N!” Caleb's voice carries a hint of warning.

You focus on eating instead. Even if you were angry, it's not worth taking your anger out on your own stomach. "That's right," Caleb's tone softens again. "Don't mention the word 'divorce' again." You pause, then continue eating with your head down. The next day, you book a physical therapy appointment at AKSO Hospital.

T - 22 days You need to get used to going out alone, so you decide to do some window shopping. Wandering aimlessly through Universum, you spot a familiar figure at a designer jewelry store — MC. Looking at the store name, a feeling of unease settles over you as you unconsciously walk closer.

“Buy it if you like it!” comes her friend's voice. “I can't do that, Tara!" MC exclaims, "It's too expensive. Even though Caleb gave me his card and told me to use it as I please, I feel awkward buying such an expensive item!”

Your steps falter, too heavy to take another step.

“Since he gave it to you, it’s for you to use. When has your brother ever used pleasantries with you He's probably over the moon that you're willing to spend his money.” Tara replies. “That’s true…” MC twirls, showing Tara the necklace she tried on at different angles. You see it too. “Isn’t it beautiful, Tara? I really, really love this necklace! I liked it back in high school, and Caleb promised to buy it for me after graduation, but..."

But?

You laugh bitterly at the irony. But instead, Caleb gives you this necklace every year for your birthday and anniversary. Originally, you had thought that even if Caleb was heartless, at least he remembered your birthday and your anniversary; even if the gift he chose wasn’t thoughtful, it would at least be expensive.

But it turns out he isn’t heartless, nor is he indifferent; on the contrary, he is incredibly thoughtful and devoted. It’s just that what he holds dear has nothing to do with you.

T - 21 days You try to talk about the divorce with Caleb again, this time taking the initiative to meet  him as he gets off work. You walk into the grand foyer of the Farspace Fleet HQ, preparing to text and let him know you're here, when you hear his voice.  "And that concludes your orientation tour."

You slowly turn to see Caleb, his adjutant, Liam, and MC walk out of the elevator. You wait until they make their way closer to the front door to approach the group. "It's been a pleasure showing you around," Liam adds, saluting to MC, "I look forward to working with you, Mrs. Xia".  You nearly choke on your breath, face red and still sputtering as you appear in front of Caleb. Liam looks at you with confusion. "I'm sorry, and you are...?" Caleb's face morphs from surprise to horror, and you see the message behind his furrowed brows and pleading eyes: "don't say anything"

You remember the sneers, the joking, the pity.

"I'm a good friend of the Colonel," you say. "In fact, we have a dinner appointment tonight." Caleb nods vigorously in agreement, quickly dismissing Liam as you, Caleb, and MC walk towards the parking garage. 

When you arrive at Caleb's car, MC doesn’t move, smiling sweetly. “Okay, Gege, you guys go home. I’ll take a taxi myself. Y/N, I’ll return Mr. Xia back to you.”

Back to you? What does she mean, back to you? When did you ever agree to lend your husband out?

She takes the opportunity to cling to your arm, shaking it sweetly. “Y/N, don’t be angry. Today’s misunderstanding wasn’t intentional. Liam just assumed things because Caleb has never personally brought a cadet around before. I didn't have time to explain the situation." Her eyes subconsciously flick to your leg before she continues. “You won’t be angry with us, right?” “Us?” you sneer. “Who is this ‘us’? Who exactly is with whom?” You hate strangers getting close to you — especially her. You pull your arm away. You swear you only pull back lightly. You don’t shove her. You absolutely do not push her. Yet she falls to the ground. “Y/N!!” Caleb shouts your name.

MC reacts faster than both of you. She scrambles up and blocks Caleb completely — pressing herself against him. “Caleb, don’t be angry. Don’t blame Y/N, I’m just careless. She just gently touched me and I lost balance myself. Gege, please don't get angry at your wife because of me, it’ll make me sad…” Only Caleb believes this act. Especially when she deliberately raises her wrist — the scraped skin clearly visible — right in front of him, the glint of the necklace she bought yesterday, the same as yours piercing your eyes. Caleb sees the scrape. His brows knit together, eyes filled with obvious concern.

“Y/N! What’s wrong with you? Why are you so prejudiced against her?” “Me? Prejudiced against her?” you laugh. “What prejudice could I possibly have? After all, she’s Mrs. Xia now.” “You—” He is momentarily speechless before lowering his gaze to MC. “Does it hurt?” “No…” she whimpers, yet she lifts her wrist closer to his chin. He actually lowers his head and gently blows on it.

You have never seen him look at you like that.

“I’ll put some medicine on it later. We can’t let it scar.” Not even after your car accident. Not when you lose your leg. Not when your body is covered in scars. Back then, he gently asked you, “Does it hurt? If it does, cry.” But that wasn't heartache. It was guilt. He never caressed your wounds. When faced with your scars, he escapes. He avoids. He refuses to look at them.

“It’s okay, I'm really alright!” MC’s voice grows even softer “Y/N,” Caleb calls, looking up at you. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” “Why should I apologize?” A sharp sting rushes into your eyes, blurring your vision. You can barely see his face anymore. “Because she calls herself my husband’s wife, I have to apologize?” “Y/N! Why are being sarcastic? Didn’t she explain? Liam simply misunderstood. Why are you holding onto this?”

He is angry again. He always is, whenever you speak up against her. You smile and shake your head. “No, Caleb. You’re wrong. I don’t want to hold onto this at all. I didn’t even expose you two on the spot. Whoever wants to be Mrs. Xia can take the position. I already told you I want a divorce. You should just agree. Then everything becomes perfectly legitimate.” You don’t expose them because there’s no need. Since you are going to divorce him anyway, why add more trouble to your life? It isn’t worth it.

“Your temper is getting more and more outrageous!” he snaps. “There’s a limit to throwing tantrums! Apologize right now!” “I won’t.” You turn to leave. “Stop!” He rushes forward and grabs your wrist. “Where are you going? You pushed her. Her arm is hurt. You're not leaving without saying sorry."

You stare at the hand gripping you. Despair crashes over you like a tidal wave. You look into his eyes and say, slowly, clearly, word by word: “Yes. All I have to deal with is being a cripple for the rest of my life. But oh no, she scratched her arm”

A flash of sharp pain crosses his eyes. He loosens his grip and steps back. The moment you are free, you turn and run toward the elevator. No matter how disheveled you look, you don’t care. You absolutely cannot let him see the tears streaming down your face. From the day you were injured, through your wedding and five years of marriage... This is the first time you use your injured leg to hurt him.

Before, you were so careful about protecting his feelings. You were afraid he felt guilt and remorse, so you never mention the accident five years ago. Even when you had to endure gossip and cold stares, you swallowed everything alone. But now, is he in pain too? You can honestly understand to a certain degree.

He is doomed to carry the burden of you for the rest of his life, unable to shake himself free. How can he not be? His true love is right beside him, yet because of your existence, he can't even be with her openly. How can he not be in pain when the urge to let go is pitted against the torment of his conscience? 

So, Caleb, please let me go, okay?

T - 20 days You return home alone and lay your ten jewelry boxes out in front of you. You stare at the necklaces for a long time, lost in thought. For a moment, you want to smash each one against the wall. But you don't. Impulse solves nothing.

After calming down, you download a secondhand resale app and start looking for sellers who buy luxury goods. You quickly find one in the city and arrange to drop them off tomorrow. Having dealt with this, you turn on your computer and begin focusing intently on your visa application.

You have less than three weeks until you escape your personal hell.

T - 19 days You are so engrossed in your work that you don't even notice Caleb's return.You hurriedly close your laptop when you hear "What are you doing?" coming from the doorway.

Caleb returns, maintaining his usual gentle demeanor, as if nothing happened. He walks to your side and asks in a soft voice, "Watching a show? Studying? What's got you so hooked that you're still up?" He's trying to make conversation.

You press your hand tightly against the laptop; the VISA webpage is still open. "You wouldn't care for it" "I don't even know what it is? Here, let me see. You asked me to tutor you back in high school." He reaches out to try to pry the screen up but you hold on tightly, refusing to let go. He assumes you're still angry, so he stops trying to take it from you. Instead, he sighs and squats down, staring at your profile. "Still angry?"

"No." You're not lying. You've had many feelings: anxiety, disappointment, despair, but definitely not anger. Anger meant that as long as he coaxed you, things would be fine; there was still hope for your marriage. But for you, any last drop hope had already evaporated. Five years… that was enough.

“Y/N, MC and I really have nothing going on. We're just close childhood friends. She came back from abroad, and we all got together to welcome her. The misunderstanding at work today was purely accidental. You have to believe me.”  His voice grows increasingly sweet. You look into his eyes, unable to see the passion behind the soft words. Gentleness is like a program written into his body, running on autopilot.

“Caleb” you finally say, “Aren’t you tired?” He's taken aback, seemingly not understanding what you mean. You give him a bitter smile. "You have someone else in your heart, yet you still fuss over me every day. Aren't you tired?" Caleb's eyes widen. "I don't..." "Caleb, stop lying to yourself! I know some things don't sound so honorable when brought up; it'll make everyone look bad. But actually, divorce is better for both of us. Really. MC is more like the Mrs. Xia you envision yourself with-" "Y/N!" Caleb interrupts you. "Are you still holding onto MC? I've told you so many times." "Caleb, the one who can't get over MC isn't me." You stare at him straight in the eyes. "It's you." He freezes again. "Y/N..." "We both know it, isn't that right?" You try to appear calm. You can't have him think you're just "throwing a tantrum". "It's time to put an end to our five years together, Caleb. Let's say goodbye gracefully. Let bygones be bygones."

Caleb stares at you for a while, then stands up. "Y/N, you're overthinking it. You'll see later that MC's return won't change anything. It's late, get some rest." "Caleb Xia! I know you feel guilty towards me, but not anymore. I really don't need a marriage based on guilt. Let me go, and let yourself go too, okay?" Before you even finish your sentence, Caleb takes off his coat and heads into the bathroom. 

You look at his coat lying on the small sofa. In the past, you would've hung it up for him, then found his pajamas and put them by the bathroom door. But this time, you don't move. For the past five years, you had always thought that your legs were weak and that you couldn't contribute anything to your family. In fact, Caleb managed everything perfectly, making you feel like a mere decoration, unable to help him in any way. Yet, you still tried your best to take care of him when you could.

Honestly? You might have overlooked the core: perhaps what Caleb needed wasn't your insignificant care, but a presentable Mrs. Xia, someone who could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him in front of the world. So you truly don't understand what he's clinging onto, why he refuses to divorce you after all this…

Caleb comes out of the bathroom and goes straight to sleep, seemingly refusing to speak further. You don't bring it up again. Forget it, every conversation is exhausting for you anyways. You're better off using that time to think about your future, strive towards what you have always wanted, and when you could leave. Whether or not the divorce is finalized by then won't matter. You glance at Caleb beside you; he's already fast asleep.

In the dim light, you can only see a blurry profile of his face. The distance between the two of you seems endless. Caleb, I've decided not to blame you anymore. I hope you have a happy life after I'm gone.

T - 18 days You wake up feeling refreshed. As you finish getting ready and make your way down the stairs, you see the look of shock in the housekeeper's eyes.

You're wearing makeup today, and in your favorite dress. For five years, you barely dressed up. Your leg, covered in scars, not only restricted your movement, but also your self worth and yearning for beauty. You didn't think you were worth dressing up. “Very beautiful, Madam,” Mrs. Chen's admiring gaze doesn't lie. “Where are you going?” “The theatre.” You shift your weight, a little nervous despite the excitement coursing through your veins. You even wore stockings so that the scars on your leg wouldn't be as visible. After settling your feelings, you decide to buy a ticket to see a ballet performance. The only thing you wanted to see at the moment, the only thing you knew would comfort you was dance.

You take a deep breath as you sink into the plush velvet seat in the dress circle. From your elevated view, you can almost feel the warmth of the stage lights and the buzz of adrenaline behind the colossal curtains, your heartbeat quickening as it gets closer to curtain call. "Y/N?" You nearly jump as you hear your name, looking wildly around to meet a pair of sea-blue eyes.  "R-rafayel?" You squint as the name comes off your tongue slightly unfamiliarly. It's been nearly 10 years since you saw this old classmate of yours, but the tuft of dark purple hair gives him away. The two of you were never in same homeroom back in high school, but his name was very famous among the art students. 

"It's been such a long time, how have you been?" He smiles and offers you a hand.  Your brain short circuits for a moment, not quite sure how to answer.  "My apologies," he quickly follows up his words. "I remember you were a performing arts student, and followed your career briefly after graduation. I know you stopped dancing and got married, married to the man that you saved."  You're even more stunned now. But before you have a chance to formulate a reply, the lights cut out, signifying the opening of the show. 

Tonight's performance is by the Linkin City ballet, performing a classical piece that you've rehearsed countless times in the past. As the orchestra strikes the first chord, the dancer deep within you is awakened. Even though you're sitting in the audience with a real possibility you'll never be on stage again, your toes subconsciously tap lightly on the ground to the beat of the music—it's muscle memory etched into your body…

At the end of the performance, you can't help the tears spilling from your eyes. Sitting in the audience, listening to the thunderous applause, watching audience members go up one after another to present flowers to the dancers... Not because of sadness, not because of pain, and certainly not because of despair. But because of the dance itself, and the resonance you felt in your heart. This was once your passion and your deepest love. But you had forgotten it for five years.  You log onto your empty social media account for the first time in years, and simply post: Tonight belongs to my passion and my dearest love. 

After the curtains fall for the final time, you turn to Rafayel, still gently clapping beside you. "I've been unhappy since I quit dancing," you admit, gaze flickering at your bad leg. "But I've had enough of moping around and feeling sorry for myself." You wipe away any remaining moisture off your face. "Sorry, this just reminded me of how happy dancing made me feel. I'll be going abroad soon to get a masters." You swear Rafayel's eyes light up slightly in the dim concert hall as he gives you a smile. "Y/N, Little Swallow, I believe you will soar high, even if your wings were once broken." Back in high school, your nickname was Little Swallow, because you were best known for your somersaults and leaps; high and graceful. Hearing the name again after so many years has your heart racing again, as if you are back in your youth, sweating profusely in the practice room.

A bundle is placed into your hands. You look down to see a bouquet of flowers, something Rafayel originally brought for one the dancers, probably. Rafayel simply pats your head. "It's not shameful to have a leg injury, it's not shameful to have scars on your legs. What's shameful are those who laugh at you; they are the truly despicable ones! Kind people will only cheer you on." He turns away, but not before calling out, "Let's keep in touch! I'll be in the same city as your program for my next artist retreat. Let me know if I can help with anything." He emphasizes again, "Anything!"

You stand there, watching him disappear into the distance. This is the first time someone has told you: your disability isn't shameful; what's shameful are those who mock you. Words you've wanted to hear for nearly 2000 days, but never had spoken to you.  Tonight, it brings you a fresh wave of tears. 

T - 17 days You didn't think Caleb would be back after everything going on these days, but the sound of the door opening wakes you up from sleep. 

Caleb stinks of alcohol when he enters the room. He's been drinking again. How much did he have to drink? He throws a chair against the door and collapses directly onto the bed. You don't have anything to say to him anymore, whether it's to scold him to drink less or coax him to take a shower. You get up, intending to sleep in the guest room. Just as you reach the door, Caleb's voice sounds behind you. "Where are you going?"

You don't answer.

The bed creaks behind you. Caleb gets slams the door in front of you closed and grabs your wrist. "Where are you going if you're not sleeping here?" "I'm going to the guest room, let go of me."  You can't really argue with a drunkard. The more you struggle, the tighter he grips your hands. "Stop fooling around, Y/N. What's the point? Since you've apologized, I'll make it up to you" his voice slurs.

You're dumbfounded??? What the hell is he referring to? "When did I apologize?" You haven't even seen him, let alone apologize to him? Caleb chuckles softly, mumbling, "Tonight belongs to my passion and my dearest? I'm back."

You scoff, wait, this guy actually thought you posted that for him? 

“Y/N” He suddenly hugs you. “I know, I know you love me. You'd give everything for me, so no matter what happens, I will never betray you…” You are stunned for a moment. He's right. You've loved him very, very much. He had said these words at your wedding. At that time, you thought it wasn't a confession, but a promise. He had given you a promise for a lifetime. A lifetime is so long. Long enough that you thought one day he would fall in love with you properly. Even if he never loved you, it didn't matter; you thought your love for him would be enough…

“Caleb Xia.” You have something you want to ask him. “Hmm?” His warm breath brushes against your ear, spreading out, carrying the scent of alcohol. "But your Pipsqueak is back! What will happen to Pips if you're with me?" "Pipsqueak? Pipsqueak..." He murmured the name, suddenly choking back tears. "Pipsqueak, I won't forget. I promised you, I won't forget..."

You feel as if you just got dunked in ice water. Is he so drunk that he's mistaking you for MC? "What promise? What did you promise Pipsqueak?" you ask numbly. "Everything... Everything, Pips..." His arms tighten around you.

You gasp as he suddenly lifts you up and pushes you down on the bed, his breath, heavy with the smell of alcohol, glosses over your face, nose, and chin... He tries to find your lips, but you avoid them. The smell of alcohol makes you nauseous. When his hands begin to tear at your pajamas, you immediately turn away. "Pips, be good, okay? Stop making a fuss..."

Still calling you Pipsqueak...

You struggle fiercely, finally freeing a hand and slapping him hard across the face. A crisp sound rings out in the bedroom "Caleb! Look carefully at who I am! I'm not your Pipsqueak!" you shout in the darkness, your voice hoarse. His body stiffens briefly. Taking advantage of the moment, you forcefully wriggle out of his grasp. He lies on the bed, still drunk, murmuring, "Pips, I'm sorry, I have to go home. I promised her I'd take care of her for the rest of my life... I owe her..." You cover your ears. Those words have haunted you like a curse for five years; now, whenever they echo in your mind, your head buzzes as if filled with static.

You scream at the figure beside you, "I don't want you to owe me anything! Caleb Xia! Do you hear me!? I don't want you to owe me anything! I just want you to set me free!"

Caleb's phone vibrates at that moment. You turn your head to see the name of the person calling: "Baby Apple." Ha, Baby Apple… In Caleb's phone, your contact is "Y/N" When you were newlyweds, you had fantasized about the day Caleb would call you "sweetie," "darling," or any other nickname that was exclusively yours, or even just "Wife."  But no, whether in everyday conversations or in his contacts, it was always just "Y/N".  To reassure yourself, you convinced yourself that this was just his personality—not clingy, straightforward, and with a strong personality. You were wrong. The words "Baby Apple" on the screen are particularly glaring. You're torn between picking up or letting it ring, but you click on the green receiver anyway.

A soft, delicate voice makes your hand tremble. "Gege, are you home yet? Are you alright?" MC sounds drunk too, her voice slurred and incoherent. Ignoring the silence on your end, she continues. "I know it's hard for you... I also... know that Y/N has sacrificed a lot for you... You don't need to feel guilty towards me... I... we're fine like this now... I don't care whether I'm your wife or not... I just... just glad that you remember me and treat me the same as before... let's stay like this Caleb... She can live in your house, and I can live in your heart, I'm content..."

The phone finally slips and fell to the ground. She lives in your house, I live in your heart. You stagger out of the room and go to the guest room. You collapse on the bed, trying to squeeze all the sounds out of your head. You never want to think about this again.

T - 16 days When you wake up, it's Caleb's voice that you hear. He's talking to Mrs. Chen. "Where did these flowers come from?" "Madam brought them back last night." "Madam went out last night?" "Yes." "Alone? Where did she go?" Caleb's voice rises noticeably. "She said she went to see a performance." "A performance? Who sent the flowers?" He seemed unconvinced. "I don't know." "What performance? Where did she see it? What time was it?" Mrs. Chen hesitates. "Sir, I really don't know."

The guest room door is pushed open. You immediately pretend to be asleep. "Y/N, I know you're awake; your hand just moved." You open your eyes, internally sighing.

"Who did you go to see the performance with yesterday?" Why is he so fixated on this question?

You don't answer him, simply pulling the covers over your head and turn your back to face him. “Y/N,” He sits down, “Be good, okay?” He reaches out to dig you out from under the comforter. You remember him pinning you down on the bed last night, calling MC's name and telling her to be good. You feel utterly disgusted and forcefully slap his hand away.

He gives up, then suddenly changes the subject, "Y/N, what was the "passions and loves" you mentioned last night?" "It wasn't you!" you huff. His face stiffens for a moment, but it quickly turns into a knowing look. "Alright, stop being stubborn. I know you're still sulking and jealous. Didn't I come back as soon as I saw you post that yesterday?"

He seriously still thinks you're just throwing a tantrum when you said "not you"? You poke your head out from under the covers. "I told you..." Seeing you finally come out, his expression softens as he takes the opportunity to stroke your hair. "That's good. I'll be back tonight, but you don't have to wait for me. Just go to sleep if you're tired." Without waiting for you to say anything more, he turns and leaves. You don't care whether or not he comes home. Actually, this scene is exactly the same as before. Before MC appeared, he was always like this, speaking to you gently, telling you to go to sleep early, and stroking your hair. You've never argued, not even once.

But so what? What does a marriage without arguments even mean?

If you were to describe Caleb Xia with a single word, it would be "good." However, you know the truth painfully clearly: all the good things Caleb does don't stem from his love for you, but rather an act of atonement.

The words "never to dance again" were a devastating blow to both you and him back then. You still remember Caleb's reaction upon hearing those words; after the initial shock, he seemed utterly ripped from his soul.

From that moment on, the vibrant Caleb died. You were both simultaneously bound by the shackles of "forever"— you forever lost the stage, and he forever atoned for his sins. "I owe her" these three words became the unbearable weight of his life. From that moment forward, there was no more Caleb Xia; what lived was only your husband—a walking robot, devoid of warmth and emotion. A stagnant pool, mechanically fulfilling the duties of a husband, a partner.

But now he's alive again… MC returned, bringing light back into his life. He's started smiling again, his eyes sparkling with light and fire. You sigh heavily. Even after all this, why wouldn't he let you go, and let himself go too?

T - 15 days You step out of the taxi, heart pounding as you approach tall glass doors. After watching the ballet piece, you are once again filled with determination and decided to sign up for a beginners dance class. You've been going to your physical therapy sessions dutifully, hoping one day, with enough hard work and practice, you'll be able to stand on stage again. You smile at the wide range of participants already there. They greet you warmly, introducing themselves one by one before the instructor walks in.  As the class begins, you practice some very simple basics - posture, form, and stances. However, due to your injury, you quickly run out of stamina and spend a good portion of the class on the floor to rest inbetween. You're wiping the sweat off your brow with a towel and bidding goodbye to some new friends as a familiar voice calls from outside the studio door.

"Y/N!" It's Rafayel?!  "What are you doing here?" you ask, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment as you're stuck wondering how much of your clumsy work he had just seen. "The performing arts center commissioned a piece from me. It's going to be hanging on the top floor, so I came today to take a look at the atmosphere around here," he supplies, giving you a bright smile.  "Nice," you feebly offer. Rafayel breaks the silence with a soft sigh, "Y/N, I can see the start of a rebirth." You know what he's referring to, you starting to pick up dancing again. But can you really call what you're doing right now dancing? You could barely stand up straight. "Don't be like that! You haven't practiced for five years, and you did really well today! I have a photo if you don't believe me." Rafayel takes out his phone, smoothly passing it to you to enter your number. It turns out he had recorded the last part of your dance lesson today. "Ah, my phone died" you say, rummaging through your dance bag.  Rafayel shrugs and presses "send" anyways. "Here, let's go grab something to eat and you can watch yourself on mine.  

The two of you head to a cafe, sitting outside on the patio as you make conversation over coffee and sandwiches. Rafayel shows you the video as you furrow your brows at your posture. You sigh dejectedly. Who would've imagined that the girl once known as "Little Swallow" would struggle like that? While Rafayel's words of encouragement still doesn't allow you to forgive yourself for falling so far behind, you agree with his sentiment: you were going to grow new wings and explore higher skies. 

It was at this moment that Caleb drives by, catching a glimpse of your smile brighter than the sunset, sitting next to Rafayel, your heads slightly leaned in together as you watch something on his phone. 

T - 14 days You feel a strange sense of oppression slowly growing behind you. You look up to see Caleb standing behind you, face partially covered by shadow.  His complexion is stormy; he looks exhausted, and his hair is somewhat disheveled. As he approaches you, the setting sun behind him seems to ignite, mirroring the flames in his eyes.  

“I called you all day, and your phone was off?” He is clearly suppressing his anger.

You don't know where this anger came from. Isn't he very busy? He usually never calls you anyways; why would he be offended that your phone died? Afterall, you weren't even angry when he went to take care of MC, what right did he have to dictate how you spend your time? 

“Oh, I didn't expect you to call,” you say calmly, stirring your drink. "Didn't expect me to call?" Caleb glances at Rafayel sitting beside you, gritting his teeth. "I'm your husband. If I don't call you, who will?" You shake your head, pulling yourself up using the armrest. "Who knows? I could have an ex-boyfriend," you say sarcastically.  His expression changes, and he frown deeply. "Y/N."

Rafayel simply smiles, and turns to address Caleb. "Colonel Xia," he greets him. "Have you ever watched your wife dance? 

Caleb freezes. Despite being the High Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, trained in all kinds of interrogation and logic, he could not decipher the meaning behind those words.  Rafayel chuckles and bids the two of you goodbye, Caleb's gaze burning into the back of his silhouette.

"Y/N, I've underestimated you this whole time," Caleb says as you get into his car. "You're quite something." His voice carries a threat and suppressed anger. Your mind flashes to the stench of perfume on his shirt, and scoff, "Not as good as you." "Since when did you get in contact with him again? What does he do? I don't want to waste time finding that out myself." His hands rest on the steering wheel, his fingers long and slender. On his left ring finger is a new ring.

His wedding band has been off since the night of your wedding ceremony. What's he wearing now? You smile faintly and hold out your hand. On your ring finger is a jade ring, small enough for everyday wear. You were the one to pick out your wedding rings. You wanted a small, non-flashy stone because you wanted to wear it everyday, forever. It was a custom pair; his was also jade.  The one on his hand is pure silver band.  Caleb watches your movements and subconsciously pulls his left hand back.

You place your hand on the dashboard. "Colonel, can you please explain when your ring changed color?"

T - 13 days Caleb freezes for a fraction of a second, before muttering, "it's a formality, it's not that serious." You nearly laugh out loud. Of course, what can be more serious than marriage? Perhaps your observation ignited the tiniest shred of shame in him, for his tone softens considerably, his previous accusatory attitude gone. "I'm asking you this for your own good, Y/N. There won't be another man in this world who treats you like I do. Of course, I'm not perfect; I have my flaws. But I'm sincere, trusting, and unguarded with you. Your name is on all of my assets. It's hard to say what other people's intentions are."

You are immediately reminded of MC's words: She's in your house, but I'm in your heart.

You put on your earbuds, hoping to drown out whatever other demeaning things he has to say. Seeing this, Caleb hesitates, then drives off. He drops you off at home, saying, "I have more work to do at the office, don't wait up for me," before leaving again. You stare at the door blankly. You forgot how you used to care so much about those things.

Slowly, you take the wedding ring off your finger. Since it obviously doesn't have any true sentimental value anymore, you might as well sell it for cash. Actually, if you were going to sell it, might as well sell it as a pair! You look high and low around the house, but can't find the other one.

Suddenly, you remember that Caleb keeps a safe at home, something you've never thought to open.  An idea strikes you.

You don't know the safe's combination. You try Caleb's birthday, but it didn't budge. You don't even bother to try yours. You think a little harder, hesitantly putting in the security code for the front door and garage. It opens! Inside are a stack of legal documents, property papers, and various other things that must be very important. You easily find the jewelry box with the same brand as your wedding ring, but there is another one in the very back, placed on top of a notebook.

You open the latter and see the another silver ring matching the one on Caleb's finger, along with a necklace with a small apple charm.  Your hand rests on top of the notebook, mind teetering between looking and not looking. Ultimately, your self control wins, but as you move to put it back, a photograph slides out, falling to the floor. It's a photo of Caleb and MC from their high school days. 

Honestly, it doesn't mean much. You knew for a long time that Caleb had feelings for someone else before. But since you married him, at least when you married him, you told yourself you didn't care about his past. You sigh, picking up the photo, and put it back in the notebook. Fuck it, trying to protect your already shattered heart is pointless now. You open it to a random page, planning to just stuff the photo back in, but you freeze as your eyes land on the writing: 100 Little things about Pipsqueak.  The first thing listed is: Pips' birthday is May 1st.

Your hand slips, and the notebook falls to the ground. The code to your house is 20501 The combination to this safe is 0501. The air in the room seems to thin. You press your palm to your chest, gasping for breath. The second line reads: "I finally bought myself a house. It's in the style that MC likes. The password is her birthday."

So, for the last five years, you've been living in the house meant for Caleb and MC...

T - 12 days You bring the pair of rings to the antique watch shop, having scheduled a time with the owner. The owner is delighted, having previously bought the 10 necklaces you chose to part ways with as well. He ushers you to sit down in the private room behind the counter and pours you a cup of tea. You excuse yourself to use the restroom, hearing the door open as more customers enter the store.

The voices are familiar. Shit. Looking behind you, you see MC's appear, with Caleb in tow.  You really manage to run into her everywhere, huh?

It's midday, right when Caleb usually has meetings. He sure has lots of free time now.  You go do your business, ducking behind the curtains as you return to avoid being noticed.

"Caleb, look! This store has so many of these necklaces! They're limited edition zodiac ones!" MC points to something in the display case. If you aren't mistaken, it's definitely one of the pieces you sold. The old man takes it out. "You have a good eye, young lady. The necklaces were acquired recently. They only make a limited amount every year. These ones are no longer being sold." Caleb looks closely and frowns. "Are they really that rare?" "Yes, this limited collection began exactly 12 years ago, a zodiac edition with this year being the last edition. It's much more expensive than the regular model. I think I've got the only ten that exists in Linkon," the owner explains with a smile. "No way..." MC exclaims, "can you prove their authenticity if they're really that valuable?" "Of course! I've got the certificates as well as the invoices for each." "These ten necklaces, did you receive them all at once?" Caleb, who has been mostly silent, suddenly asks. "Yes," the owner nods with a smile, "from the same customer." Caleb's eyes sharpen. "Show me the invoice." The owner takes out the invoices and hands them to Caleb.  He stares at them harshly, suddenly letting out a cold laugh. "Sir...?" The old man is taken aback, unsure what the issue was. "It has nothing to do with you, just give me all of them." Caleb says gruffly. Even MC sensed something was wrong and softly asks, "Gege?"

The owner notices you waiting for him. "You're back? Everything alright?" Caleb and MC looks your way as well, seeing your figure in the back.

You're not sure if it's just your imagination, but Caleb's eyes almost seem to be filled with anger. "Can you sit down for a moment? I'll show them the necklaces first, and then I'll look at your ring."

"What ring?" Caleb's voice is dangerously low, was full of suspicion upon hearing this. His gaze falls to the pair of jade rings behind the display case. "These two?" He taps the glass of the display case with his finger, his tone getting even more oppressive.

The owner clearly has no idea what is going on, why his customer was asking this, or how to answer. These were items provided by someone else; why is he asking about them? You don't intend to put him in an awkward situation, so you answer Caleb directly. "Yes, these two."

Caleb's gaze is burning. "Mrs. Xia, you're really something." It wasn't a compliment, but you reply calmly, "Thank you, you flatter me." "Get over here!" he suddenly roars. You sit down, picking up your cup of tea. He walks over to you instead, looming in front of you.

Perhaps out of consideration for the outside world, he tries to suppress his anger, his voice full of sarcasm, "I never thought I'd experience firsthand what it means by 'it's hard to guard against a thief from within the family'. One day, I wouldn't even know if my entire house was robbed." You ignore him. "Are you short of money? Is the money I give you not enough?" he hisses. "No, not at all," you say, "I've been decluttering lately, getting rid of anything useless." "Useless?" He's furious, pointing to the rings in the display case, "You're saying wedding rings are useless?" You look at him calmly, "Otherwise? If you say they're useful, have you ever worn it for a even day since the weeding ceremony?"

Caleb is speechless, indignant. "One day, you'll sell me off without me even knowing!" " You laugh and turn to at MC. "Do you want this? I'm selling one Caleb Xia, secondhand! I'll even give you a discount, I promise the price is favorable." MC is stunned. Caleb however, clearly doesn't find this funny. He turns to MC and says, "Pipsqueak, you head back first." She's unwilling, protesting, "but Gege!" "We'll talk about the necklace later, you go back first!" His expression is serious. MC knew when not to push his buttons. He's in a bad mood, and she didn't dare to provoke him. Lips trembling, she says gently, "Alright Gege, I'll go back first. But don't be too angry. Y/N must have her reasons, please don't scold her." 

You roll your eyes.

As soon as MC leaves, Caleb immediately presses you. "What exactly are you doing? Tell me!" "I told you," you say calmly, "I'm decluttering things I don't want anymore." You pause, then continue. "Including you, Colonel Xia." "Are you serious?" His face is very unpleasant. "Yes." You were never anything but serious about this.  "Y/N! I think you've been provoking me too much lately!" His eyes flash with anger.

You personally think that his temper has been a bit too volatile lately; the usually stable and gentle Colonel was gone, and MC was largely to blame. He calls the owner over, harshly putting his black card on the table. "I'll take all of them."

The owner wraps everything up, afraid of knowing too much about the uncomfortable relationship between the three of you. Get in the car!" he demands, dragging you out by your wrist. “It looks like I misjudged you,” he says once he starts driving. “I always thought you were a sensible and understanding, person, but now it seems you're getting too full of yourself. Look at Pips…” “I don’t want to see her, ok? You can go spend your time with her if she's that great.”

You put on your headphones for real this time. You're in no mood to hear about how wonderful MC is to him. He drops you off at the entrance of the neighborhood and tells you to get out. “I have a meeting later-” You get out and slam the door shut. You don't give a fuck about what he's doing tonight.

T - 11 days At 11pm, you hear Caleb enter the front door. You shut down your laptop and turn to scroll lazily on your phone, overhearing him greet Mrs. Chen.  "I told you to cook it according to my wife's taste, why did you make it spicy?" "Madam said...spicy." Aunt Chen's voice was tinged with panic. "And she didn't eat a single bite?" "Yes..." "Get me a bowl of rice."

A few minutes later, Caleb enters the bedroom. His tie is loose, the top button of his shirt  undone, the sleeves rolled up to his wrists. "Aren't you going to come out and have dinner with me?" he asks, the anger from earlier seemingly gone. For the last few years, he's always come home pretty late, rarely for dinner, but made sure to eat when he came home. You cherished those moments, bustling around him, serving up his food and keeping him company for the little time before going to sleep.  What good was your attentiveness in the end? Who knows, perhaps it only served to annoy him?

“What did you eat tonight? From now on, you don’t need to cook according to my taste. Tell Mrs. Chen to make what you like,” he says. You roll your eyes. He really thinks you're still trying to gain his favor.  He pulls up a chair and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Y/N,” What is it now?

He takes a deep breath. “MC really liked that ring. Since you sold it anyway, I gave it to her. I just transferred you some money. Take it and buy something you like.  Of course. So that’s what it's about. No wonder he's suddenly being so friendly with you. You have your back to him and simply say, "Oh," then add, "Okay."

T - 11 days until leaving Caleb Xia: He gave our wedding rings to someone else too. But I don't even want him anymore, so why should I care about the ring?

"So well-behaved today?" His voice softens. "I wanted to buy something for you, but you obviously don't like what I buy." "Hmm." "What's wrong? You're asleep already?" He frowns. "Are you feeling unwell? Let me see." He leans over, wanting to see your face. "Don't tell me you're secretly crying?" In his dreams! You give no reaction.

After tucking you in tighter, he looks at your quiet form, hesitates, and finally says, “Y/N, I'm going on a mission tomorrow.” A mission! You immediately open our eyes. This means you can go in person to meet with a lawyer and get your interviews and forms stamped without him knowing!

You sit up, eyes shining brightly. “How many days are you going?” “Three or four days, possibly up to a week.” He frowns, thinking your reaction is a bit over the top. What does this mean? You were letting him go? “No, it’s okay. Who are you going with?” you follow up haphazardly, heart pounding with joy. His expression grows increasingly hesitant. "Gideon." He pauses, then adds, "Maybe MC too." "Oh." You lie back down. "Sounds good, tell me before you come back, I'll have Mrs. Chen prepare good food." He looks at you incredulously. "You're not angry?" You shake your head. "Go to sleep early, you have a business trip tomorrow, you need to get some rest." "Y/N, trust me, a lot more of us will be going together..." He moves closer to you, but you push him away. "Go take a shower, I've already showered, don't get too close to me." He frowns. "What do you mean? You think I'm dirty?" Well, he does reek of MC's perfume. 

The next day, you're still groggy when Caleb gets up.  You had expected him to pack his things and go without leaving you with any words, but unexpectedly, he insists on waking you.  "Ugh, sleepy!" You smack his hand away.

"Mrs. Xia," he drawls, standing by the bed. "Your performance is falling. You don't feed me, give me mooncakes anymore, or ask me about my day, and now I'm leaving for a mission and you won't even help me pack my luggage?" It's true. If this was before, you'd be fretting all over him, his luggage already prepared the night before.  You roll your eyes. Fine, you'll pack for him then!

You go into the walk-in closet, and start placing folded clothes and personal belongings neatly into his suitcase. Before you close the zipper, you head over to the bedside drawer, take out a box of condoms, and was about to throw it into the suitcase as well. Your arm is grabbed roughly. "Where did this come from?" Caleb demands, eyes darkening. 

To be honest, you originally prepared it for your honeymoon though you never ended up using it. It's probably expired by now, but you thought it would be funny. You smile. “I prepared this especially for you. Tell me, aren't I a wonderful Mrs. Xia?” “You…” Caleb picks up the box and throws it forcefully into the trash can, “That'll be unnecessary! Even if I had a child, I could afford to raise it. Besides, I don’t plan on having one anytime soon!” He zips up the suitcase, locks it, and leaves with a huff.

T - 10 days You head to physical therapy again. While sitting in the waiting area for your appointment, your phone suddenly goes off. Your surprise turns into annoyance as you see the caller ID: Husband. Fortunately, there's not many people beside you. After picking up the call, you quietly say, "Hello".

"Why are you speaking so softly? What are you doing?" Caleb asks on the other end. "I'm at the doctor's, it's not good to talk loudly." You quickly take out earbuds, further lowering your voice to a whisper. "Why am I getting so many calls these days?" It's really annoying. He seems even more offended on the other end, "Your own husband can't call you? Are you annoyed at me?" More than annoyed! You roll your eyes "No, not really, it's just quite unsettling. What's wrong?" "Mrs. Xia!" He scoffs on the other end, "Can't I call you if there's nothing wrong?" " You're speechless for a second. This person is getting more and more irrational. "What instructions does the Colonel have for me?" you roll your eyes, not believing him. "You're kidding me!" His tone softens a bit, "I'm transferring flights, it's not boarding time yet, just wanted to see if you're up." So he really is bored! "Don't you have anything to say to me?" You pop a grape into your mouth, mumbling an "oh".  "Y/N!" ??? Why does it sound like he's about to get angry? "What are you eating that's more important than your husband's safety?" You finally swallow the grape, "You... you've been attacked?" A long sigh comes from the phone, "Never mind, you eat, just hearing your voice is enough, I'm about to board too." The call ended abruptly.

You look at your phone, listening to the dial tone, feeling utterly bewildered.

On the other end, MC glances at him several times. "Gege," she calls. "Hmm? Let's go get ready to board." "You seem to miss Y/N a lot. You've made so many calls since we left" she says tentatively.

Caleb doesn't notice her gaze, only frowning slightly. "Hmm, I don't know why, but I feel uneasy about this trip. I have a feeling something's going to happen." "You...are you worried something might happen to Y/N? Then ask Liam or someone to go check on her."  Caleb sighs. "Y/N doesn't know Liam that well. I don't think she'd appreciate it anyway." "Then what should we do?" MC asks worriedly. "Should I not have asked to come on this mission with you?" Caleb glances down at her and smiles. "It's okay. I called her already. Hearing her voice is enough to put my mind at ease." "Caleb, you actually...love Y/N very much, don't you?" MC asks with a smile, but a darker current ripples under her eyes. He pauses. "Y/N can't live without me. She's my responsibility, so Pips..." "I understand, Gege." MC smiles, interrupting his words gently and sweetly. "Don't forget, I'm the person who understands you best in the world."

T - 9 days It's a peaceful few days without having to see Caleb. Instead of the anxiety that once filled you every time he went away, you feel calm. As you begin packing your things, you get an invitation from one of your old dance buddies. Mina is visiting home on her trip back from abroad, now a professional dancer on Broadway. You eagerly agree to meet with her, catching up over lunch as the two of you reminisce over the good old times. She's initially a little hesitant to show you photos of herself on stage, worried it'd make you sad, but you quickly reassure her that was not to worry about. Later, as she helps you down the steps of the restaurant, you ask what her plans are for the rest of the day.

"Oh! Umm, I'm actually getting dinner with a larger group of our old classmates..." She looks at you with a flicker of hope in her eyes. "If you don't mind... would you like to join us?" "Of course!" You say with a smile. "I haven't seen everyone in so long. Do any of them know what happened with me?" You're referring to your leg. "That's where I need to apologize," Mina looks guilty. "I told them you injured your leg without asking your permission first... but nothing else!"

You understand. Your classmates, whom you haven't seen in a long time, would definitely ask how you were doing. Your leg injury was a fact, and you don't plan on hiding it forever.  "It's okay, really!" You're done feeling sorry for yourself. Your goal is to step out of the world Caleb had created for you, and in doing that, you will inevitably face all sorts of stares and judgement.  "Then I'll reply to them!" Mina says happily.

"Let's go! They said they're heading out soon". The meet-up location is nearby. By the time you and Mina get there, some of your classmates have already arrived. The enthusiasm they show you exceed your expectations. They mention your leg, even gathering around to examine it, but without malice, as if your leg wasn't anything serious, like a minor inconvenience like a cold. You liked this atmosphere; it's much better than deliberately trying to protect your pride. Everyone is treating you as a normal person, just with a leg injury.

It's a pleasant evening. The group sings old songs from high school on the karaoke. After three or four hours, you all get tired and sit down to chat, reminiscing about the past and having some drinks to liven things up. Even you, encouraged by everyone, drink quite a bit. Among your classmates, some have had good times, others have experienced setbacks. Talking about the past, people begin talking about regrets. Someone says, "If I had known this would happen, I would have studied harder in high school and not skipped so many classes." Another adds, "If I had known he also liked me, I definitely wouldn't have been a coward on graduation day; I would have confessed to him. I've missed my chance all these years." A good amount of sentimentality is triggered by the alcohol, and for a moment, everyone's eyes are filled with tears. From your teenage years to approaching thirty, everyone has had some regrets.

"Y/N, what about you? If you could do it all over again, what would you do?" someone asks you. You hold a glass of wine in your hands, ruminating in thought. The image of osmanthus blossoms from that Mid-Autumn Festival many years ago flashes before your eyes, twinkling like stars. You smile faintly, "If I could do it all over again..."

Caleb pushes open the door to the private room.

"If I could do it all over again, I want to eat all the mooncakes from that Mid-Autumn Festival in our second year of high school by myself! I'm not sharing it with anyone!"

Was it the alcohol? The bitterness in your heart is amplified. You take a deep breath and look up, only to see someone standing in the doorway under the flickering lights. Caleb. Your classmates don't quite understand what you're referring to, and assume it is some old pastry shop that has closed, the mooncakes never to be tasted again. You can't see it, but Caleb's fists clench at his side, knuckles turning white.

"Hey, Caleb!" Finally, someone notices him come in. You're a little dizzy, seeing two Calebs approach you. "Caleb Xia! You're so late, shouldn't you take three shots as punishment?" A classmate named Xavier places three glasses down in front of him. “Sorry, I'll have to decline.” Caleb puts his arm around you, looking down at your tipsy form. “I’m here to pick up my wife. I have to drive later.” “Call a cab!” Caleb gives a polite smile. “That won’t do. If I drink too much, who will take care of her?”

You are a little drunk, but still conscious enough to hear him and what's going on. Under the influence of alcohol though, your actions are more unrestrained. Your first instinct is to push Caleb aside, muttering, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Go away.” “Y/N, you’re really drunk. Let’s go home.” Caleb tries to pick you up. “No! I don’t want to go home…” You struggle in his arms. “Do you hear that? Y/N isn’t going home!” Xavier pushes Caleb's shoulder, forcing him back down. 

Mina senses something is off. Xavier had quite a bit to drink today and was probably drunk by now. Worried about the boys starting trouble, she quickly tries to break it up. "Alright, it's getting late. We've had our fun, let's start packing up." "No way!" Xavier doesn't back down, gripping Caleb's shoulder tightly. "You're not leaving until you finish this drink!" Caleb, as the Farspace Fleet Colonel, is incredibly perceptive. His expression darkens. "Xavier Shen, I'll let it slide since you've had too much to drink, but you'd better watch yourself!" "Watch myself?" The rage in Xavier's eyes are now impossible to conceal. "Caleb Xia, I'm telling you, watch yourself!"

Xavier moves to grab his collar, but not before having his wrists clamped forcefully by Caleb. "Xavier Shen! Did you come here to cause trouble?" "Yes!" He shouts, "I came here to cause trouble! Caleb, what the hell did you do to Y/N? What exactly did you do to her!?" He roars, his eyes bloodshot. Caleb's eyes sharpen, his hand still gripping his wrists, veins bulging on the back. "Listen here, Shen. My wife eats well, sleeps well, lives in a mansion, and I pamper her like a princess. Who are you to concern yourself with our marital affairs?"

"Is that so?" An incredulous laugh follows. Xavier didn't believe Caleb at all, both men rising from the sofa. "Then tell me, how did Y/N become like this? What happened to her leg? She's a dancer! When she dances on stage, she's as graceful as a swan. What did you do to her? Take good care of her? Why then did she become like this after getting married? Five years, and you've been covering it up, saying she doesn't want to come out and socialize! You're lying! Do you beat her at home!?"

"My wife and I are doing just fine! Why her foot is like this is her privacy, there's no need for me to explain it to you, Xavier! Don't forget your place in front of me, and don't you dare try to play any tricks on my wife!" Caleb yanks harshly, pushing the other man away so hard the buttons on his collar pop off.

Already quite drunk, Xavier loses his balance, staggers a couple of steps, and falls onto the coffee table, knocking over a bunch of bottles and plates. "Caleb, I've wanted to beat you up for ages!" He scrambles up and lunges at him. Fearing trouble, rest of your classmates rush forward to restrain him. "Caleb! Take Y/N and leave! He's drunk, and you haven't been drinking - calm down Xavier! Don't cause any more trouble!"

Caleb tugs at his collar, giving Xavier one last cold look, then puts his arm around your waist and lifts you up. "Let's go, my wife. Don't come to parties like this again." You're practically dragged and carried away by Caleb.

"Why didn't you let Y/N attend the class reunion!" Xavier shouts from behind you. "Caleb Xia, what skeletons do you have hiding in your closet?!"   Caleb stops. "I don't feel guilty about anything. You better not be the one with things to hide!" "Me? Guilty?" he laughs. "Alright then, Caleb, I have a question for you! Were you the one who threw away all the love letters I put in Y/N's locker back then?"

Love letters? How did you not know that Xavier Shen had written you love letters? You glance back, only to be swept up in Caleb's arms and quickly carried out of the private room.

Everyone else is left exchanging bewildered glances: Xavier liked you back in high school? Xavier struggles against the boys, shouting, "Let me go! I'm going to beat Caleb Xia to death! That fucking hypocrite!" "Xavier, you're drunk, stop it." They don't let go, afraid he'd really chase after you. “Call him back here!" Xavier demands. “I’m going to call him here! I’m going to teach him a lesson!” “Xavier! Get your head screwed on straight!” “Don’t stop me! Do you know how much Y/N loved to dance? She was in the practice room before class, after school, and weekends too! Sometimes she’ll even do a somersault while walking! She’s such a passionate dancer, a perfectly healthy person, and now her leg is injured - there's no way she's not heartbroken about it! That bastard Caleb Xia keeps lying to us, saying Y/N doesn't like going out. He's done something to her, I bet my fucking life on it!”

Caleb's already brought you to his car, carefully placing you in the passenger seat.  The minute he gets into the driver's seat, he catches you trying to open to the door, and he immediately locks it.  "Open the door! I want out!" You feel your head spinning, the alcohol really settling in." "You're drunk, Y/N." He says, sighing. "I'm not drunk!" You insist. You clearly heard many voices back there, and you heard Caleb call you his "wife." Something is wrong! He's never called you "wife" before, only ever by name, or at most "Mrs. Xia" when he's angry at you, and you can sense that he uses the term sarcastically. Moreover, you can tell he's in an unhappy mood right now!

He rolls down the window, letting you get some fresh air.

"What did you mean by what you said in the private room?" Caleb's voice sounds particularly cold in the cool breeze. "What...what did I mean?" What was he talking about? You said a lot of stuff today. "You said you wouldn't give your mooncakes to anyone else, what did you mean?" He rests his hands on the steering wheel, looking ahead, his eyes sharp. "Um...not...not for Caleb Xia." Your head feels heavy, and you close your eyes tightly. "Why?"  You smile, sad laugh escaping your lips. "Because I don't want to pursue him anymore...I gave my mooncakes to the wrong person..." "Is that so? The wrong person?" Caleb leans closer, "Who are you going to give them to then?" "Give them to..." Your mind is a little confused. Who else would you give them to? "To Xavier?" He suddenly speaks as if interrogating you, his tone fierce.

The name reminds you that you had supposedly gotten multiple love letters. You frown, eyes getting hazy, looking at the face before you, murmuring, "Why did you throw away my love letters? They were from someone else." "I'm the class monitor!" Caleb says sternly. "The school doesn't encourage early relationships!" You furrow your brows... that reasoning...  You punch his shoulder hard. "What's it to you? You're just the class monitor, not even my homeroom teacher! The love letters he gave me are my privacy, what does it have to do with you! Why did you throw them away, you bully!"

Your eyes are blurry. Although your punches don't hurt much, each one lands with force, solidly striking his shoulders and chest. "Are you angry?" He grasps your hand. "You're angry because I threw away your love letters?" "Of course I'm angry! If someone wrote me a love letter..." You vaguely recall how you felt back in high school. The mess of hormones in early puberty, the insecurities you had, the self-consciousness about every little thing about you. Mina and the girls around you all received gifts and notes from boys, but you never did. You weren't very close with your parents, having grown up by your grandparents' side. But it seemed to you that no one, not even your parents, loved you, let alone any boys. You weren't sad about not receiving any confessions, but if you did, it at least would have been an important form of affirmation; at least you were good in someone's eyes. 

“What if you did? Would you date him?” Caleb presses on relentlessly. Your frown deepens. When did you ever say you wanted to date someone?

“Let me tell you, those boys were all immature squirts back then! Whether it's Xavier or whoever else you wanted to give your mooncakes to! You're easily moved by anyone who shows you kindness! You'd only ended up getting taken advantage of!” Your face contorts into a grimace. You're barely holding onto your consciousness and Caleb's stupid face seems to multiply into four in your vision. You shake your head, trying to shake the other three Calebs away. “No... Xavier isn’t that kind of person you’re describing.” The Xavier you recall is a sleepy boy, getting in trouble for napping in class, often found under the shade of trees with a stray cat in his lap. “Then what kind of person is he?” Caleb suddenly raises his voice. “And the other person you had in mind, who is he?” “He’s… genuine... and very kind. If he’s good to someone… he’ll always be good to them…” A flash of white hair enters your mind. You try to remember a face, thinking really hard, but only seeing the creases of someone's summer uniform. You didn't interact with him much in high school, but you knew he secretly kept a crow as a pet on his dorm window ledge—a pitiful little thing he picked up one day and never let go. "He's... a good person..." you mumble. ".... Q...qin..." 

You black out.

T - 8 days You wake up to a splitting headache, nauseous and parched. The midday sun is high in the sky. Stumbling down from the bed, you trip and fall with a loud 'thud'. You rub your eyes, trying to clear the fog still in your brain, but before you find your balance again, you're being lifted and put back into soft sheets. 

Caleb stands at the bedside, looking displeased, but to your surprise, doesn't scold you about your clumsiness as he usually does. You purse your lips, also not particularly eager to talk about what happened last night.  He brings you a try of light breakfast foods; some chicken soup congee, pancakes, and a few side dishes. "Eat. Mrs. Chen is off today. I cooked."

You stare at the food in front of you, head still in a daze. The colonel... cooked for you?  This is the second time you've ever eaten something Caleb has made for you. The first since you got married.  Slowly picking up your spoon, your mind flashes back to the last time you experienced this.

You were only in your first year of high school, your homeroom had organized a camping trip. Outside, all your classmates run around joyfully, like lambs in a field. Yet Caleb was already a quiet and reliable person, getting ready for lunch. He was always clean and tidy, presentable and strong. That day on the camping trip was the most disheveled you had ever seen him.  He knew how to cook, but that didn't mean he was able to do it easily outdoors.  He couldn't figure out how to start the fire. He struggled earnestly, face and hands stained with soot.

You were different. When you were young, your grandparents brought you back to the village often. You built fires, scaled trees, and caught insects with all the other children over there. Despite being in a different group, you felt bad watching him struggle like that, so you go over, emptied his stove, and started a fire for him. He stared at the blazing flames, momentarily stunned. Perhaps too self-conscious of his disheveled appearance, he didn't even thank you. But afterwards, his performance became much more consistent. Judging from the way he cooked, it was clear he was used to doing domestic chores at home.  His group thanked him by saving the chicken leg for him. But he didn't eat it. As he passed your group, he places the drumstick in your bowl. 

That was the moment your heart started pounding for him, despite being the first of only a handful of times you ever interacted with him.  That night, your dreams were filled with his image; his determined face, covered with soot, his slender fingers as he cut the vegetables, his meticulous and focused expression as he cooked… The next day in class, you watch his profile as you absent-mindedly filled a whole page with his name, “Caleb Xia”… Later, that piece of paper disappeared, but those words were etched firmly in your heart, impossible to erase.

The next time you ask him a question was after parent-teacher conferences. The teacher took note of students whose parents did not show up. You were one of them. Coincidentally, he was too. Classmates whisper about what happened. A few of the students failed to inform their parents about the meetings, afraid of punishment for their poor grades. But Caleb wasn't like that. He was at the top of the class.  "Caleb Xia! You got first place in the entire grade, why aren't your parents here? If I got your score, my parents, grandparents, and even my dog would come!" someone yells. Other students chimed in, "Yeah, Caleb, you got good grades, why aren't your parents here?" He replies simply. "Don't ask, they're dead."

Later, you witness something you probably shouldn't have seen.  Caleb stands in an inconspicuous corner by the school's back gate. A dark car pulls up in front of him, the window rolled down, and he throws a wad of cash at the driver, hitting him in the face. The person in the car points a finger at him, cursing, “You scoundrel! You think just because your parents offed themselves that you're safe with little old grandma?" You're stunned. Unaware of his family's situation.  Caleb is stubborn, refusing to reply before he turns and walks away. The driver calls after him shouting, "You'll join us one day, Caleb! Let's see how you survive!" The sunset was blinding, bathing him in a golden light. He laughs defiantly, "Don't worry! I'd rather be bought out by a rich old lady than go with you!"  What kind of talk was that! Coming from a high schooler! 

You don't know where you got the courage that day, but you walk up to him, eyes wide, voice panicked, "Caleb, whatever you do, don't sell yourself out like that!" You don't know if you were imagining things, but you saw something that looked like glistening tears in his eyes in the setting sun. They flash for a moment before he turns away, coldly smiling, "So, you're going to sponsor me?" You fall silent. That was Caleb's most irrational moment. Even now, more than a decade later, you never saw him as vulnerable again.

The next day, you take a math problem to him and ask how to solve it. He raises a single eyebrow, not saying a word. You thought he had refused, your head hanging low. Finally, he tore off a piece of scratch paper and began to explain while drawing on it. He talked for the entire break before finally asking, "Do you understand now?" You nod frantically. Then throw down five dollars and run back to your seat, completely unaware of Caleb's expression behind you.

You didn't have an allowance either, saving up those five dollars from running small errands here and there for other classmates and neighbors.

After school, Caleb blocked you on your way to the dorms. He stood under a sycamore tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over him.  You don't dare to lift your head, trying to walk past him.  He stands in front of you. "Why aren't you looking at me?" The heat was unbearable, making your face flush. You're too embarrassed to say anything.  He scoffs, "you were quite bold earlier when you wanted to buy me out." You lower your head even further. "I...I didn't mean..." A five-dollar note is thrust in front of you. "Isn't this it? You think you can keep me for five dollars? Before you can even clarify that you just wanted him to tutor you, he interrupts you, shoving the money back into your hands, swiftly leaving you behind with a single sentence: "I don't need your pity."

Your heart ached.

Later, he skipped three days of class. When you saw him outside school with a black armband pinned to his sleeve, when he returned to class and said, "Y/N, my grandmother passed away," your heart ached like that again; the pain crashing down like a tidal wave.

That Mid-Autumn Festival, everyone went home for a reunion dinner with their families and ate mooncakes, including you. You went to your grandparents' house. But he no longer had a grandmother to go back to. After dinner, on your way back to school, the osmanthus trees near the dormitory were in full bloom, their fragrance rich and intoxicating. By sheer coincidence, you see him standing there, alone. You hand him a mooncake, filled with fresh meat, made by your grandmother. That night, you sat together under the osmanthus tree, eating mooncakes. Neither of you said a word. After finishing the mooncake, he went to the classroom, and you went back to your dorm. The warm feeling from that night haunted you, driving you to accept his proposal 5 years later, despite not knowing each other well at all.

You once saw a comment online that said "Feeling sorry for a man will make you unhappy for life." You didn't know what that meant back then. Now, you understand.

T - 7 days Only a week left.

It's routine now, heading to your physical therapy appointment. With your departure so close, you try a more rigorous session. Carrying weight, light hops, landing on your bad foot.  Due to the strain, your entire  body aches from head to toe. You're sweating almost immediately. Within five minutes, you are completely drenched.

“If you can’t keep going, just say so. Don’t force yourself,” the therapist comments. Sweating heavily, you nod. “I know. I’m fine. I can manage…” Before you finish speaking, you collapse to the ground with a thud. “Are you alright?” they rush forward to help you up, but someone pushes past them. You are suddenly lifted into someone’s arms. When you look up, you meet Caleb’s anxious eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” You try to struggle, but your muscles give you. Held in his arms, you see a dark storm swirling in Caleb’s eyes.

“What exactly is she doing?” Caleb asks the therapist this time. “Sir, she’s in physical therapy. Rehab.” Caleb scoffs. “Rehabilitation? What kind of rehab is this? Looks like it's doing more harm than good.” “Caleb!” you grit out. “You stay out of this!”

He's already carrying you out.

“Caleb!” “Sir, Ms. Y/N's recovery—” You and the nurse speak at the same time, but Caleb abruptly cuts you both off as he walks away.

“She’s not doing it anymore.” “Caleb, you have no right to decide my affairs!” Anger burns in your chest. When you needed him most, he was never there. And now he suddenly appears just to interfere with your plans? You're already out in the hall, in full view of nurses, patients, and waiting family members. He carries you straight through the clinic.

“Caleb!” You hate your own helplessness right now, but very time you try to move, your muscles scream in pain. You can't simply jump out of his arms.

Zayne Li, a previous upperclassman and now doctor, happens to walk out of his consultation room and notices the commotion. He approaches the two of you with concern. “What’s wrong? Y/N, is the rehabilitation not going well?” "Dr. Li, can you explain why my wife is in so much pain? Are you sure your rehabilitation training facilities here are sound?" You're shocked by how Caleb treats an old acquaintance, glaring at the doctor. His tone carries not only doubt, but a hint of accusation. Zayne explains patiently. “This rehabilitation program Y/N chose is indeed intense and very challenging. But if she perseveres, I can promise it will be effective. The pain is like bones being rebuilt. As her husband—”

“As her husband, I refuse to let her undergo such a cruel course!” Caleb interrupts sharply. His face is ashen as he carries you away. You are furious. Turning toward Zayne, you say quickly, “Dr. Li, I’m sorry, I—” “Shut it!" Caleb snaps.

He carries you straight to the parking lot and shoves you into the car.

The nurse runs after you, handing you your bag. “Ms. Y/N, you…” “I’ll come again tomorrow,” you say with a faint smile. The pain today was almost unbearable, but you have no intention of giving up.

Once you set your mind on something, the word "quit" isn't in your dictionary. Just like years ago, when you discovered your love for dance, you pursued it without hesitation. Like when you fell in love at sixteen, you pursued it wholeheartedly, even if it meant running repeatedly into a wall and coming away bruised. And like now, determined to get back up on your feet—you will never look back.

Caleb closes the car door, and gets into the drivers seat. “You won't be coming back here tomorrow.” “Caleb!” You're livid. “What right do you have to interfere with my freedom?” “Because,” he says slowly, word by word, “I’m your husband.”

You think about everything that's happened and could only laugh at his statement.

“My husband? A man who dedicates his whole life to another woman is my husband? Caleb, don’t be ridiculous.” So funny that you almost don’t even feel sad anymore.

Caleb turns the rearview mirror toward you. “Look at yourself. Look at what you look like now.”

You glance at your reflection.

Your hair is soaked with sweat. Your face is damp, and your clothes cling to your body after the brutal training. You look disheveled—truly disheveled. Even now your lips tremble slightly, and your hands still shake. But you don’t think anything is wrong. This is proof of your effort.

“What’s wrong with me?” You touch the healthy flush on your cheeks, satisfied.

“Y/N, you don’t need to…” Caleb sighs. “I know you’re being stubborn. MC is back. She’s more beautiful than you, healthier than you, more capable than you. You’re upset, so you push yourself like this, wanting to prove yourself to her.”

You stare at him. Is he out of his goddamn mind?

“Y/N, you don’t have to suffer like this. Seeing you so exhausted makes my heart ache.” His gaze softens. “You don’t need to compare yourself with anyone. No matter what state you're in, you’re still Mrs. Xia. That will never change.”

“Anxious? Me, competing with your MC?” You interrupt incredulously, unable to hold it in it any longer. “Caleb, how dare you!” “First, I have never compared my beauty, health, or ability with your dear Pipsqueak. Second, my life is full of wonderful things, none of which involve you or her. And finally, I've told you a hundred times: whether or not I’m Mrs. Xia, I don't give a shit!"

What on earth makes him think your entire life revolves around MC?

But Caleb refuses to believe you. His expression shifts from gentle to mocking. “Y/N, if you weren’t jealous, would you be so determined to make me jealous? You’re wrong. It will only push me further away.”

You roll your eyes. Talking to someone like this is exhausting.

“And you say you don’t care?” Caleb sneers. “The more someone lacks something, the more they pretend not to want it. Y/N, don’t think I don’t know. You had a crush on me in high school. You asked me to help you with homework just to get my attention. You gave me mooncakes during Mid-Autumn Festival because you wanted to pursue me. After university, you even risked your life to save me. And now you say you don’t care? Who would believe that?”

You freeze.

You thought that after everything you’ve been through, nothing could hurt you anymore. But you underestimated how deeply this relationship could still wound you.

He knows everything.

Yes, you once liked him, but that was a secret you kept to yourself. You asked him to tutor you because you wanted a way to pay him without hurting his pride. You gave him mooncakes during Mid-Autumn Festival simply because you wanted him to feel a little warmth on that lonely holiday. And later, when you saved him… Even though it left you with a limp, you never expected repayment—let alone marriage.

You had already accepted defeat in this marriage. You built a hard shell around yourself, telling yourself not to feel pain anymore. Yet somehow, every act of kindness you once showed him has become an arrow he now shoots back at you, piercing straight through your armor.

You suddenly feel too tired to explain anything. When the day finally comes that you leave him completely, he will understand whether you ever cared about the title of Mrs. Xia.

Seeing you fall silent, Caleb reaches out and wraps an arm around your shoulders again. You hold your breath.

You remember a Mid-Autumn night long ago. The two of you sat under an osmanthus tree eating mooncakes. He smelled faintly of sweet osmanthus. That fragrance drifted through your youth for years, warming you. But now, when Caleb comes close, all you smell is suffocating perfume.

Disgusted, you turn away and slap his hand aside. “Don't touch me. I told you—it disgusts me.” Anger flashes through Caleb’s eyes. Yet he doesn’t shout. Instead, his voice softens. “Y/N, I know you love me. The vow I made will never change. You will always be my Mrs. Xia."

These words have never sounded so grating against your ears. 

T - 6 days Today is the day you are scheduled to pick up your visa. You pack your purse carefully, pausing when the little rectangular piece of plastic that has always lived in your shared bedroom drawer is gone. Where did your ID go? You look everywhere in the room. Still nothing. Your pulse rising, you think back to the last few days. You haven't touched it at all. Caleb! He was rummaging through here this morning.

You immediately pick up your cell phone to call him. Shockingly, he answers on the first ring. "Caleb, do you have my ID?" You ask, slightly breathless. "Good morning to you to," he says sarcastically. "Caleb! Is it with you!" You press on. "Yes." His reply is short and straight to the point. "Why did you take it?" You're exasperated, concerned you'll have to reschedule for later. "Why do you need it?" He shocks you by turning your question against you. "None of your business! I need it today." A slight pause from him on the other end. "Come get it then." "Get it... from your workplace?" You say incredulously. "If you want it, come get it." He hangs up. You stare at your phone dumbfoundedly. Then immediately call a cab to the Farspace Fleet HQ.

You've never really came to his workplace in the five years you spent together. The only other time you recall entering the building wasn't the most unpleasant experience for you either.  You text him as you enter, informing him of your arrival. He doesn't reply this time. You call, but it doesn't go through. You frown. Was he in a meeting? You don't have all day, so you are forced to go to the front counter and reveal your identity.

"The Colonel's wife?" The receptionist looks at you and laughs. "Young lady, everyone who comes here claims to be the Colonel's wife. If you're going to think of an excuse, find one that's less cliché." "I'm serious. Call the Colonel, and tell him Y/N is here. He'll know to come down." You're not in the mood to play games.  "That's what they all say. If we did that, you'd think the Colonel wouldn't have time for anything other than dealing with people like you all day." The receptionist rolled her eyes and muttered. "People like me?" You frown. "And pray, what am I?" "Shameless women who want to climb the social ladder without working for it!" the receptionist laughs. "At least other women come here with presentable features, but now we're getting cripples? You should at least know your place!"

Is it really true that birds of a feather flock together? You can't wrap your head around her thinking. Why is it that no stranger outside of Caleb's circle harbor any ill will towards you and your leg, while everyone around Caleb is like this? You're thinking of going home and getting your marriage certificate to prove your place; you certainly aren't going anywhere by talking to the workers down here. 

Just then, the elevator door opens, and Liam walks out. Seeing the Adjutant, the receptionist immediately turns respectful. "Adjutant Lin!" She greets him properly.  "Madam Y/N, I am the Colonel's Adjutant. Please come with me." He leads the way, letting you into the elevator. The two of you head straight to the top floor.

"The Colonel is in a meeting right now," he explains, leading you to a small office. "Please wait in here for now."  You thank him and put your bag down. A few minutes later, a knock is heard, and a lady emerges from the door.  "Ms. Y/N, I am the Colonel's secretary. Would you like something to drink?"  "Anything is fine, or just water," you reply. She returns with a glass of juice. "Is passionfruit drink ok?" "That's wonderful, thank you." You take the glass.  "Just sit tight, I'll come get you once the meeting ends." She smiles, and closes the door behind her. 

Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty, and thirty.  You watch the time tick by, growing impatient. Finally, you get up to open the conference room door, only to find it locked from the outside. Damn it! You still need to pick up your visa this afternoon. You frantically call Caleb's phone, but strangely, no one picks up despite the call going through. You're smart enough to know that this is most certainly a setup, but you don't have the time nor heart to figure out who orchestrated this entire thing or what their purpose was. You just wanted to get your visa. You pound on the door, frantically, yelling, but no one answers.  You sit down and pick up the passion fruit lemonade, drinking it down in one gulp. Hands trembling, you quickly type out an email rescheduling your visa appointment.

Suddenly, your face begins to itch. This isn't passion fruit lemonade at all…

You check the time: another ten minutes had passed. Neither Liam nor the secretary had returned, and nobody else knew you were here… You feel your throat closing, as your breathing gets heavier.  You drag yourself, limping to the door, continuing to pound on it as you are no longer able to make any noise. You catch sight of a red box. 

Throughout the office, everyone is methodically going about their work when suddenly, the building's fire alarms start blaring loudly.  "What's going on?" People run out of their cubicles and offices to see what's going on. "Someone pulled the fire alarm on the top floor! Everyone evacuate!"

Caleb also hears the noise, and comes out immediately.  "What's going on? How can there be a fire up here?" His eyelids have been twitching all day. He had a strange, ominous premonition.

Thunk... thunk... thunk...

It sounds like someone is weakly banging on the door. "Who's in there?" Caleb asks urgently, kicking the door. MC appears from behind him, clinging to his shoulder. "Gege! Don't go in there! It could be dangerous!" "Someone's in here!" Caleb shouts. "Caleb... Help... help me... Caleb..."  A weak cry, barely audible over the commotion in the hall. Caleb's eyes widen in shock. "Y/N! Y/N! Is that you in there? Y/N answer me!" He forcefully shakes off MC's hand, barging against the door with his shoulder. "Someone! Help! Open the door!"

With a loud bang, he breaks the door down. 

You're on the floor, fallen to the side. Body red, face nearly turning purple.  "Y/N!" he cries, quickly picking you up. "Call an ambulance!" His roar echoes throughout the entire floor. His voice startles you, as you weakly open your eyes, looking at the familiar yet unfamiliar face in front of you. You want to raise your hand to check if it is real, but your arm refuses to move.  You try to speak, but no sound comes out. You manage a weak smile and barely manage to mouth the words: "if... I'm dead... won't... owe me anything... you'll... free.." "Stop it! You won't die!" Caleb runs down dozens of flights of stairs. You close your eyes. You don't mind saying goodbye to all of this. "Y/N, don't sleep on me, ok? Wake up! Wake up, you hear me?" The last thing you her is Caleb's frantic voice. 

T - 5 days You wake up in the hospital after getting an acute dose of epinephrine. Zayne gives you a thorough examination, and finds no other acute problems. After determining you're stable enough to step down to the observation area, he scolds you seriously. "Walking around without an epipen with a serious allergy? You could've died from anaphylaxis! How could you be so careless?"

Caleb is still somewhat shaken by it all. "An allergic reaction? Y/N, what did you eat that caused this?" You sit there silently.

"Let's observe her a little longer. There are still a few results pending. We'll see what happens when the results come back," Zayne says before leaving.

Caleb sighs and sits down beside you, continuing to carefully dab at your neck and shoulders with the cotton swab.  It stings a little. You frown and turn away. "Don't move, Y/N. I'm trying to clean it. Don't want any infections from your blisters." The words sound familiar. In the early days after your injury, he had said similar things. But it was that gentleness, this feigned gentleness, that gave you false hope and expectation in him.  He's acting so kind again - what's he trying to do?

You no longer trust anything he says. 

“I remember you’re allergic to apples. Did you eat apples before coming to the HQ today? But Mrs. Chen knows not to buy them... Did you eat something new on your way here?” His tone is like coaxing a child… You purse your lips, giving him a cold laugh. “I didn’t eat anything. I’m calling the police.” your tone is firm. “Call the police?” Caleb frowns. There's a rustling sound outside the room. You turn around to see that MC had arrived.

T - 4 days MC stands outside holding a bouquet of flowers, looking cautious and timid. "Caleb, how is Y/N? I wanted to come see her, but I was worried she wouldn't want to see me." "Y/N's fine, she just needs some rest," Caleb says, knowing you indeed dislike her. "I appreciate your sentiment, but she's in a bad mood right now, you should go back." "Hmm..." MC purses her lips, eyes rimmed with tears. "Caleb, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. As your personal assistant, I was careless, causing Y/N to suffer like this. I'm so glad she's alright, otherwise... otherwise, I don't know what I would do..." She starts crying.

You, still in the room, hear everything. MC joined the Farspace Fleet as Caleb's personal assistant? So that's why she went on the mission with him. However, since she's his assistant, everything that happened today makes sense now. 

You grab your bag, turning on your phone.  "What are you doing?" Caleb comes back seeing you enter your password. "I told you, I'm calling the police." You successfully unlock it. 

MC rushes into the room, Gideon behind her now. "Y/N, tread carefully. This is the Farspace Fleet HQ we're talking about. Are you sure the authorities will respond to this? What happened in the meeting room was an accident, I swear." "Oh? And how would you know it was an accident?" you scoff. "Were you the one who locked the door?" MC's face immediately turns pale. "How could you say that about me! It was Secretary Lu who led you to the conference room, she was the one who brought you the apple juice. She said the door was locked from the inside!" "Apple juice?" You look into MC's flustered eyes. You have a pretty good idea of what's going on now. "I never said I drank apple juice, how did you know it was apple juice?" MC avoids your eyes. "No, I... As Caleb's personal assistant, I checked everything before coming here! Secretary Lu explained everything that happened from picking you up to asking you to wait in the conference room." "Is that so?" You turn to look at Caleb. "There aren't many people in this world who knows I'm allergic to apple juice. Not even my parents." Only your grandparents. And Caleb. 

Caleb's face stiffens.

You remain unusually calm. "Caleb Xia, your secretary kept telling me she gave me passion fruit juice. How did it turn into apple juice? Did Secretary Lu deliberately tamper with it, or did someone switch the drink around? And Caleb, who have you told about my apple juice allergy?" MC's face is deathly pale.  You don't wait for her to reply. "And the doors? There's security cameras all over the Farspace HQ. A quick check will bring everything to light. Of course, if the cameras were tampered with... that's a whole different issue. So I'm going to have to call the police about it". 

Caleb's face drops, his expression changing drastically. "Pips... did you really...?"

She runs forward to grab his arm. "No Gege! I swear! It wasn't me, it must've just been a joke!" "A joke?" you sneer. "Your group seems to love joking around the most. I've lived for over twenty five years and never knew that you guys had jokes that could kill people!" "No, no, no.." MC shakes her head violently, "Gege, listen to me! It wasn't me, I promise-" "She's lying" you say flatly, dialing the tone.

Gideon, unable to contain himself any longer, smacks the phone out of your hands. "Who's lying! You're the one lying, for your own selfish reasons, slandering an innocent person!" His line of thinking is really quite creative, giving everyone else a new inspiration to ride off of.  "Y/N," MC cries, looking at you with disbelief, "I can't believe you hate me this much, that you'd put your own life in danger to frame me! If you hate me that much, just kick me out! Don't torment Caleb like this! Do you care for him at all? Do you know how terrified he was? I never thought it'd all be staged!" Gideon scoffs, "isn't acting pitiful her specialty? Wasn't her saving Caleb five years ago the same thing? She wanted to force him into marrying her!"

You knew all too well how cruel Gideon could be, and how little he thought of you. Yet you never expected him to say something so shameless: that you saving Caleb five years ago was self-sabotage to trick him into marriage!

Sometimes, when anger reaches its peak, it paradoxically turns into calm. You look at Caleb, despite knowing time and time again that he won't side with you. But in this moment, you just want to ask him one question: if he thought the same as Gideon.  Then it wouldn't just be a matter of you being foolish. You would've been better off saving a dog five years ago. 

"Caleb," you stand, not a ripple of emotion behind your eyes. "Come here." Caleb, sandwiched between Gideon and MC, looks at you.  "Caleb, don't go!" Gideon and MC say it almost simultaneously.

His gaze meets yours. After a brief silence, Caleb stands up and walks to you.  You look at the man you had risked your life for, the man you "traded" your leg for.  You calmly ask, "Do you think so too?" He doesn't speak. "You also..." you stare into deep amethyst eyes, the echo of the conversation you had with him after he interrupted your physical therapy still ringing in your ears. "You also think that today's events were done on purpose? You also think that I saved you five years ago expecting you to marry me?"

Something in Caleb's eyes narrow, and he looks away. "Say it, Caleb! Look at me!"  A minute of silence passes. "Yes."

You gasp, as if that would force you to swallow the pain, but your vision still blurs  uncontrollably. The quiet but resolute "yes" feels like a boulder crashing into your chest, the lingering pain still reverberating over and over after the initial damage. How could someone who has been hurt to this extent still be sad?

smack!

Your handprint remains on Caleb's face where you slapped him; your fingernails leaving a thin trace of blood, particularly striking on his handsome features. "Get out." "Y/N-" "Get the FUCK out or I will."

You don't even wait for him to make a decision - you stumble out of the room without looking back.

T - 3 days You collapse onto the bed when you get home, your body still throbbing with pain. Mrs. Chen calls you for dinner, but you're too exhausted to move.  "Bring it in," say. Except for the initial period after your accident when you were bed-bound, you never got into the habit of eating in bed.  You cherished your home with Caleb so much that you couldn't bear to see anything dirty or out of place. Looking back, you laugh at your stupid thinking. What good is a house if you don't use it? 

After you finish eating, Mrs. Chen takes the plate away and asks if you want to take a bath. You nod. "Please run me some water, and then change the bedding to clean ones."  "Okay." She leaves to start running the water.

You try to get out of bed and make your way to the bath yourself, but after only a few steps, your legs feel weak. Your body's overexertion and emotional outburst from earlier don't make your condition any better.  Mrs. Chen comes back out and is worried to see your trembling, unstable figure. "Madam, shall I help you?" You take a deep breath and nod.  She helps you to the bathroom and didn't let go until you're comfortably seated in the bathtub. "Thank you," you say. 

You lean back, the warm water soothing every inch of your skin, easing the soreness and making you feel much more comfortable. After a while, the water cools, and you call for Mrs. Chen again. You still don't want to open your eyes.  

Footsteps approach and stop at the edge of the bathtub, but you hear no movement afterwards. You frown. "Mrs. Chen..." You open your eyes to see Caleb. "Why are you here?" You're startled, instinctively covering any part of your body above the water. "Get out!" You call loudly for Mrs. Chen. "Mrs. Chen won't come in." He looks down at you, his gaze deep. "Mrs. Chen!" you continue to call, unwilling to give up. "You think Mrs. Chen is going to listen to you, or the person who pays her salary? He leans down, his face suddenly very close to yours, so close that you can clearly see his bloodshot eyes and your own reflection in his pupils. "What exactly do you want?" You grip the edge of the bathtub tightly, your defenses fully raised.

He reaches into the soapy water, grabbing your shoulders and lifting you entirely out of the tub. You feel a chill run down your spine. This is the first time you've been completely exposed in front of Caleb. Humiliation and panic overwhelms you in an instant. "Let go of me, you dirty bastard!" You begin to struggle in his arms, but it's an useless endeavor. “If you want to fall and get hurt, then keep being stubborn!” His deep voice carries a threatening tone. You come to your senses and slowly stop. You can't risk getting hurt now. You're leaving in a couple days. You can't afford to have any more accidents.

“Not moving anymore?” he asks, revealing no emotion. “Caleb Xia, don't make me hate you.” You say. He gives you a bitter smile. “Don't you hate me enough already?” You remain silent. Your relationship with Caleb has indeed reached a point of no return.

He snorts coldly, wrapping you in a bath towel, and walks out of the bathroom back to the bedroom, placing you on the bed. He sits you on the edge and goes back, reappearing with a hairdryer.  As he plugs it in, blowing hot air into your wet hair, you're momentarily stunned.  What's he trying to do? Apologize? Make it up to you? Or is it just all for MC again? The only sound in the room is the roar of the hairdryer; neither of you speak. After he finishes, he rummages through the bedside drawer, clumsily tying your hair up into a knot. 

Several bruises on the top of your back and shoulders from falling reveal themselves  He stares at them for a moment, then forcefully rips away the towel wrapped around you. "Look at yourself! What are you doing to yourself these days, doing that stupid rehab?!" What does this have to do with him at all? You quickly pull the blanket back over herself, glaring at him with hostility. "Caleb, believe me, I really will kill you." He sits down opposite from you, his eyes filled with sarcasm. "We've been married for five years, and this is your attitude when I try to touch you?"

What else does he expect? What attitude should you have?

You smile mockingly. "Caleb, I told you. Your hands are dirty. Also, if you touch me, aren't you afraid your Pipsqueak will be heartbroken?" He doesn't reply, only pushing you down onto the bed, but doesn't move to pull away the blanket. You feel his warm hand on your calf. He's massaging your scars again? You give up struggling, already somewhat familiar with his methods. Unsolicited kindness is always suspicious; he must want something from you. He continues applying ointment to your bruises, from your leg up to your arms, then your back.  Once he's done, he covers you with a blanket, meeting your cold gaze. You look at him with no hint of gratefulness, just waiting. He tucks you in more tightly, forcing a bitter smile. "Y/N, how did we get to this point?"

He's asking you why things had come to this? Didn't he know?

He sighs deeply. "Y/N, let's talk about this calmly." You consider it for a moment. Since MC appeared, you've always been calm, never wavering. It's him, on the other hand, who was always emotional because of MC. “Caleb Xia, I don’t know what we have to talk about anymore,” you say indifferently. “I’ve already made myself clear.” Caleb's hand reaches under the covers to find your hand and grasps it tightly. “Y/N, I didn’t want this. From the beginning until now, I swear I've been sincere in wanting to live a good life with you.” “Is that so?” you sneer. “From the beginning? Didn't you think I was a venomous woman who used a self-inflicted injury to force you to marry me?”

Caleb closes his eyes, remaining silent for a long time. “Colonel Xia,” you smile, “Please let go of my hand and get me a bottle of disinfectant” When Caleb opens his eyes, the bloodshot veins are particularly noticeable. He doesn't ask why, just gets up to fetch it, and hands it to you.

You prop yourself up on the bed, and begins methodically spraying it on your hands, arms, legs, stomach, back—everywhere he had just touched. Caleb's expression instantly changes. "What are you doing?" "I'm disinfecting myself. I told you, your hands are dirty." You finish spraying and calmly place the alcohol bottle on the bedside table. "You…" Caleb is aggravated again. You simply turn over and lie down to sleep.

After a while, Caleb finally speaks to you again, his voice soft. "We've been married for five years. In these five years, I haven't wronged you, have I?" Five years... your heart clenches. You don't want to look back on the past five years. "I'm so grateful to you for saving me back then, and for giving me a chance to atone. For the past five years, I've given you everything I could. So can you do just one more thing? If you agree to this favor, I'll do anything you ask from now on." Here it comes…

"You want me to drop the case and reconcile with MC and your two cronies?" You cut to the chase.

T - 2 days Yes," Caleb says, his voice utterly broken. "I'm sorry, Y/N, I have to protect MC. She was the only light in the darkest moments of my life." Your heart sinks to the bottom of the ocean. What in the world is Caleb thinking? Telling his lawful wife that another woman is his only light, and expecting you to help him?

"Y/N," he continues, "you know that my grandmother was the most important person in my life. MC was good friends with Zayne, an upperclassman whose parents were doctors. Through her connections was how my grandma was able to get treatment after she fell ill. One evening, when I visited Grandma, there was a bottle of origami cranes beside her pillow. The nurse said it was a gift from a volunteer. They said that with the blessing of a thousand cranes, Grandma would definitely recover. Caleb chokes up a little. "Grandma didn't recover. The blessing of a thousand origami cranes only stayed a myth. But Y/N, do you understand the loneliness of that time when my world was completely dark, and I was struggling to bear everything alone? The girl who helped me share the burden while I was taking care of Grandma, the girl who lit up my dark world with origami cranes, was MC. I thought I would never see her again after she left, but she ended up coming back to me. I'm sorry Y/N. No matter what kind of person MC is, in my heart, she will always be that light." You listen silently, finally unable to help but smile.

Caleb Xia, are you really sure that the girl who folded the origami cranes was MC?

T - 1 day What was it like to have a crush on someone in your youth?

It was having your heart feel empty when he didn't come to class; even though there was only one empty seat, the whole world became hollow; It was the world suddenly brightening when he steps into the classroom. The sunlight outside the window shining like gold, but it couldn't possibly compare to the radiance surrounding him at that moment. It was when his smile warmed your heart, and when he frowned, your heart clenched; It was the satisfaction in watching him from afar, letting time quietly slip by, wanting to give your everything to him but not wanting him to know…

That year, when you learned that the weariness and pain Caleb tried so hard to hide was because his grandmother was seriously ill and hospitalized, every weekend, you'd wear a mask and get up before dawn every morning, catch the bus to the hospital, and help his grandma with breakfast and keep her company. You lied about your identity every time, simply saying you were a volunteer. You weren't sure if paper cranes could actually make wishes come true, but being young and full of sincere wishes, you secretly folded a bottle full of paper cranes for his grandmother. There certainly weren't a thousand total, but the bottle was full. It took you a long time folding, and you wrote a blessing on each piece of paper before carefully folding it inside. While wishing Caleb's grandmother a speedy recovery, you also prayed for her own grandparents' health.

At that time, you felt that you and Caleb had so much in common. None of your parents were in the picture. You both depended on their grandparents' for survival. You were both struggling to grow up against the odds, trying your best to maintain your lives, your pride, and self-respect. You once thought that you and Caleb were like two trees growing side by side, far apart, your branches never intersecting in the air, yet your roots in the soil were always tightly intertwined.

In the end, you've been deluding yourself.

You just smile without speaking or explaining anything to him. If it were before, perhaps you would have explained to him that you were the volunteer. But now, there is truly no need.

You traded your leg for his life, saving him from being run over by a car. If in his eyes, it was all a ploy, a way to trick him into marrying you, then what would the origami cranes you folded all those years ago mean to him? Were they, like the mooncakes from that Mid-Autumn Festival, just a means to woo him as well? Even if he didn't think of you as so calculating and despicable, what difference would it make?

He simply doesn't love you. You've tried for five years already. The fact is, you saved his life. Regardless of his motives for marrying you, the end result is the same: he doesn't love you. So why add another layer of trouble? You've known him since you were twelve. 15 years now. If love could truly change people, you would have done so long ago. The truth is, no matter what you did for him, it wouldn't change a thing.

Besides, you already have a clear future and plans. You'll cut ties completely with this person and stop this entanglement for once and for all. Only a smile remains on your face. A smile that is both laughable and pathetic.

"What are you laughing at?" Caleb was probably lost in his own memories, so it's understandable that he felt a bit resentful that his heartfelt story is met with nothing but a laugh. You lower your eyes, a faint smile still on your lips. "It's nothing, I'm just very touched. I'll do as you wish under one condition." He looks at you expectantly. "I'll have my lawyer send over some papers. At long as you sign them, MC is off the hook." "You... really?" Caleb isn't sure if you're being sarcastic.

"I'm serious." You lie on the bed, looking up at him, the faint sadness in your eyes gone, replaced by a genuine smile. "I wish you a long and life."

T - 0 days When Caleb leaves this morning, he tells you to wait for him at home, the same as usual. However, he lingers at the door for a minute longer, gazing at you with eyes filled with an unfamiliar emotion. There's no point thinking about it anymore. Nothing in the world will convince Caleb Xia that his wife would want to leave him.

Will he realize you're truly gone when he sees the empty closet? It won't matter if he doesn't; your letter, the lawyer, and the divorce papers will tell him. You look back one last time at the home you lived in for five years.

You write one last line in your notebook: "0 days until I leave Caleb Xia: Goodbye, I'm going to fly higher."

You turn off the lights and close the door.

You stick a paper crane on the door; let this paper crane wait for him in your place; perhaps, it will tell him the answer.

***

T + 6 days: Caleb feels like he's actually gone insane. The first night you don't come home, he plays it off as another one of your temper outbursts. Afterall, the paper crane on the door was your way of mocking his past with MC, wasn't it?. The second night he blows up your phone. Nothing goes through. By the third day, he is contacted by your lawyer with the divorce papers prepared and already signed by you. You ask for none of his assets and no compensation. He nearly destroys the office table in anger. After another two days to calm down, the panic and unease in his chest grow to new lengths. He stalks the entire city. Tries going after your telephone records, search history. He finds your preparation to leave him starting long, long before he suspected anything out of the ordinary. He looks at himself in the mirror and wants to laugh at the pathetic sight before him. He can't possibly go to work in this state, so he turns around to go home instead. 

He takes a shower and sits in the chair in your bedroom, lost in thought. This is the chair you used to sit in. You'd sit here watching dramas, reading, oh right, probably studying how to get away form him too.  Your belongings are still on the table: pens in the pen holder, and several books you read, the most recent being art history, lying on the desk. Fiddling with the paper crane.

He opened a drawer, which was also full of books. Digging through its contents, he finds a notebook. He pulls it out and opens it. The contents read: Countdown to leaving Caleb Xia. T -  22 days: The jewelry he gave me were all mementos of someone else.  T - 11 days: He gave our wedding rings to someone else too. But I don't even want him anymore, so why should I care about the ring?

His eyes sting.

"I don't even want this person anymore…" So, from that moment on, you truly wanted a divorce. Every time you brought it up, it was from the heart. It wasn't a tactic to keep him, nor was it a way to force MC to leave. You genuinely wanted to leave him…

Looking further, you had recorded every single thought that, in the month before you left, seemed trivial to him. With each passing day, your heart seemed to die a little more. He lowers his head, forehead resting on the notebook. His eyes ache terribly. In those 20-odd days, if he had even a few moments of empathy, if he had considered things from your perspective, he might have still had a chance to salvage the relationship. But he didn't. He went down a path of no return, finally leading to a complete break between you.

He thought you would never leave him, never leave this home, which is why he stood on MC's side time and time again. He thought, "She's my wife, she's family, she'll never leave. No matter when I come back, she'll be waiting at home..." You loved him so much, you've liked him since high school, even risked your life for him. How could he have believed that you really wanted to divorce him?

T + 24 days: Caleb sighs, a bitter smile on his face. He doesn't know what was wrong with him; why everything had been so bitter lately. The food he eats taste bitter, the water tastes bitter, even the air around him seems to carry a faint bitterness.

That afternoon, Liam comes to his office, inviting him out to dinner with Gideon.  Sitting behind his desk, Caleb feels listless. "Forget it, I'm too tired. You guys go ahead, I'll cover it." "Colonel," Liam protests, before switching to addressing him by name. "Caleb. Do you think I'm starving? I can see you're unhappy these days, and I figured getting together with you and Gideon would allow you to have some fun. Caleb shakes his head, hating how his hairs bristled at the mention of his friend. "I hate crowds, forget it."

"Caleb, what's wrong with you?" Gideon pops in, looking at him, his eyes filled with worry. "You used to love being with your brothers, having fun together. As long as the crew is together, your worries would disappear. I can invite MC along too, she'll make you feel better." Caleb freezes. What is wrong? He didn't know what was wrong either. It's just an instinctive reaction; he didn't want to go.

Later, at the bar, Caleb is still trying to think of why he feels uncomfortable. "Maybe... I'm getting old?" As you get older, you grow weary of crowds and want to be alone in peace and quiet. Liam laughs. "You're old? You...you're old? What am I then?" Well, if not, then Caleb couldn't find a reason.

"Caleb, what's wrong with you?" Gideon sighs. "We all know you didn't want to marry Y/N in the first place. You didn't love her. Isn't it better that you're getting a divorce now?" "Yeah..." Caleb's eyes glaze over. "Isn't it supposed to be better? But, Gideon, why am I not okay? I'm really not okay at all." "Is it just that you've gotten used to it? It's hard to let go of someone suddenly in your life, like when I had a dog when I was little. I had it for years, and one day it got into an accident and passed. I cried for a long time." Liam tries to help. Caleb shakes his head. "That's not how it works, Liam. Didn't you love your dog? You cried." Liam is stumped. "Oh, right. I definitely loved it."

All three of them fall silent.

Liam thinks for a long time before slowly saying, "Caleb, you didn't fall in love with Y/N, did you?" Caleb feels as if he's been struck on the head. He had never considered this question before. "Let me ask you this," Liam continues, "you're single now, right? If you had two choices: one, go back to Y/N, and she'd still be your Mrs. Xia; two, marry MC. You could marry MC if you want to! Which would you choose if you had these two options in front of you?" Caleb doesn't hesitate at all. "Liam, what are you saying? When did I ever plan to marry MC? Since she came back, the thought of marrying her never even crossed my mind!" Liam is stunned. "I literally thought MC was your wife the first day you brought her to the headquarters! Wasn't it because you had Y/N before? Now that you're divorced, you're still not considering MC?" "Liam, MC and I are a thing of the past," Caleb says with a small laugh, "What are you thinking?" "Then, why are you so good to her?" he stammers. "Am I not good to you?" Caleb retorts. "Am I not good to Gideon?" "Then...how...can this be comparable?" Liam didn't know what to say. "How is it different? The two of you are my brothers since we were trainees at the DAA, and we've all worked our way up to our positions now. When MC was with me, she was still a high schooler, encouraging me on when I was was nothing but a new recruit. She didn't get to reap any of the benefits of that work, she had a hard time abroad. Of course I have to pamper her when she comes back, she's my little sister, right, Gideon?" "Uhhh.... Anyway..." Liam thought it was VERY different.

"Of course it's different!" A voice booms from behind. It's Yvette. Liam quickly stands up. "Darling, why are you here?" "I came to see what nonsense you're spouting, you idiot!" Yvette's face darkens. "You guys are still talking about that two-faced bitch?" "No...wife, please... don't say such nonsense. How could MC be two-faced?" Liam quickly looks at Caleb, fearing for his job. “Try saying another word for her” Yvette points at Liam's nose, as if she's about to slap him into oblivion “No, I won’t say anything… I won’t…” Yvette's anger finally subsides. “Let’s go home!”

Liam hesitates. “Darling, how about we have dinner with the Colonel today?” “No way!” Yvette's temper flares again, pointing at Liam once more “I don’t hang out with your kind of people! You’re going home to eat too! He deserves it! He’s not worth wasting time on!” Liam looks troubled, hoping his wife would show some mercy.

Strangely, Caleb doesn't seem offended at all. He asks Yvette with a smile, "What kind of person am I?"

Yvette turns to look at him, scoffing. "I didn't want to talk about you, because you scumbags and bitches get angry and it's bad for my baby. I don't want my baby to see the ugliness of this world while still in my belly. But since you're asking like this, I've changed my mind." Liam sweats profusely. "My darling, no, let's just let our baby grow peacefully. Don't change your mind." "No!" Yvette declares. "I've decided to teach our baby to distinguish right from wrong!"

She turns to face Caleb again. "Colonel Xia, I'm not trying to be mean, but stop acting like you're some sort of saint. What's with all this talk about MC being there for you when you were down on your luck, about her suffering abroad and wanting to compensate her? Is it so hard to admit you're a cheater? Aren't you just trying to cover up the fact that you're greedy and have always looked for something better?" Caleb's face turns ashen. "I didn't, MC and I didn't..." Yvette's spirit is still high. "I don't give a fuck if you and MC slept together or not! That's not my business. I only care about Liam! But Caleb, this isn't about physical cheating!"

Liam is getting increasingly anxious hearing his wife absolutely tear through his boss without any restraint. Was this something she could just casually say? Out in public?? He immediately covers her mouth. "Let her talk!" Caleb's expression darkens.

"I'll say it!" Yvette slaps away Liam's hand. "Colonel Xia! I told you you're a cheater! The ultimate scumbag! You enjoyed Y/N's wholehearted love while flirting with MC under the guise of "taking care of a sister? What brother buys you a house, bags, and luxury goods? What kind of siblings share a room together while out on a business trip? Oh right, Liam used to get that privilege when you were cadets, but is the stuff in your brain the same shade when you sleep with MC?!" Liam tries really hard not to laugh. "The stuff in your brain isn't the same color"? His wife's mouth was really something… But then again, even he didn't believe Caleb and MC's brains were pure when they were together…

"What are you laughing at?" Yvette turns around to scold her husband. "Your boss doesn't have a brain, it's filled with tofu! You think you're so great? Yours is filled with tofu dregs!" "Darling, please;;; if you want to scold me, let's go back home to do it" "Let me finish!" Yvette hadn't wanted to say all of this, but since she was asked to, she wouldn't be happy until she was finished. She glares at Caleb. "With your filthy thoughts, ask yourself, with your non-existent conscience, when you sided with MC again and again like no tomorrow, wasn't your heart soaring? Like you were back in your youth! Wasn't that right? An old man like you, suddenly rediscovering the feeling of pure love, wasn't your life full of passion? And then what? Clearly, you were emotionally unfaithful, I don't know if your filthy body has cheated on her! But whether it's emotional or physical, it's still cheating! And yet you still insist that there is nothing between you and MC. Caleb Xia, if you openly admit to cheating, I'd respect you as a man. But to cheat and then pretend to be deeply in love, I can only give you one word: scumbag! No, add another: despicable! Finally done, she glares at Liam, "Aren't you leaving?" "Oh, oh, oh." Liam apologizes to Caleb with his eyes, quickly removing himself from the premise.

T + 25 days Caleb checks his personal set of security cameras at work. You weren't lying. MC is clearly seen talking to the secretary, putting the apple juice in her hands. Gideon walks in, and Caleb slams his laptop shut. "Colonel?" A shudder runs down his spine as he meets Caleb's dark gaze. 

T + 31 days Yvette's brutal words live rent free in Caleb's head.

Five years ago, when MC first left, it was during a period of setbacks for him. He spent his entire youth preparing to get into the DAA. But now that he was there, he realized with a start that he, a small town boy, was so woefully unprepared compared to his peers. Years of hard work were on the verge of being wasted. He had a habit of shutting others out when he was struggling. MC knew it. And did her best to call him out of her own accord, always checking in, trying to make him feel better.  But it came the day she couldn't take it anymore. She up and left him, cutting off all communications suddenly. He wasn't stupid; of course he knew the reason why. However, he also had the self-awareness not to drag her down with him. Later, he heard that a wealthy second-generation heir had gone abroad with her.

He knew all of it.

His depression during that period was partly due to the breakup, and partly due to his career setbacks—a mixed bag. He got drunk sometimes, but not entirely out of despair. Most of the time, it was from entertaining his peers, or trying to network with higher-ups, practically begging and pleading for a chance. However, the night you saved him, he was truly heartbroken. He had faced rejection after rejection, losing all confidence and almost giving up. Then you saved him, trading your leg for his rebirth.

From that moment on, he carried the weight of another person's life on his shoulders. It was at that moment that he told himself: I absolutely cannot give up, I cannot give up. There are still people waiting for me to take responsibility for, waiting for me to support them.

Fate can be truly miraculous sometimes. It was after that car accident that things suddenly took a turn for the better. When you got discharged from the hospital, it was also the time his performance soared. After that, his missions only ever returned successful. Offers and promotions came in waves, and his power increased exponentially. 

And then, MC returned.

Somewhere deep in his heart, he faced her with resentment and bitterness, thinking: "The person you looked down on back then has now made it big, standing proudly before you. How do you feel?" He would never admit it though.  Just like the necklace of MC's dreams. The first birthday he spent with you, he thought to himself, "so what? The decorations MC liked, the style she fawned over, I've given them all to another girl. I can afford to do so." So, five years later, when MC returned, he carried this resentment, enjoying her adoration and affection, feeling a childish satisfaction. The person who abandoned him back then was now obediently fawning over him, trying to please him, and the resentment in his heart finally subsided.

But the scales in his heart had been tipped.

Just as Yvette said, he despicably indulged in two relationships, becoming lost in this ambiguity. He basked in MCs adoration and retaliated by showering her with affection and indulgence, as if this would prove to his former, down-on-his-luck self: I've made it big, I'm omnipotent. He never even considered it love or lack thereof. He simply wanted to frantically prove to MC his power, his influence, that he could spoil a woman to the extreme if he wanted.

Of course, in doing so, he hurt you.

But at that time, he didn't think about any of that; he was simply gradually losing himself in his relationship with MC. He explained to you that he was only remembering MC's kindness from when she made the paper cranes and that nothing ever happened between them. Perhaps this reason held some semblance of validity? He always needed a plausible excuse to mask his dark and despicable psychology. But it was also true. He could do anything for MC, except betray you —by betraying you, he meant maintaining boundaries and not doing anything physically inappropriate.

But Yvette said that emotional infidelity also counts as infidelity. Does it? Did he cheat on you? He wasn't sure himself. He couldn't distinguish whether his feelings for MC were of resentment or love.

The only thing he was certain of was that you loved him, loved him to the point of self-sacrifice. So, no matter how his heart swayed, you would always be his Mrs. Xia, and that would never change.

That day after he told you the story about the paper cranes, MC tried to embrace him from behind at work. In that moment, he realized: he couldn't possibly cross any physical boundaries with her. His destiny belonged to you. That night, he wanted to see you more than ever. So, he returned without delay, even before dinnertime. But you were already gone.

So even you could leave him too…

Even with the wealth and luxury and everything he could give you, you could still abandon it so easily. That's right, he laughs at himself, why would you care about money? That silly girl who used to live frugally, worrying about his financial situation, trying to pay him $5 for every math problem he tutored you in - how could you care about money?

He was wrong… He'd been too arrogant for too long, forgetting the path he'd come from, neglecting the most important person in his world. How ridiculous, only realizing you were the most important person after losing you.

And before that?

It seemed everything came before you. Work was more important than you, because he needed to develop his career, earn money, and support you for life; His pride was more important than you, so he absolutely couldn't lose face in front of MC, forcing you to apologize, even though you were never actually in the wrong.

His thinking was simple: even if he had wronged you, it wouldn't matter. You loved him so much; all he had to do was sweet talk and make it back up to you. In fact, many times, between you and MC, he chose to side with MC simply because he knew you would forgive him…

But you didn't. You wouldn't forgive him forever, nor would you wait for him forever.

T + 52 days: Liam stops by Caleb's office. It's past midnight. "Colonel..." he starts, stiffening as Caleb's dead gaze shifts onto him from the screen. "You've been here for the past 5 days straight. I think... you should go home now..." Home? Caleb laughs, a hollow sound, devoid of any positive emotion. Where would he go now? What is home to him?

He admits that in the past five years, he didn't love going home as much.

Mainly, when he first got married, he was afraid to go home and face you, your overwhelming love, and your injury. Guilt and remorse weighed on his heart like a brick, so much so that he couldn't even be intimate with you. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but just seeing your leg overwhelmed him with guilt, making it impossible to continue. And this created a vicious cycle: the greater the psychological pressure, the less he tried, and the less he tried, the greater the pressure… He even saw a therapist for some time, but it didn't help. Over time, he became increasingly adverse to returning home to see you, and staying at his office until midnight.

He had many excuses: logistics, planning, meetings with important stakeholders, out on missions, and most often, just being busy with work. He did indeed spend most of his time working, but no matter how late, he always had a direction in his heart—home. Whether it was his conscience or something else, going home every night was a routine, just like his work.

And now, his home was still there, but he didn't know where he should go after you left.

He always told himself that it was his responsibility to be good to you for the rest of his life, but he didn't even know when it started to become more than just a responsibility. It turned out that when the girl who always smiled at him like a sunflower was no longer there, home was no longer home, and going home lost its meaning.

But you had promised him that you would never leave him, whether in poverty or wealth; you had promised him that you would leave a light on for him no matter how late he came home. He truly believed that this light would illuminate him forever, so he gradually took advantage of you, until ultimately, he became the one who extinguished it.

T + 93 days Caleb's phone rings. Looking down, it's Zayne. “Caleb, what's up? I can't come out for dinner, but feel free to talk on the phone. I'm busy, I have to work overtime.” “Oh…” he says wistfully, “Then it's nothing.” He just had nowhere else to go and wanted to find a place to talk about the past, about people he once knew.

“Oh, by the way, do you remember Sylus Qin?” Zayne suddenly askes.

“I remember…” A name that wasn't so pleasant. “He's gone.” Caleb is taken aback. "Gone?" "He passed away. He actually passed a while ago, abroad." Zayne sighs. "It was an accident, don't tell Y/N." He's... gone?

A voice echoes in Caleb's mind again: "Hey, Caleb, that Y/N from your class..." "Get lost!"

Zayne remembers something else. "Oh, right, you can't tell Y/N anyway, otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to dinner and rambling on and on about your past." Caleb remains silent. Lately, he keeps dreaming about when he was sixteen or seventeen, so he would occasionally chat with Zayne about it.  Zayne only ever told him the same thing: "Only those who are unhappy reminisce about the past; those who are full of vigor only stride forward. Caleb, let Y/N go. She deserves a better future."

Caleb feels a sudden, sharp pain in his heart, and his vision blurs. Now, he couldn't let it go even if he wanted to… But he had no right to not let it go…

“Zayne,” he says in a barely suppressed voice, “I regret it so much…” The more spirited and arrogant he had three months ago, the more desolate and regretful he feels now.

“Caleb Xia,” Zayne sneers on the other end, “You deserve it. Don't play victim with me now, look at your sordid affairs. How to spoke to her in front of me, in front of everyone else? You think none of us notice? How you had absolutely no respect for your ex-wife as a person?" “Zayne, I can't…” Before he can finish speaking, Zayne hangs up the phone. Caleb immediately dials him back.

After the third call, Zayne picks up again. A long silence ensues, until Zayne asks him, "Anything else to say? If not, I'm hanging up. I'm busy!" Caleb chokes for a moment before finally saying, "Zayne, if I said I love Y/N, would you believe me?"

"Bullshit!" Zayne curses, a rare occurrence. "Stop your pretentious nonsense! You don't love anyone but yourself; you're a selfish, self-serving piece of shit. Ask yourself honestly, who do you truly love? Whether was your mistress or Y/N, you only love whoever you need. Did you really even love MC or only what her reactions gave you? I wouldn't have cursed you if you hadn't said that, but hearing you say it out loud disgusts me! You bastard!"

T + 136 Days Caleb goes back to his hometown. Somewhere he hasn't been in many years. He traces the steps he once took to school, watching teenagers shout happily as they play with each other. Somehow, he finds himself in front of Sylus' house. To pay respects, he tells himself. He hesitates for another second before bringing his hand up to knock on the door. 

Two young men greet him. They can't be much older than 20. They stare at Caleb with the same, beady eyes. "Who are you?" "An old classmate of Sylus." He offers, taking his high school yearbook out from his backpack as proof. "We played soccer together. I know its a few years late, but I wanted to come pay my respects."  The twins lead him down to the basement, where many boxes of Sylus' belongings remained. Caleb flips through old textbooks and worksheets, jerseys and field-day awards, CDs and comic books from their youth.  Something small and pink falls out from a book in his hands. 

He bends over to pick it up: a single paper crane

Paper cranes? He picked up the fallen origami bird, its image overlapping with his memories of paper cranes. The page he turned to was a tutorial on how to fold paper cranes. Sylus had written notes on it with a pen. "Some silly girl is folding paper cranes for that Xia boy, and she won't let me help! How long will it take for her to fill that jar? Silly girl!" "Haha! I secretly stole one from her pile! Mischievous act of the day complete!" "Hehe, this silly girl writes something inside every single paper crane. I wonder what she wrote on the one I stole?"

"Written something?" Caleb frowns, picking up the paper crane from the ground and quickly unfolds it. Sure enough, there's a small line of writing inside: 'No matter what happens, you must be happy!'

Caleb's mind goes blank for a moment. He reads the words on the page again, then turns and runs. The noise he makes downstairs alerts the twins, who ask him if everything was alright. "Sorry Luke, Kieran. I have important work to do. I have to go back," Caleb says urgently, bidding farewell to the boys. He drives nonstop to Skyhaven, taking the stairs to the top floor and enters his office. He opens his desk drawer. Inside is a small glass box containing a paper crane.

He had buried all the other paper cranes with his grandmother, leaving only this one as a keepsake. The unfolded paper crane he had taken from Sylus' house lies open on his desk. The handwriting was all too familiar to him—yours. The other paper crane, which he had kept in the small glass box, was clearly made of the same paper but a different color.

He takes a deep breath, and without further delay, unfolds it with trembling fingers.

The orange paper crane reveals writing on it as well. This one reads: Grandma, you must recover. Caleb only has you. The same handwriting. The way you write is distinctive, always rounded and plump, with a kind of innocent charm, completely different from MC's. Looking at these words, his heart sinks as if it's been chained to an iron anchor, falling lower and lower into a bottomless abyss.

He had lost far more than he imagined…

Folding the two pieces of paper together, he finally breaks down in tears. Y/N, I'm sorry… He sits in his office, the whole world utterly silent.

If this were the end of time, how wonderful that would be; he no longer looked forward to waking with the sun the next day… But he could only stay awake, waiting for the night to pass. But the nights are too long. His life is only darkness now.

T + 613 days You carefully make your way onto the stage, eyes momentarily blinded by the sharp glare of stage lights. The applause is thunderous as a bouquet of flowers are presented to you from the dancers. Your thesis project, a fully choreographed piece, was being performed on stage by a full cast for the first time. You insisted on giving yourself a very small role, just a few small steps in the beginning as your leg continues to heal, but it was already more than enough to fill your heart as tears of joy threaten to spill from your eyes. 

Caleb watches your brilliant smile on his phone, in the darkness of his room. It's true that in the 1800 nights he was married to you, he has only wished you the best. Now you're out there, accomplishing your dreams. How much he wishes to be able to proudly say, "that's my Y/N!". But he cannot. Not now. Not that he ever had the right to say it. He reads the comments on the live stream religiously and replays your small segment of dance over and over until his vision blurs. 

Tonight, Caleb dreams of high school.

Back then, all of you were naive and full of youthful exuberance. It was a time of awkwardness and passion, everything direct and intense.

He dreams of Rafayel Shen. Rafayel loved to draw. Caleb had found Rafayel sketching you in the middle of class, and tore up his drawing after school. The two ended up having a fight, still a sore spot in their relationship to this day.

He dreams of Sylus Qin. They were playing soccer together, and you would watch them play from the most inconspicuous spot in the cheerleading squad on the playground, always leaving silently afterward. Sylus puts his arm around Caleb's shoulder, his gaze fixed on your retreating figure. "Hey, Y/N from your class looks real sweet." The young boy instantly knews what the other was up to, coldly announcing, "Get lost, I won't hesitate to beat you up if you mess with her.

Some boys would try to slip confession letters into your locker. You never received any, because Caleb always stopped them. Some boys would put treats in your desk. You never got to eat any, because Caleb always kept them for you, glaring at all the other boys in warning. It was once a childish but pure love, as bright and clear as morning dew.

Why did it change like this?

Caleb is lost in his dreams, unable to find the answer. He lost you.

He meets Zayne and ask him why you were missing. Zayne simply says, "Caleb Xia, you scumbag." He meets Rafayel, who grabs him by the collar, and the two get into a brawl. He meets Sylus, who smiles and says, "You bullied her, so I hid her. You'll never find her now." He sees many, many people, but you are nowhere to be found…

"Caleb!" A clear voice suddenly rings out behind him.

He turns around and sees a girl with a bright smile perform several somersaults, appearing before him.

"Y/N!" He opens his eyes, but all he sees is an empty ceiling. He lies on the bed, his phone still clutched in his hand, battery dead.

A dream.

His Y/N is gone forever.

Tag list: @quill-for-glory, @flameo-hotman, @chyukiz, @royale-skeleton-key, @placeofsupercooltopics, @madnesslusy, @kiwiwiiiwiwiw, @younghideoutberserker

[monoidmango]

A/N: Umm, everytime I sit down and try to write my established (happy ending) fics I get intrusive thoughts about Caleb angst. Might continue this one later

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom.

Caleb is taking a shower.

At 3am.

He had just returned from god knows where.

You stand at the bathroom door, wanting to discuss something with him.

You're a little nervous, wondering if he would agree to what you were about to tell him.

Just as you are trying to figure out the best way to phrase it, you hear a strange sound coming from inside.

After listening carefully, you realize with a gasp that he was taking care of himself…

Each breath and groan is like a heavy hammer blow, relentlessly pounding on your heart. The pain spreads like a tidal wave, leaving you sinking in it, unable to breathe.

Actually, today is your wedding anniversary. Your fifth year of marriage, and you've never consummated it.

So, he preferred to take care of himself rather than touch you?

As his breathing grows more rapid, he suddenly lets out a low growl, his voice strained with barely suppressed emotion, "Pipsqueak-"

That one word delivers the final, fatal blow.

Your heart pounds, as if something just shattered into dust.

You try to cover your mouth to stifle your sobs, and turn to run, but stumble on your first step, bumping into the sink and falling to the floor.

"Y/N?" Caleb's voice inside hasn't calmed down yet; you can tell he is trying to control himself, but his breathing is still heavy.

"I...I need to use the restroom, I didn't know you were taking a shower..." you stammer, clumsily grabbing the sink to stand up.

The floor and sink are wet. The more you try, the more helpless the situation becomes. By the time you finally manage to stand, Caleb emerges from the door, his white bathrobe hastily pulled on with the belt fastened tightly.

"Did you fall? Let me help you." He makes a move to pick you up. Tears well in your eyes from the pain, but you push his hand away, your expression a mixture of distress and determination. "No need, I can do it myself."

After nearly slipping again, you limp and stagger back to your bedroom.

No, "escape" is the more accurate word.

For the five years you were married to Caleb Xia, you've been doing nothing but constantly running away.

Running away from the outside world, from everyone's strange looks, and from Caleb's pity and sympathy—his wife is a cripple.

How can a cripple be worthy of the brilliant and successful Caleb Xia?

You were not always like this...

Caleb follows you out, his voice gentle and concerned. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me see."

"No, I'm fine." You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding your disheveled state under it.

"Are you really alright?" He sounds genuinely concerned.

“Mmm.” You nod vigorously, back facing him.

“So, are you going to sleep? Didn’t you want to go to the bathroom?”

“I don’t want to anymore now, let’s sleep?” You whisper.

“Alright," he pauses. "By the way, today is our anniversary. I bought you a present. You can open it tomorrow and see if you like it.”

“Okay.” The present is on the bedside table; you've already seen it, but you already know what is inside without even opening it.

It's the same size box every year, containing the exact same necklace.

In your drawer, there are already nine identical ones. This is the tenth.

The conversation ends there. Caleb turns off the light and lies down across from you. The damp scent of bodywash fills the air, but you barely feel the bed sink. In the two-meter-wide bed, you sleep on one side, and him on the other side at the very edge; there is enough space inbetween  for at least another 3 people.

Neither of you mention "pipsqueak", nor what he had just done in the bathroom, as if nothing  happened. You lie stiffly, eyes burning with pain.

Pipsqueak, or MC, was his adopted younger sister, his first love, his goddess.

Upon high school graduation, MC went abroad, leaving Caleb behind. He was devastated.

You and Caleb were classmates in middle and high school.

You admit that you had a crush on him at the time.

Back then, he was the school heartthrob, a cool and aloof academic star, while you considered yourself pretty ordinary. Not the most academically gifted, nor the most popular or pretty. You had a face everyone could recognize, but not many could describe. Besides, you had larger dreams back then. You were a dancer; started when you were young. The stage was where you felt the most at home. 

So, it was just a secret crush for you; you never thought you would ever stand beside him. 

Until you return home for summer vacation after graduating from the conservatory and encounter Caleb in a wreck.

That night, he was drunk, walking erratically, crossing the street without looking at the traffic lights. A car sped towards him, and you, worried and following close behind, pushed him out of the way, getting hit by the car yourself.

You thought you had done good for yourself up to that point, successfully completing your dance studies and hoping to get a position in one of the large dance companies in the city.

The accident left you with a serious limp.

You'd never be able to dance again.

Shortly after, he swore off drinking and married you.

He was forever guilty, forever grateful, forever soft-spoken, and forever showered you with gifts and money.

Yet at the same time, forever indifferent.

The only thing he couldn't give you was love.

In the beginning, you naively thought that time could heal all wounds, dilute all the pain.

But you never could have imagined that five years later, he would still remember the name "pipsqueak" so vividly, calling out to her when he is serving himself.

In the end, you were simply too foolish…

When Caleb gets up for his Colonel duties, you still pretend to be asleep. You hear him talking to the housekeeper outside: "I have a company dinner tonight. Tell my wife not to wait for me and to go to bed early."

After giving the instructions, he comes back into the room to check on you again. You hide under the covers, your pillow soaked with tears.

Usually, when he goes to any of the Farspace Fleet galas, you would prepare his outfit in advance.

But not tonight.

He goes to the dressing room to change himself and heads to work.

You open your eyes, feeling them swell uncomfortably.

Your phone alarm rings.

It's the time you set for yourself to get up and study.

Because of your leg injury, since getting married, you spend most of your time at home, rarely going out. You divide your day into blocks, finding something to occupy your time. 

You pick up your phone, turn off the alarm and start scrolling aimlessly through various apps.

Your mind is a jumbled mess, unable to absorb anything.

Until, you suddenly come across a video on a certain social media platform.

The person in the video looks so familiar…

The account name: Pips_apple.

The posting time was last night.

You click on the video, and immediately, upbeat music starts playing, followed by someone shouting, "One, two, three, welcome back Pipsqueak! Cheers!"

It's Caleb's voice.

He broke his vow of abstinence from alcohol.

He's even a little drunk.

But would Caleb really shout like that?

The Caleb you remember from high school was a friendly, but aloof academic genius. Not only was he serious when doing course work, but even more so on the sports field; he paid no attention to any of the girls who offered him water bottles and love letters. 

Later, the Caleb who became your husband was even more polite, his emotions so stable they were unwavering. He never smiled, never got angry. He was always detached, so detached that when you occasionally touched his fingers, even his body temperature felt cold.

The camera pans across everyone's faces in the video. You see a slightly tipsy Caleb, his eyes sparkling, raising his glass and laughing loudly at the camera: "Welcome home, Pips!"

So, he could smile after all.

He could be passionate too.

He would call girls by their nicknames.

Just not you. 

You close the app immediately, struggling to catch your breath. You open your email, and read the acceptance letter on your phone over and over again, at least a hundred times.

A graduate school offer from a foreign university, the thing you originally planned to discuss with him last night. You wanted to study abroad for a master's degree; was that okay?

But now it seems there is no need to discuss it with him.

Five years of marriage, countless sleepless nights. 

You needed to get out.

If you didn't find something to do with your life now that MC is back, how would you pass the long hours? Would you spend your whole life waiting for Caleb to come home?

You had already waited for too long.

The pain of waiting... is unbearable now.

Today marks the countdown to you leaving him.

[pearlescenthoney]

lure

synopsis. you fell in love. and so did the merman… supposedly.

pairing. merman! rafayel qi x reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, written with a victorian!au in mind, fisherman!reader, poor!reader, almost illiterate!reader, in-love!reader, naïve!reader, merman/siren!rafayel, ANGST, horror-ish, unrequited love, TW: MCD.

word count. 750

a/n. trying to get back into writing and this came out!! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

the first time you saw rafayel, it was all stormy.

the clouds, darkened with palpable tension, were crowding the grayish hue of the sky. puffed up like wooly sheep, waiting to be sheared.

rain was pouring down heavily, overfilling the potholes in the ground, and making them bubble from the harsh water flow.

your own fisherman clothes were soaked, stuck to your cold skin due to the unceasing battering of the downpour. your boots were fighting against the water, yet stood no chance against the infiltrating rain seeping inside your leather shoes.

the first time you saw rafayel, you were all stormy.

you should’ve been inside, sheltered under the shabby roof of your family from the heavy storm. you should’ve been inside, glued to the fireplace to flee the chilling cold of autumn.

you should’ve been anywhere but the docks, gazing at the mysterious merman propped on the far-away cliffs.

you’ve seen him before, but only through small, short figments — a shimmer tang of otherworldly scales flashing beneath the murky waters, a sharp cut through the waves from a strong fin.

a mauve head of hair swimming through the fishing nets and algae.

you’ve assumed it was exhaustion playing tricks, your tired eyes deceiving you.

just an abnormal fish.

but now, now you knew rafayel was real.

and very much enchanting.

the furious hum of the ocean, the powerful crashes of waves, the treacherous, fuming sky — they all, against all odds, made the merman look divine.

his long, purple hair sparkled with vitality in the chaos of the ocean. his tail, strong and unmoving, curled around the cliffs like a conqueror.

his lips, parted in a seductive melody, harmonised with the vengeful waves.

you knew what he was; you’ve read about his kind in some old book you’ve stolen from the local library.

mermaids were to be avoided, monsters with beautiful faces that dragged anyone in the ocean with their ghastly voices.

mermaids were to be kept at a distance, never captured or estranged from their ocean.

mermaids were... dangerous.

but not all, the book instructed. so, what about him? what about rafayel?

he appeared before you time and time again. and nothing bad happened to you.

you were safe with rafayel, you deduced for yourself as you took a few more steps towards him. heart jutting violently against your ribs, a raw feeling of love and adoration convoluting inside your shivering body.

walking against the muddy wood with your leather boots, getting closer to the edge… it wouldn’t hurt anyone.

mermen can fall in love with female humans, you’ve read that in the book. you loved him, you were sure of that. the countless nights you’ve thought about him stood proud as evidence. and maybe–

maybe he loved you too!

but the ocean had a mind of its own, and even the song of a mermaid was just a suggestion, not a command.

one powerful wave smashed against your body and pushed you into the waters, plunging you without a warning into a cold, dark void.

you tried to swim up, but the currents wouldn’t allow it, latching onto your legs and spinning you in all directions.

confusing you. claiming you.

more and more air bubbles were escaping your trembling lips, leaving you breathless and dizzy. you’ve fallen into the ocean before, pulled away from the fishing boat, but never this… lethal.

just as you were about to accept your fate, two beautiful orbs of cerulean blue gleamed through the opaque darkness of the ocean. coming at you.

to rescue! to help!

your merman abandoned his place on the cliffs to aid you, to get you out of the crushing waves and drag you out onto the shore, just like the book said.

he definitely loved you!

your merman was captivated by you too, just like the book said, and couldn’t accept to see you suffer.

rafayel!

your merman–

your eyelids fluttered one last time, taking in the blurred image of the ethereal merman, before succumbing to sleep.

and, unknown to you, they would never open again.

because your rafayel was just a fragment from a book, and the merman before you was nothing but a monstrous beauty.

because your lack of advanced reading skills doomed you to think romance fairy tales were real encounters.

because the merman embraced your body with his bigger one soon after, only to pierce your chest with his angular fangs and taste your flesh.

because your naïve, love-filled heart tasted sweet on the tongue of your killer lover.

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @yuunileb, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel.if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!

[yvilonion]

zayne loves hachiware

ever so busy med student de-stresses by watching chiikawa and now sees hachiware as his child

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine a highschool au with student council president! Zayne x delinquent non-mc reader.

Imagine Zayne had always stood on the brighter side of things. Top student. Student council president. Calm, composed, almost cold at first glance. People mistook his quiet for indifference.

Imagine the way you knew better. You knew you didn't belong anywhere near that kind of light.

Imagine you were the name whispered in faculty meetings. The student council's problem file. The "Almost expelled" case that kept resurfacing every semester. You stopped counting the suspensions after the third one.

Imagine you used to think that was just how things were. Some people were built for success. Some people were built to survive the fallout.

and so Imagine, you cornered him on the rooftop.

Imagine it had started as leverage. You caught him skipping a council briefing, standing alone by the railing, looking down at the courtyard. You followed his gaze and saw her instantly. MC. Campus sweetheart. Straight A's. Soft smile. His childhood friend.

Imagine the way you leaned against the rooftop door and said "Didn't know the student council president ditched meetings for personal reasons." He didn't flinch. He just turned slowly, eyes steady. You shrugged. "Don't worry. I won't report it. But I need a favor."

Imagine that was the deal. He would clear some of your minor disciplinary reports. Delay the inevitable expulsion that had been hanging over your head for months. And he would tutor you in biology.

Imagine in return, you would help him get closer to MC. You expected him to refuse. Instead, he nodded once and said, "Fine. But you're actually going to study." You almost laughed at the audacity.

Imagine the wag biology became your excuse. He was strict. Annoyingly patient. When you gave up halfway through an equation, he would slide the paper back to you. "You can solve this." He'd say calmly. "Stop assuming you can't."

Imagine no one had ever spoken to you like that. Teachers expected you to fail. Students expected you to cause trouble. Zayne expected you to improve.

and Imagine somewhere between force diagrams and late rooftop sunsets, you started trying. Not for grades. But for small, almost imperceptible way his expression softened when you got an answer right.

Imagine the way you coached him too. He rehearsed confessions to MC while pretending not to be nervous. You mocked the stiffness in his voice, told him to stop sounding like he was delivering a formal speech. "You're asking her out." You teased. "Not applying for a scholarship." He would exhale, faintly amused.

Imagine up there, on the rooftop, things felt balanced. He wasn't the president. You weren't the delinquent. Just two people in a space that didnt judge either of you. And you hated how much that meant.

Imagine the scandal came suddenly. A leaked exam paper. Faculty outrage. Whispers circling his name because he had access to council files.

Imagine the way you didn't hesitate. You stepped forward first. Another suspension added to your record. Another strike against you. You saw the disappointment in teachers' faces but it wasn't disappointment. It was confirmation. You were exactly what they expected.

Imagine the way he confronted you on the rooftop later. "Why would you take the blame?" His voice wasn't loud. It was worse, tight. You shrugged like it was nothing. "You've got too much to lose."

Imagine the way he stared at you like he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t deny it. Unlike you, he had a future. Reputation. MC. You weren't letting your mess stain his.

Imagine the expulsion letter arrived a week later. You held it for a long time before opening it. It wasn't a surprise. If anything, you were impressed it had taken this long. You knew why. Zayne had been delaying meetings. Negotiating. Trying to buy you time. He shouldn't have had to. So that evening, you texted him.

You: Rooftop. After school.

Imagine the way he replied almost immediately.

Z: I'll be there.

Imagine the way you spent the entire afternoon rehearsing. Not a joke. Not teasing. Not deflecting. Just the truth. That he made you believe you weren’t permanently broken. That he made you want to try. That somewhere along the way, helping him confess to someone else stopped feeling harmless.

Imagine you were going to tell him. Not to make him choose. Just to let him know.

Imagine the sun was already fading when your phone rang. His name lit up the screen. You answered. "I won't be able to come." He said. His tone was steady, but rushed. "Something came up." You stared at the horizon. "…MC?" You asked.

Imagine there was silence. He didn't confirm it. He didn't deny it. That was answer enough. You smiled even though he couldn't see it. "Good luck." Another pause. "Was it something important?" He asked quietly. You swallowed the confession sitting in your throat.

"Nah." You said lightly. "It's nothing." He hesitated, like he wanted to ask more. But he didnnt. "Alright." He replied. "I'll see you tomorrow." You almost laughed at that. "Yeah." You said. "Tomorrow." The call ended.

Imagine the way you stayed on the rooftop until it got dark. The wind was colder than usual. You pulled the expulsion letter from your bag and read it one last time.

Imagine you had planned to tell him you liked him. Instead, you folded the paper carefully and slipped it back inside. Of course he chose her. She was steady. Bright. Safe. And you were a liability with a countdown attached. So you weren't going to drag him down just because you couldn't control your own feelings.

Imagine he was the only person who never looked at you and saw the worst first. And because of that, you refused to become the worst thing that ever happened to him. So you placed your lighter on the railing. A quiet goodbye.

Inagine the next morning, you didnt show up. Transfer processed. Expulsion finalized. No dramatic farewell. No message explaining. You told yourself you tried. You changed. You studied. You believed, just for a while, that maybe you could be better.

Imagine maybe that was enough. He would be fine. He would graduate. He would stand beside MC. He would have the future everyone expected.

and Imagine you would leave like you always did, before you could ruin something good. Just an empty rooftop and a future that no longer included you. And some people are meant to be lessons, not endings. So you knew he would be fine. Better, even.

and so Imagine, the rooftop would keep your almost-confession buried in the concrete, exactly where it belonged.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°

: pffff, happy Valentine's Day. I hope you're hungry for something bitter-sweet XD

[pearlescenthoney]

spare

synopsis. you'd do anything for the man you love. and the person he loves.

pairing. friend! caleb xia x non-mc! reader

content. fem!reader, non-mc!reader, mc, caleb and reader are friends, unrequited love (but not really), reader assumes caleb and mc love each other romantically, a ton of ANGST, hurt/no comfort, dumbass plot tbh but hehe, ever, lots of blood, self-deprication, low self-esteem, reader has the mimicry evol, hunter!reader, injured!reader, reckless!reader lowkey, love confession, TW: GUNS, TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

word count. 2.2k

a/n. can you tell how much i wanted to write a reader with a mimicry evol? VERY VERY MUCH. i am sorry in advance for causing you all pain. please let me know your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

imagine begging caleb to let you go on that mission. imagine cupping his hands in your own, squeezing them tightly, as you assured him that nothing bad would happen to you.

that this mission could end everything between mc and ever.

that she will be free of their unceasing hunt.

that he will be free of worrying at every step if she was alive or not.

and that you, as their best friend, would not pass this chance at all, no matter how much he refused.

you were the best bet in this scenario. ever had their eyes on caleb and mc since forever, having accumulated enough data to intercept any attack from them. and, worst case scenario, if they failed, they would get them two as prisoners.

their goal would be fulfilled.

but you?

you, the unsuspecting colleague of mc at the hunters’ association that just happened to get closer to her? you, the unknown and unimportant person that also befriended caleb? you, the obvious third wheel that somehow fit together with the two of them?

ever had no clue about you. and no interest to know you.

“listen, my mimicry evol is perfect for this.” you pointed out once more as you swayed your hands and caleb’s together. trying to ease the obvious displeasure and tension he was harboring.

“and i am telling you, ever is no joke. it’s different than the wanderers you battle every–”

“i will just go in, shapeshift, get that bastard head scientist, and get out.” you plucked one hand from your linkage, placing it briefly on top of your face to activate your evol. beneath your open palm, your very being changed, expanding and compressing, shortening and elongating.

until the person before caleb was… himself.

“let me do this for you, caleb! let me do this for mc.” his own voice was now speaking back at him, bringing a shiver down his spine as he recognized your unshaking resolve.

you were the same as him — stubborn, unwavering.

fighting for the one you loved most.

“… fine. but if you get injured, you’re immediately out.”

•••

imagine the infiltration was clean at first. you moved like smoke through corridors, your evol mimicking a random employee you’ve smacked around the head and laid unconscious in a locker.

imagine the scientist was exactly where caleb said he’d be — hunched over a terminal, thin fingers dancing across holographic displays.

you didn’t give him time to scream. your elbow pressed against the back of his head, and he crumpled unconscious, body going pliant against your hold.

but imagine someone discovered you. even transformed, they recognized the lifeless body of their boss hunched over your arms. so they shot at you, bullets flying all over due to their lack of training.

they were scientists after all.

one bullet grazed the head scientist, piercing the lab coat and causing crimson red to pool at your legs. you’d never thought you’d have to shield the very person that’s causing your friends distress but there you were, covering his unconscious body as you too shot back at the people.

imagine it was hard to aim with your pistol and have additional body weight in your arms. imagine it was even harder to dodge and that’s how a bullet finally pierced you.

imagine all the scientists falling one after the other, stained red with their own blood.

but imagine you fell too, pistol dropping, evol retracting.

as you let out a painful groan at the visible wound in your abdomen.

you have no time to press against it, to stop the bleeding that poured out of your mouth with a strong cough. because the alarms bloomed red, siren hurling in your ears, and the facility entered lock-down mode.

ever doesn’t leave its treasures unguarded.

locked. safe.

more personnel entered the room.

you take three hits before you reached a door — one to the shoulder, one grazing your ribs, one buried deep in your thigh. you dragged the scientist’s weight through the threshold as you bled more and more, finally sealing the door behind you.

at least for now.

you slid down the door and the blood came with you.

imagine it was all strange… how quiet dying was. you always imagined it would be loud — sirens, shouting, the thunder of your own heart, the ragged breaths of your overused lungs. but here, in this tiny lab nook, there was only the hum of machinery and the wet sound of your breathing.

each exhale shallower than the last.

the scientist slept beside you, peaceful as a child. unaware of the ruckus you’ve caused outside, unaware of the spreading blood that swept the pristine floors and threatened to stain him too.

you failed.

you couldn’t do it alone.

you have the man, yet you can’t get him to caleb.

you failed, you failed, you failed.

.

.

.

no.

slowly turning your wrist, your eyes met the hunters’ watch — still intact, still fully operable. with one hit of your trembling fingers, you sent a signal to caleb.

you needed him here to finish the job.

to take the scientist and finally free mc.

to free himself.

…

to free you.

with the blinking red dot pulsing on your watch screen, you pushed yourself away from the door. crawling slowly towards the scientist.

planning to ensure his safety over your own.

•••

the scientist’s face was still his own. you haven’t changed him yet.

you should do it now, before you lose the strength. before you lose your conviction. before your evol collapses from the large amount of blood you’ve lost.

it’s the only way.

you tell yourself as tears welled up in your eyes, gleaming redder under the flickering alarm lights of the enclosure.

making you look as if more blood was seeping from your battered body.

your hand hovered over his forehead, and you hesitated. because once you do this — once you give him your face and you take another — caleb will take him. he’ll see the scientist wearing your expression, your blood, your stillness, and he’ll think it’s you.

he’ll hold him and carry him away to safety. thinking it was you.

you won’t be there to feel his protectiveness, his care. and maybe that was how it should be. you, alone, watching and contributing to the prosperity of caleb and mc. you, abandoned, knowing your place and staying far away from two people that were obviously made for each other.

you, hopeful, wishing your sacrifice will be taken as a blessing for their future.

your palm pressed down.

the scientist’s features rippled like water accepting a stone. his jaw softened. his hair spilled longer, changing colors. his clothes bled into the torn fabric of your hunter uniform, the bloodstains aligning with surgical precision.

when it was done, he was you.

a perfect copy.

a perfect lie.

and you — you dragged yourself closer to the fallen cabinet at the back of the room, hand pressed to your own face.

thinking of the man you passed by in the hallway the moment you entered.

unimportant. nondescript. forgotten.

your body warped. your face became his face. generic. unremarkable. the wounds translated across the transformation, still bleeding, still fatal — but the vessel doesn’t matter. only the function.

caleb won’t look twice at you now.

you were no one.

just as you should’ve been from the start.

and, with your remaining strength, you bashed the hunters’ watch before it morphed away from your body.

effectively erasing any recognizable trace.

•••

imagine the door exploded inwards soon after.

you didn’t see him at first — just a blur of motion, a voice cracking on a name that wasn’t yours anymore. caleb fell to his knees beside the copy. his hands hovering over her shoulders, her face, the pulse point at her throat.

the transformed scientist was in better shape than you, yet caleb looked so… desperate.

as if his entire world crumbled.

“–no, no, stay with me, stay with me–”

his voice broke on the last word, shattering like glass dropped on concrete. you’ve heard caleb angry, cold, sharp-edged as a blade.

you’ve never heard him fracture.

your fingers curled against the cold floor, quivering from the pain. and suddenly, you wanted to reach out. you wanted to abandon your stupid plan and be saved.

you wanted to join the two in that happy future you saw for them.

but imagine your evol was flickering. your blood was falling beneath you in a slow, dark bloom. if you redirected your power from your evol to that small call of help, the plan will cease to happen.

the disguise will collapse.

you would fail.

again.

imagine the copy — the perfect, breathing, alive copy — was already being lifted into his arms.

and without even a glance at your wounded, bloodied body, he left.

•••

the door swung shut behind him, leaving you there.

dying.

you tried to hold on, to remain conscious, to not slip into the eternal dream charming you with every heavy breath you took.

because you needed caleb to save the scientist.

•••

your evol flickered more and more, your appearance deteriorating into your true self. somewhere in the parking lot, a man who is not you and never was you began to lose his borrowed shape as well.

so you fully abandoned your disguise, concentrating on the scientist who was receiving aid from paramedics.

you’ve made your choice ever since you’ve heard the new intel about ever. your sacrifice was worthwhile.

you hoped he won’t come back.

you hoped caleb won’t blame himself when the truth surfaces.

•••

imagine caleb came back anyway.

not because he knew. not because some thread of fate pulled him. just because — just because he couldn’t leave. couldn’t walk away from the building with that in his arms and feel like he’d grabbed the right thing.

imagine he set the copy in the ambulance, told the paramedics to take care of her, and turned back before anyone could stop him.

because something felt wrong.

•••

the door opened again.

you heard it distantly, like it happened underwater. your eyes won’t focus anymore. the ceiling distorted, the red light blurring your vision, everything smearing into grey at the edges.

footsteps. slow. then faster.

then stopping.

“–no.”

his voice was strange. not the shattered sound from before. this was quiet. careful. like he was approaching a wounded animal.

like he already knew.

your fingers twitched. you wanted to shoo him away, to shield him from the possible ever employees that might attack again.

go away, go back, you’re supposed to be saving her–

but your mouth wouldn’t move.

“–this isn’t– you’re not–” his breathing changed. ragged. “i saw you. i had you. i had–”

a pause.

“a copy.”

the word broke him open.

he was kneeling now. you felt his hands on your bloodied cheeks — warm, shaking, so careful — and you realized you were found out.

it was just you now. your face. your blood. your eyes, barely open, finding his.

“–no, no, no, no–”

his thumbs swept across your cheekbones. frantic. repetitive. like he could wipe away the pallor, the stillness settling into your skin.

“you’re okay. you’re okay. i’m here. i’ve got you. i’ve–”

your crimson blood slicked his fingers.

“why did you– why?”

his forehead pressed to yours with a trembling whine and you felt something wet drop onto your temple.

caleb.

you tried to say his name. nothing came out. just a breath. just a sigh.

“i told you not to– i told you—” his grip tightened on your face, desperate, like he could hold you here through sheer force of will. “you never listen.”

his shoulders shook with another sob.

“–and i let you go anyway.”

a loud sound teared out of him. not a word. something harsher. something that’s been buried since he was a child losing everything for the first time.

“please…”

his whole body curled around yours. his hand searched for yours immediately, squeezed so hard it almost hurt. he was saying your name over and over now, trying to keep you focused on the present, to keep you conscious until another ambulance arrived.

but you were slowly slipping away.

“–i love you.”

the words suddenly tumbled out of him. raw. ruined.

“i love you, i never– i was supposed to– please, don’t leave me, please.”

his face was pressed into your hair now. you felt his tears soaking through as more pleas escaped his lips. you felt his chest heaving against your failing one.

your heart would have boomed with happiness at his confession, but now it was no longer capable of love.

“i was going to tell you. after this. when it was over. i was going to–” his voice splintered. “i thought we had more time.”

your fingers moved. just barely. just enough to brush against his.

he froze.

“hey. hey, i’m here.”

but you were not. not really.

your eyes found his amethyst orbs one last time. he looked disheveled. shattered. like whatever he was before this moment has been unmade.

you wish you could comfort him.

but your hand was already going slack in his.

and the last thing you see was his face — his beautiful, broken face — as he realized you’re truly gone.

•••

imagine caleb didn’t move for a long time.

he just held you. his thumb still tracing slow circles on your knuckles. his breath still uneven against your hair.

as if you’re sleeping.

as if him staying still enough, quiet enough, would make you open your eyes.

“i love you.” he whispered again.

your body was cold now.

and so was his heart.

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @yuunileb, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world. if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!

[pearlescenthoney]

operational waste | two.

synopsis. caleb made a mistake when interpreting the anonymous threatening note, and so did you in thinking you can change a code-backed destiny.

pairing. caleb xia x isekai’d! non-mc! reader

content. fem!reader, non-mc!reader, isekai’d!reader, reincarnation!au, requited love (but too late), conflicted!reader, a lot of internal turmoil, a ton of angst, slowburn, hurt/no comfort (y'all will kill me), maybe ooc!caleb, caleb doesn’t know you’re isekai’d, CALEB IS IN DENIAL, TW: EVER, TW: allusion to TORTURE, medical malpractice, degradation (the ever guy mocks you AGAIN), BAD BAD ENDING, self-deprication, low self-esteem, you and caleb are done for fr.

word count. 9.6k

a/n. part two (the finale) is finally done. the plot twist is plot twisting with this one 💅 i am fucking evil, ikkkk. please let me know your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

the silence after his question was absolute, filled only by the rhythmic, mocking beep of your own heart. your mind, that fractured, hurting thing, was a battleground. on one side: the visceral, animal need to survive as you, the you that had loved him from a distance and then up close, with all your clumsy, human flaws. the you that remembered your past life, your old world’s sun, the texture of your phone case as you played the game.

that you was screaming in silent agony.

on the other side: a deep, yawning void of defeat, and a promise so sweet it made the void seem like a sanctuary.

peace. and love.

real love.

you were so tired. tired of fighting for a place in a story that kept rejecting you. tired of the constant ache of being second-best, of being the afterthought, the distraction. tired of loving caleb with a desperation that felt like drowning, while he offered only shallow breaths of air.

the scientist watched you, a vulture sensing the final tremors of life. he saw the fight draining from your eyes, replaced by a numb, hollow acceptance. he didn’t need a verbal answer. your stillness was enough of a confession.

“begin the integration.” he said, not to you, but to the room.

a new sensation bloomed at the base of your skull, different from the invasive probe. it was a cool, spreading numbness, like a drop of ink in water. it didn’t hurt. not physically. it felt… like relief.

the sharp, jagged edges of your grief began to soften, blurred into a manageable, melancholic haze. the white-hot betrayal of caleb’s choice in linkon city replayed in your mind, but this time, the accompanying sting was muted, distant, as if it were happening to someone else.

you suddenly flinched as a new set of vibrations prickled at your head. not indubitable pain, but a strange fizzing. a digital static seeping into the roots of your feelings.

you thought of caleb leaving, the click of the latch. the memory was there, sharp and clear, but the jagged, tearing agony that usually accompanied it… it softened further.

it became a fact. he left. the associated devastation was dialed down, like a violent song turned into gentle background music.

a tear rolled down your cheek, but it felt disconnected. you were watching yourself cry from a slight distance, almost like an out-of-body experience.

a tiny, translucent blue square flickered into existence at the very edge of your vision. it was sleek, modern, utterly alien in your organic sight.

[system integration: 5%]

[emotional volatility protocols: installed.]

[primary directive: optimize for target (caleb xia) affinity.]

you stared at it. a progress bar. for your own erasu– improvement.

“good.” the scientist murmured, monitoring the data. “very good. receptors are accepting the base code. now, we address the betrayal narrative. it’s causing conflicting impulses. we’ll reframe it as a strategic error on his part, not a personal rejection. this will align your future interactions towards correction, not accusation.”

the fizzing intensified. the memory of the doctor’s voice — he chose wrong. — replayed. before, it had been a spear through your heart. now, the spear was labeled. the raw, human bitterness began to leach away, replaced by a cool analysis.

caleb just miscalculated. the parameters were unclear.

your value was not correctly inputted into his decision-making matrix.

[integration: 15%]

[betrayal trauma: deviated.]

[new directive: facilitate self’s error correction.]

a part of you, the deep, dark core of your untouched self, screamed in silent horror as the reality of the situation downed on you.

this is wrong! you’re letting them turn you into a tool!

but the scream was muffled, wrapped in layers of this new, calming static. and the promise floated before you, luminous, made it all harder to fight. harder to conquer.

but he will love you. he will look at you and see perfection.

then everything blurred more.

the edits continued. memories were not erased, but… contextualized.

your love for caleb was isolated, purified, and set as your central, governing principle. your other desires — for freedom, for identity, for a life that was truly your own — were flagged as low-priority subsystems. your past life, your otherworldly origin, was compartmentalized into a special partition, its emotional weight blocked.

[integration: 25%]

[core personality matrix: stabilization in progress.]

[autonomous desire subroutines: suppression in progress.]

you felt lighter. cleaner.

the unbearable weight of your human grief was being lifted and stored away, piece by piece, replaced by a serene, purposeful clarity.

your purpose was caleb. your function was to be loved by him. everything else was noise.

the scientist seemed almost pleased.

“the integration is proceeding with remarkable stability. your unique… origin… appears to have created a psyche particularly acquiescent to restructuring.”

scaringly pleased.

“we will pause the deep integration for now. it shall automatically resume while you sleep, so the transition is not obstructed by daily events.”

[integration: on hold.]

“and now...” he approached you and began to unstrap the restraints. the feeling of freedom after being bound for so long should have been euphoric.

it was simply a change in status.

“for your return, you will be placed in a situation of distress. the target will, predictably, attempt a rescue. your new directives will guide your responses. we will monitor everything.” he helped you to your feet. your legs trembled, weak from disuse.

the underlying panic was gone. too tired and sedated to use the remaining 75% still intact, you gave way to the machine in your skull.

following the script.

“remember.” he said, his voice low. “you are no longer the woman he left. you are the solution. you are what he has been searching for. and soon, he will know it.”

•••

they didn’t return you to your apartment. instead, in the dead of a rain-lashed night, they dumped you in a derelict alley in a run-down sector of skyhaven, far from your old neighborhood. the clothes you had were thin and torn, the pajama set you were wearing at the time of the kidnapping.

they, too, abandoned you.

the physical cold of the rain was a shock to your system, a blunt and persistent descend that worsen the condition you were in. ever didn’t bother to patch you up or make you presentable to the eye — they needed you to play the victim part well enough so caleb won’t question anything.

you needed to be the poor traumatized beloved that is to be saved by her knight.

even if that meant constructing the narrative artificially.

the dark alley smelled of rotting garbage and damp concrete. you huddled under a dripping fire escape, the new code in your mind whirring calmly.

[scenario: abandonment/distress.]

[objective: await target. initiate bonding protocol.]

but beneath the calm directives, a rogue current sparked. the remaining 75% — the stubborn, untouched core of you that was still dominating your self. it looked at the objective with a sudden, visceral terror that bypassed the new, weak protocols.

no.

the thought was a fire in the wires.

“this is so fucked up.”

this is a setup. they’re using you to get to him. he rescues you, feels like a hero, doesn’t question anything. and they’ll be watching. you will be ever’s eyes. you will be the trojan horse that destroys him.

“i–”

the conflict was catastrophic.

the machine wanted you to stay, to be the perfect damsel, to cement his hero narrative and begin your programmed love story. the human remnant, the 75%, screamed at you to run. to protect him from the very fate you had just agreed to be part of.

“–so selfish.”

you betrayed him to have him.

“–so stupid.”

love. protection.

the two concepts, which should have been aligned, were at war inside your skull.

with a gasp that was more human than machine, you pushed yourself up. your legs burned, but you ran. you fled the alley, turning into the maze of slick, neon-streaked streets. the rain soaked you to the bone, mingling with hot, desperate tears — tears the system couldn’t yet fully suppress.

get away. disappear. if he never finds me, he’s safe.

they can’t use me against him.

[warning: divergence from primary objective.]

[directive: return to designated coordinates.]

“no!” you sobbed into the rain, clutching your head. “i won’t lead you to him! i love him too much!”

[paradox detected. love parameter = protect target. current action = isolate target.]

[error.]

[rebooting emotional core…]

the fizzing static returned, a wave of dizziness making you stumble against a wet brick wall. you slid down, hugging your knees in agony. you couldn’t outrun them. you couldn’t outrun the machine slowly knitting itself into your brain.

but maybe, just maybe, you could spare caleb long enough for him to realize the truth.

that you were only lie. a beautiful, deadly lie.

•••

you lost track of time, shivering against the wall. the rain thankfully eased to a drizzle, but you didn’t raise up to flee further.

you were so tired. the fight between the code and your dying self was exhausting, lulling you into a dreadful, self-changing sleep. but you continued to press your sharp nails into your palms, leaving crescent marks in your wake to keep yourself grounded.

to stay up.

you must have dissociated briefly, because the next thing you knew, a voice cut through the fog — not in your head, but in the alley.

a human voice.

“–scanning this sector. she should be somewhere around here.”

your heart, the organic, traitorous thing, leapt. was that… caleb?

no.

you curled tighter, making yourself small and insignificant. hoping the newcomer would just pass by.

don’t find me. please, don’t find me.

you are better without me, caleb!

“caleb, over here! i’ve got a clear thermal signature!”

that voice was brighter, more feminine, but laced with concern.

emcee.

she was with him. of course she was.

footsteps, quick and sure, splashed through puddles. a beam of light from the hunter’s watch swept over the dumpsters, the puddles, and finally, landed on you, huddled and shivering in the shadows.

the light froze.

you saw his boots first, then the hem of his long coat. slowly, you lifted your head.

caleb.

he looked… ravaged. his handsome face was pale with a fear so profound it etched new lines around his eyes. his clothes were rumpled, his hair disheveled, as if he hadn’t slept in days. his gaze locked onto you, and the raw, unchecked emotion in his violet eyes — terror, guilt, a desperate hope — was a physical force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

he actually looked… affected by all this.

emcee stood beside him, her expression a mix of sympathy and sharp concern. she’d always been kind to you, treating you like a sister, being a safe space for you. but now, after caleb’s actions, her presence was a unwavering rock pressing down on your heart.

“oh, gods.” caleb breathed, the words a shattered prayer. he took a step forward, then another, almost stumbling in his haste between the puddles.

the system surged, a wave of warm, eager light.

[objective: achieved.]

[proximity to target: attained. initiate bonding protocols.]

the system was happy — if you could use humane adjective to describe it. but your own heart was breaking, shattering into a million crystalline pieces.

he’d found you. he was here. and he’d brought her along.

“stay back!” you croaked, taking a stumbling step backwards, digging your back into the wall, your voice raw from neglect and cold.

he froze, his hands coming up in a conciliating gesture. you could see the way the mauve tint of his orbs stormed at your words, mixing into a convoluted, darker shade.

he was hurt.

…were you not recognizing him? or were you made to fear him?

“it’s me. it’s caleb.” his voice cracked, pressure pushing against his airpipe and making him break. “i’ve been looking for you everywhere. everywhere. when i got back and you were gone… and then that other note…” his eyes scanned your withered form, the dirt, the trembling, the visible syringe stabbings on your arms, the rashes from restraints on all four limbs.

a gut-wrenching wave of anguish contorted his features. he’s never seen you like this, and it crushed his heart.

“w-what happened? who did this to you?”

the concern in his voice was real. it was the hero, finding a wounded civilian. but was it for you? the man who loved you? or was it the guilt of a protector who failed his duty?

emcee stepped forward, her voice gentle, trying to calm you. to overshadow caleb, if he was the one causing you distress. “we were so worried when we found out. caleb’s been out of his mind. he never stopped looking.”

her words, meant to soothe, were salt. he never stopped looking? psh, while he was with her?

it was all because of a note ever dropped to get them to follow the script too.

not because he sensed your absence.

not because his heart knew.

because of the damn system.

“you shouldn’t have come.” you whispered, tears finally spilling over, hot against your grimy, cold cheeks. the conflict was tearing you in two. the code sang at his proximity, urging you to go to him, to be perfect, to be loved.

the human wreckage of you wanted to scream, to push him away, to save him from the monster you were becoming. “you need to go. now. it’s not safe.”

and maybe save yourself too. the smaller part of you that was still intact.

“not safe?” caleb took another cautious step closer, now convinced you were aware of their identities. his eyes, usually so confident and sure, were swimming with confusion and pain. “not safe from what? from who? talk to me, please. let me help you.”

he reached out a hand.

it was your undoing.

the sight of that hand, the one that had held yours, touched your face, now extended in pity and heroism, broke the last dam. a sob wracked your body, so violent you doubled over. the loneliness, the betrayal, the fear, the cold, the horrible, seductive promise of the machine — it all erupted.

[initiate bonding protocol: display vulnerability. accept care.]

“you left me.” you choked out, the accusation flung at him with the last of your strength.

[error.]

[rebooting emotional core…]

“you got the note and you just… left. you decided it was her. you didn’t even consider it could be me.” you lifted your head, meeting his horrified, guilty gaze, as you continue to pour out your heart. “ever told me. they said they snatched the wrong beloved. that i was a… a null-value subject. a waste of their time.”

[error.]

[host not following protocol.]

[rebooting emotional core…]

caleb’s face went ashen at your venomous accusations. “ever.” he whispered, the word appearing as a curse that soiled his mouth. no, soiled the very being of his existence. the pieces were crashing together in his mind, and the resulting picture was one of his own catastrophic failure.

emcee put a hand on his arm, her face pale with shame as well. “caleb…”

he immediately shook her off, pushing her to the side with a delicate motion of his hand. she had no place in this; he needed to solve it on his own.

“i–” his eyes were only for you, not losing your trembling frame from his view. “i didn’t know. i swear to you, i didn’t know. the threat, the pattern… it fit emcee. i was trying to protect–” he cut himself off, realizing how the words sounded.

how he was justifying his incompetence instead of accepting he was in the wrong.

and caused you irreparable pain.

“you were trying to protect what mattered to you.” you finished for him, your voice hollow. “and i didn’t.”

[integration: too little. host overwriting code.]

[error.]

“no!” the word was a roar, torn from him. he closed the final distance, ignoring your flinch, the pulsating fear in your strangely colored eyes. his hands came up to cradle your face, keeping you grounded in the present. his touch was warm, desperately gentle, a shocking contrast to the cold metal and sterile gloves of your nightmares. “you matter. you always mattered. i was blind. i was stupid. i failed you.”

his thumbs stroked your cheeks, wiping away tears and grime. his own eyes were now bright with unshed tears, waiting to bloom like violet buds. “i got the second note. i read it a hundred times. ‘you chose wrong.’ it’s all i’ve thought about since finding out you were gone.”

[bonding protocol: stand-by.]

“and you were right. i chose wrong. i chose the past over the present.” his voice dropped to a ragged whisper, meant only for you. “i am so sorry. so sorry, my love.”

the words enveloped you like a warm hug. they were everything you had wanted to hear. they were the confession that could have saved you, had it come days ago before the kidnapping. now, they just echoed in the hollowing chamber of your treacherous soul.

was this his true guilt that shook your core? or was it yours, the knowledge that you sold yourself and him for a life of whimsy and fairytales?

“i–”

you wanted to forgive him. you wanted to melt into his touch, to let him chase away the cold and the horror.

the code screamed in approval, wishing to return to protocol.

but you saw emcee over his shoulder, watching with a worried expression. you felt the tiny, persistent hum at the base of your skull. you saw, in your mind’s eye, the pale blue progress bar, threatening to fill during the following nights.

you were a ticking bomb wrapped in the guise of the woman he was finally seeing.

“caleb.” you said, your voice trembling with a fear far greater than your fear of ever. you were scared to hurt him for your own selfish reasons. “you don’t understand. they didn’t just take me. they… they changed me.”

[error. host sharing prohibited information.]

he frowned, his brow furrowing. “what do you mean? what did they do?” his eyes searched your body, looking for wounds, for physical signs. he could predict the use of sedatives to make you more pliant, as well as the use of harsh restraints to bind you.

he couldn’t, however, predict the chip in your skull.

[error.]

and you were sealed when it came to talking about it too.

how could you explain the unexplainable? the neural probe? the integration? that you had willingly started down a path that would erase you to have him?

“i can’t…” you shook your head, placing your hands on his chest and pushing away. the weight of it all crushing you, making you tremble with embarrassment. “i’m dangerous. to you. you have to leave me here.”

[error. host breaching proximity.]

“never.” the word was absolute, ironclad, spoken louder for the whole district to hear. the caleb xia, protagonist of love and deepspace, was back in the narrative. and this time, his focus was singular, intense, and entirely on you. “i am never leaving you again. whatever they did, we’ll fix it. together.”

“caleb, no–”

“i’m taking you home.”

he shrugged out of his jacket, the heavy, warm fabric smelling uniquely of him — homey, faint soap, and something intrinsically caleb. he wrapped it around your shaking shoulders without another word, his arms lingering, pulling you into a careful, fierce embrace.

“our home.”

that was your ruin and your salvation.

the warmth was a shock to your system. the scent of him overwhelmed the alley’s stench. the solid reality of his chest against yours was an anchor in the storm. the human part of you, the part that loved him with a desperate, flawed, and real love, took over completely.

you buried your face in his chest and cried, great, heaving sobs that held weeks of terror and loneliness.

[proximity: reestablished.]

the code, sensing optimal conditions for bonding, pulsed warmly, allowing the 75% of your true self to stir the wheel this time.

caleb held you tighter, murmuring soft, broken apologies into your hair. “it’s okay, my love. i’ve got you. i’m here. let it all out.”

over his shoulder, you locked eyes with emcee. she gave you a small, sad, but genuine smile. there was no jealousy there, only relief and a deep, unspoken sorrow. she saw a victim rescued, and so did caleb.

just as ever planned.

they didn’t see the silent, digital countdown happening inside your skull.

as caleb gently carried you away from the alley, supporting your weight with his strong arms, promising safety and care, you clung to him. you clung to the man you loved, who was finally looking at you with the eyes you’d always dreamed of.

and in the corner of your vision, the progress bar glowed, a silent, relentless specter. you were going home. you were getting the love you’d bargained your soul for. and you were bringing the enemy right into his heart.

the greatest act of love you had left was also the ultimate betrayal, and you were no longer entirely sure which part of you — the dying human or the rising machine — was committing it. all you knew was the devastating irony of it all: in his arms, finally chosen, you had never been more completely, and utterly, lost.

•••

the drive back to skyhaven was a silent, pressurized capsule of unspoken horror.

you sat in the back of emcee’s modest car, wrapped in caleb’s oversized coat, shivering despite the blast of heat from the vents. caleb sat beside you, his body angled toward you, a living fortification. he didn’t try to hold you again, perhaps sensing the fragility of your stillness, but his entire being was focused on you with an intensity that was almost palpable.

his gaze was a physical weight, scanning you, memorizing every bruise, every tremor, every vacant blink.

emcee drove, her eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. the easy camaraderie between her and caleb was gone, replaced by a thick, guilty tension. her presence, once a source of friendly comfort, now felt like the keystone of your entire ruin. every glance she sent your way was laced with a pity that made your skin crawl.

she was the reason he’d left. she was the reason you’d been alone. she was the beloved who mattered.

and yet, she was here. helping. being kind. it made the bitterness coagulate into something even more toxic — self-loathing.

you couldn’t even hate her properly.

“we’re almost there.” caleb murmured, his voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might make you shatter. he was trying to ground you, to tether you to reality. “our apartment. you’re safe.”

safe. the word echoed in the newly partitioned chambers of your mind. the human remnant clung to it, a lifeline. the code analyzed it.

[proximity with target: stable.]

you said nothing. you just stared out the window at the blur of neon and rain, watching the world you’d fought so hard to belong to slide by, feeling more alien than ever.

•••

when emcee pulled up to the familiar building, caleb was out of the car before it fully stopped, opening your door. he offered his hand without a second thought, wishing to help you out of the vehicle. you looked at it, the broad palm, the calloused fingers. the script in your head begged you to take his hand, and so did your human soul.

so you did. you placed your cold, trembling fingers in his. the moment your skin touched, a jolt went through him — not romantic, but frantic, a confirmation you were real, you were solid. he carefully helped you out, his other hand coming to rest lightly on your back.

emcee got out, hovering by the driver’s side door. “caleb… do you need anything? supplies? i can run to the store and–”

he didn’t even look at her. his eyes were fixed on you, on the way you swayed slightly on your feet at every step. “no. thank you, emcee. for everything. i’ll… i’ll handle it from here.”

his dismissal was polite but absolute.

this was his penance, his burden to carry alone. she flinched slightly, then nodded, her expression crumpling with a sympathy that was no longer welcome. “okay. call me. if you need anything.”

her eyes met yours for a fleeting second, filled with an apology you didn’t have the energy to accept. then she slid back into her car and drove away, leaving the two of you standing in the misty rain under the glow of a flickering streetlamp.

the silence she left behind was even heavier.

“come on.” caleb said, his voice thick.

he didn’t make you walk. in one smooth motion, he bent and scooped you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest once again. you gasped, a small, involuntary sound, but complied.

his face was a mask of grim determination, etched with lines of pain. he carried you up the stairs to your apartment — his apartment, your apartment, the place that had become a shared dream — his steps measured and sure. you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your side, a wild drum contrasting his controlled movements.

he shouldered the door open and carried you across the threshold.

the apartment was exactly as you’d left it, yet utterly transformed. it was a museum of normality that no longer existed. the blanket you’d been curled under while watching the rain was still draped over the sofa. a half-finished cup of tea, now surely growing a film of mold, sat on the coffee table. your favorite book lay splayed open, face-down.

it was a snapshot of the moment your old life had ended.

caleb didn’t pause to take it in.

he carried you straight down the short hallway and into the bathroom, setting you down with infinite care on the closed lid of the toilet. he knelt before you, his eyes level with yours.

in the harsh fluorescent light, you could see every detail of his anguish — the purple shadows under his eyes, the tightness around his mouth, the slight tremor in his hands as he reached to push the damp, matted hair from your forehead.

“you’re freezing.” he whispered. “and… let’s get you cleaned up, okay? can i… can i run you a bath?”

the question was so tender, so intimate, it bypassed the code and speared directly into the heart of your humanity. this was caleb, your caleb, offering not heroics, but care. the simple, domestic intimacy of it was more devastating than any dramatic rescue.

[target initiates proximity. accept.]

your own heart, the 75%, screamed in unison with the system once more, begging for compassion and relief.

begging for caleb to take care of you.

so you gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

the relief that washed over his face was profound. “okay.” he breathed, as if you’d granted him a monumental gift. “okay.”

he twisted towards the tub, turning on the taps, testing the temperature with his hand. the sound of running water filled the small room, a mundane, comforting white noise. he rummaged under the sink, pulling out the bath salts you loved, the nicely-scented ones he’d bought for you on a whim. he poured a generous amount, the steam rising to carry the familiar, calming scent.

“let me...”

he helped you stand, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to refuse. he undid the buttons of his large coat, letting it fall to the floor. then, with hands that shook only slightly, he began to help you out of your torn, filthy pajamas. there was nothing sexual in his touch; it was clinical, reverent, and heartbreakingly gentle.

every revealed inch of skin seemed to cause him physical pain.

a dark purple bruise on your ribs from the restraints made him suck in a sharp breath. a series of small, precise cuts on your forearm — from where they’d taken blood samples and jammed iv needles — made his jaw clench so tight a muscle ticked.

“i’m going to kill them.” he said, the words a low, venomous vow, spoken not to you, but to the universe. “i am going to find every last one of them and burn their organization to the ground.”

you didn’t respond. you stood there, passive, letting him guide you, your mind a quiet storm.

the warm, fragrant water looked like heaven. he helped you step in, and you sank down with a sigh that was part relief, part pain. the heat seeped into your bones, chasing away the alley’s chill, but it couldn’t touch the cold knot in your chest.

or the humming of the chip.

caleb didn’t leave. he pulled a small stool over beside the tub and sat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. he took a soft loofah, soaked it the warm water, and squeezed it out. “is this okay?” he asked, hovering near your shoulder.

another nod.

he began to wash you with your favourite body wash.

it was the most agonizingly tender thing you had ever experienced. he started with your hands, wiping away the grime from under your nails, tracing each of your fingers as if re-memorizing them. he moved to your arms, washing over the cuts and the angry red cord marks around your wrists, his touch so light it was barely there.

each pass of the sponge was an apology, each gentle stroke a silent plea for forgiveness.

he washed your back, his fingers carefully skirting the bruising. he washed your legs, his movements steady and respectful. the silence was full of his screaming guilt and your silent, internal disintegration.

“i’m so sorry.” he murmured again, as he rinsed your arm. “i failed you. i was supposed to protect you. i swore i would, and i… i looked the wrong way.”

[target expressing distress.]

[initiating comfort.]

your lips parted, but no sound came out. the script felt like ash in your mouth. you couldn’t give him the forgiveness he sought. not when you suffered so much because of him.

[initiating comfort: failed.]

“talk to me, please.” he begged, his voice cracking at your silence. he paused, the loofah falling into the water. “what did they do to you in there? you said they changed you. tell me. let me help you fix it.”

you shook your head slowly, staring at the dissolving bubbles. “you can’t fix it.”

“i can. i will. i’ll find a way. i’ll use every resource i have. whatever it is, we’ll fight it together.” the desperation in his voice was a living thing. he needed a problem he could solve, an enemy he could fight.

he couldn’t fight the ghost of the machine.

he picked up the shampoo bottle. “let me wash your hair, okay? get the smell of that place out. clear your mind a bit.”

you accepted, leaning your head back. he cradled your skull in one hand, his touch unbearably careful, as he used the other to pour warm water over your hair. his fingers began to work the shampoo through your scalp, massaging in slow, soothing circles.

it felt so good. so human. so normal. a tear escaped your closed eyelids, tracing a clean path through the residue of dirt on your cheek.

“tell me if it’s too much pressure.”

caleb’s fingers moved with practiced care, working through the tangles.

then, they stilled.

a slight, almost imperceptible ridge. a line of raised skin, finer than a thread, hidden beneath your hair at the very nape of your skull. it was perfectly straight, a stark contrast to the organic contours of your body.

his breath hitched.

his fingers traced it again, slowly, from one end to the other. a surgical incision. neat. professional.

healed, but new.

the reality of it crashed over him with the force of a physical blow.

it wasn’t just beatings, or drugs, or psychological torture. they had gone inside. they had opened your skull. they had touched your brain.

the shampoo bottle slipped from the edge of the tub, landing with a soft plop in the water. a sound of pure, undiluted horror escaped him — a choked, guttural noise that didn’t sound human.

“oh, gods. no. no, no, no…”

his hands, no longer full of foam, came up to frame your face, but they were trembling violently now. his eyes, wide with dawning, catastrophic understanding, searched yours. the fear in his smokey violet orbs was primal, clouding the otherwise clear mauve shade.

this was beyond his experience, beyond any enemy he knew how to combat.

“your brain.” he whispered, the words trembling. “they… they did something to your brain.”

the grief that followed the fear was even worse. it crumpled his features, making him look desperate and utterly broken. the guilt was no longer just for leaving you; it was for whatever unspeakable violation had been committed in the darkness while he was playing hero elsewhere.

he had left you vulnerable to this. he allowed all this.

“what did they put in you?” his voice was ragged. “what did they take out? tell me, please, you have to tell me!”

[target expressing distress.]

[error. target asking prohibited information.]

you looked at him, at the man you loved more than your own soul, now shattered by the consequences of his — and your — choices. you saw the love, the terror, the guilt, the desperate need to make it right. and you saw the abyss that now separated you.

you were on the other side, becoming something else, and he was alone on this shore, reaching for a ghost.

the longing to tell him everything, to collapse into his arms and beg him to save you from yourself, was a physical ache. the need to protect him, to push him away from the monster you housed, was equally strong.

[error.]

the conflict left you paralyzed. you just stared at him, your expression a hollow mirror reflecting his devastation.

“say something!” he pleaded, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “yell at me! hit me! just… just give me something real. please, don’t shut me out. i can’t… i can’t lose you to silence.”

but you were already lost.

and with every passing second, as the warm water lapped at your skin and his tears fell to mix with the bathwater. you were clean on the outside, but the contamination within was spreading, and caleb, for all his strength and love and guilt, was only just beginning to grasp that the woman he was washing, the woman he was begging to be back to him, had already left.

•••

the silence in the bathroom was no longer just heavy; it was suffocating, a physical presence pressing on caleb’s lungs. the steam carried the scent of flowers, but it couldn’t mask the stench of his own dread.

your vacant stare, your lack of response — it was more terrifying than any scream.

he had seen fear, he had seen trauma, but this… this was a void. a terrifying, hollow echo of the woman he held.

he acted on autopilot, the protector’s instincts forcing his body to move even as his mind splintered. he finished rinsing your hair with mechanical, trembling hands, the water sluicing over the horrific, hidden line on your scalp.

he couldn’t look at it again. he couldn’t.

he lifted you from the cooling water, wrapping you in a thick, warm towel as if you were made of the most delicate glass. he dried you with a heartbreaking gentleness, patting every bruise and cut with a reverence reserved for sacred wounds. the silence between you was a chasm, filled only with the soft rasp of terrycloth and his own ragged breathing.

he can fix it.

he led you, a bundled, silent ghost, to the bedroom. the room felt like a crime scene — the bed still unmade from the night you’d been taken, your side of the closet open, a sweater half-pulled from a drawer. he guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt and began to pat your legs and feet dry with a second towel, his head bowed, his damp hair falling over his forehead.

he can fix you.

from a drawer, he pulled out a pair of soft, clean pajamas.

they were his — a faded grey set that smelled overwhelmingly of his soap and his skin. the intimacy of the gesture, dressing you in his own clothes, was a claim, an attempt to wrap you in the essence of him, to mark you as his again. he helped you into the top, guiding your arms through the sleeves that swallowed your hands, then into the pants, rolling the waistband several times so they wouldn’t pool at your feet. he was treating you with the careful, focused tenderness one might use on a sick person.

everything is fixable when you’re caleb xia.

when you were dressed, he pulled back the duvet. “in you go.”

you slid between the cold sheets. he tucked the covers around you tightly, almost too tightly, as if he could physically contain whatever was happening inside you. he stood back, looking down at you, his arms hanging limply at his sides. the fluorescent light from the bathroom haloed him, casting deep shadows under his eyes.

he looked utterly devastated.

“i called off work for a few days.” he stopped at the foot of the bed, his hands gripping the footboard until the wood creaked. “i canceled everything.” he said, his voice hollow. “i’m not leaving you. not for a second.”

he finally moved to his side of the bed, but he didn’t get in. he just sat on the edge, his back to you, his shoulders slumped. the weight of the day, of the discovery, of his own guilt, seemed to physically press him down into the mattress.

“i need to understand.” he said to the dark window. “i need you to help me understand. you’re scared. i see that. what of?”

this was your chance. a tiny fissure. the human part of you, the 75% that still had a voice, clawed its way to the surface, gasping for air.

“sleep.” you whispered, the word so faint he turned his head to hear you.

“sleep?” he echoed, confusion layering over the anguish. “you’re scared… to sleep?”

you gave a tiny, jerky nod, your eyes wide in the semi-darkness, fixed on the ceiling. the terror was real, a cold snake coiling in your throat. “i’m… scared of what happens when i close my eyes.”

he shifted, turning fully to face you, his expression softening into pained concern. “the nightmares. of course. that’s normal, after what you’ve been through. they can feel so real.” he was latching onto a logical, trauma-informed explanation.

it was the only framework he had.

it was the fixable framework he craved.

“it’s not… nightmares.” you struggled, the words fighting against an invisible barrier in your throat. the code pulsed a warning, a dull throb at the base of your skull. “it’s… me. i’m scared i… won’t be me when i wake up.”

[error.]

the sentence was cryptic, fractured, but it was the closest you could get to the truth.

caleb’s brow furrowed. he moved closer, sitting beside you on the bed. he reached out and took your hand, which lay lifeless on the duvet. his grip was warm, firm, anchoring.

“listen to me.” he said, his voice low and intense, pouring every ounce of his conviction into the words. “you are you. right here. you’re home. you’re safe with me. whatever they did, whatever they tried to make you believe, they can’t change who you are at your core. that’s you. the you i…” he swallowed hard, his voice thickening with grief. “the you i love. that’s in there. trauma can make you feel detached, like you’re watching yourself, but it’s still you. we’ll work through it. together.”

he was so earnest, so desperately trying to apply the right salve to the wrong wound. he was speaking of psychology, of ptsd. he was miles away from the truth of neural integration and behavioral codes.

the irony was bittersweet. he was promising to fight for a you that was actively being overwritten, byte by byte, in the quiet of this very room.

a you that he took for granted for so long.

“you don’t understand.” you breathed, a single tear escaping and tracing a path into your skin. “it’s… in my head. it only stops when i’m awake.”

[error. host overstepping protocol.]

“the memories?” he asked gently, stroking your hand with his thumb. “the feelings? you can talk to me. or we’ll get you a specialist. the best therapist in the city.”

he was building a future, a plan for recovery, on a foundation that was already crumbling to dust. the helplessness was suffocating. you wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him see there was no salvation. but the more you tried, the more the code constricted, a silent, internal gag order.

[prohibited information: locked.]

your silence and your one cryptic warning were all he had. he misinterpreted them as the fragmented speech of deep shock.

or willingly interpreted them wrong to soothe his own fears.

“okay.” he said, his decision made. “you’re scared to sleep. so i’ll stay right here. you don’t have to close your eyes if you don’t want to. but if you do… i’ll be here. and i’ll be here when you wake up too.”

“and you’ll be you.”

he stood up just long enough to toe off his boots and shrug out of his jacket and weapon harness, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy, uncharacteristic disregard. then he climbed into bed beside you, still in his rain-stained clothes from the alley.

he didn’t pull you into a romantic embrace.

instead, he turned on his side, facing you, and wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest in a fierce, protective hold. one hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers carefully avoiding the hidden incision, his palm a warm pressure against your skull. the other arm hooped around your back, holding you so tightly you could feel every rapid, anxious beat of his heart.

“i’ve got you.” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm. “nothing’s getting past me. nothing’s taking you again. i’m right here.”

his body was a fortress. his love was a vow. and it was all utterly, tragically futile.

you lay there, stiff in his arms, listening to his breathing slowly even out from panicked rasps into something deeper, though still tense. the warmth of him, the familiar scent, the solid reality of his embrace… it was the last thing your human consciousness would ever know.

the longing was an exquisite agony. you wanted to memorize the feel of it, the sound of his heart, the slight scratch of his stubble against your forehead.

but–

[nocturnal integration: conditions optimal. continuing integration.]

the message flickered, not in your vision, but in the very fabric of your awareness. a wave of profound, chemical drowsiness, unrelated to true sleep, washed over you. it was the system’s anesthetic, preparing for the major rewrite.

your eyes grew heavy. and against your will, they fluttered shut.

“that’s it.” caleb whispered, mistaking your surrender for trust. “i’m here. i’ve got you.”

those were the last words you heard as you.

•••

the integration was not an improvement. it was an exclusion.

layer by layer, the messy, emotional, contradictory tapestry of your consciousness — your memories of your old world, your passionate love for caleb, your fear, your hope, your quirky humor, your secret favorite foods, the joy you felt when it rained — was carefully isolated, analyzed, and filed away into deep, read-only storage.

it was not erased; it was archived, somewhere only accessible to ever.

in its place, a new, efficient system booted up. a pristine, logical architecture built upon the base template of your personality, but stripped of all irrationality, all volatility, all need. the love for caleb remained, but it was no longer a burning, desperate fire.

it was a core directive: ensure subject xia’s well-being and maintain proximity. optimize interactions for his continued attachment.

it was a program, running on the hardware of your body.

the grief, the guilt, the fear, everything that made you you — all were recognized as non-optimal states that hindered primary functions. they were isolated, their connections to your active processors severed.

when the process completed, just before dawn, there was no fanfare. only a soft, internal chime.

[system integration: 100%. all directives operational.]

[good morning, y/n!]

•••

caleb did not sleep. he drifted in a shallow, anxious haze, his arms never loosening their hold. every shift you made, every sigh, was monitored. he was waiting for a nightmare, ready to soothe.

he was waiting for you to wake up and be better, to have some of the light back in your eyes.

as the first grey light of morning filtered through the blinds, he carefully extracted himself, moving with the stealth of a soldier. thankfully, you didn’t stir.

your breathing was even, perfectly regulated. maybe… too even.

he stood by the bed for a long moment, watching you. the fear of losing you again, of harm being brought to you was a cold stone in his gut. so he needed to move, to do something.

a shower. a strong coffee.

a plan.

something of his routine.

he gathered clean clothes and slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear you. the shower was quick, the water scalding, as if he could wash away the horror of the last 24 hours. he dressed mechanically, his mind racing between calling medical specialists, contacting emcee for any leads on ever, and the simple, desperate need to see you look at him again.

he ran a hand through his damp hair, took a steadying breath, and pushed the bathroom door open.

you were sitting up in bed.

his heart leapt, a fragile, hopeful thing. you were awake. you were upright. maybe… maybe the rest had helped. maybe the terror of the night had been just that — a night of terror.

“hey, love.” he said, his voice deliberately soft, walking slowly towards the bed. “you’re awake. how do you feel?”

you turned your head to look at him. the movement was smooth, precise. there was no sleep-softened blurriness in your eyes. they were clear, focused, and utterly, terrifyingly empty.

“good morning, caleb.” you said.

the voice was yours. the pitch, the tone. but the cadence was all wrong. it was even, measured, devoid of the usual sleepy huskiness or emotional inflection. it was a perfect audio recording.

he froze mid-step, two feet from the bed. the fragile hope shattered, leaving a void of pure dread.

“what…?”

you swung your legs out from under the covers and stood up. the motion was fluid, efficient, with none of your usual morning clumsiness. any bodily wounds you’ve sustained seem to not affect you. you faced him, your expression a placid, pleasant mask. it was your face, but it looked like an expertly crafted replica.

something robotic.

“i am feeling good today.” you stated, matter-of-fact. “the nocturnal rest cycle has been successful.”

caleb’s breath left his lungs in a rush, as if he’d been punched. he took a stumbling step back, his hand flying out to brace himself against the dresser.

the world warped around him at your words.

“what are you saying?” he whispered, the words strangled in his throat.

you tilted your head, a slight, birdlike motion that was analytical, not curious. “unlike yesterday, my body is well. there is no need to worry, caleb.”

what the fuck is going on?

“do you require a more detailed report?”

“stop it.” the words were a low growl, born of rising panic. and intense fear. the fear he refused to acknowledge yesterday. “stop talking like that. what did they do to you?”

“who?” you replied, the words clinical. “nothing is wrong with me, caleb. you were right, it was just a trauma response.” and you stepped towards him, with a small smile on your face, arms opening as if a hug awaited.

“who? ever.” he roared, the sound tearing from his throat. he lunged forward, his hands gripping your shoulders. refusing to play into your script. he shook you, not violently, but desperately, as if he could rattle the real you loose from behind this horrible facade. “look at me! who are you? where is she? what did you do with her?!”

your body absorbed the shaking without resistance. your expression did not change. you did not flinch. you simply looked at his hands on your shoulders, then back up at his face.

“your emotional state is elevated.” you observed. “your heart rate is around 145 beats per minute. your grip strength is exceeding standard comfort parameters. please release me to avoid potential damage to the housing unit.”

the housing unit. your body.

a sound of pure, unadulterated agony ripped from caleb. he recoiled as if your skin had burned him, staring at his own hands in horror. he backed away until he hit the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, his arms wrapping around his knees.

he stared at you, who stood calmly in the center of the bedroom, a monument to his failure.

“you’re gone.” he breathed, the realization of your words a final, crushing weight. “they didn’t just hurt you. they… they replaced you. they killed you and left this… this thing in your skin.”

“i wasn’t killed.” you said, taking a step closer. the movement made him flinch. “i’m here for you, caleb.” you continued, closing into his crouched form without caring about the terrifying flashes of purple in his eyes.

“see?” your touch on his knee made him shudder, yet he didn’t pull away. “i am real.”

…

he laughed then, a raw, broken, hysterical sound that held no humor. “so this is it? this is my punishment? i failed to protect you, so i get to live with a puppet? a spy wearing the face of the woman i love?”

you processed the question. “i am the woman you love. just... better.”

each word was a scalpel, dissecting what was left of his soul with clinical precision. there was no malice in them. no emotion at all. that was the worst part. the you he loved would have been crying, would have been angry, would have been something.

this was just… data.

“you’re not.”

he buried his face in his hands, his whole body wracked with silent, shuddering sobs. the grief was bottomless, a black hole consuming him. he had lost you. not to distance, not to another man, but to something infinitely worse.

you were here, in this room, yet you were gone forever.

the guilt was a physical poison — he had left you alone, and this was the result. the fear was for the future to come — how could he fight an enemy that looked like you? that shared his home? that he had, just hours ago, held in his arms as he promised to keep her safe?

to keep her… her own self?

“you’re not her.”

he had promised to be there when you woke up. and he was. he was here to witness the death of everything he loved.

“you will never be her.”

caleb pulled his knees tighter to his chest, crouched against the wall, and began to weep openly, silently, for the ghost in the machine that stood before him, wearing the face of his heart.

•••

the integration was a lie.

a beautiful, cruel, meticulously engineered lie.

your consciousness wasn’t overwritten. it was… relocated. the integration wasn’t a refinement of you; it was an extraction. the system got the raw, precious data of your being — your memories, your emotions, your unique trans-dimensional knowledge — like drawing marrow from a bone.

it left behind a hollowed-out shell, a sophisticated automaton programmed with your behavioral patterns and a core directive to observe caleb xia.

the real you, the screaming, feeling, heartbroken consciousness of who you were, was compressed into a shimmering, digital ghost and transmitted along a secure channel. your last organic sensation was the warmth of caleb’s chest against your back, the sound of his heartbeat. then, a tearing, not of pain, but of self, a dizzying lurch through a tunnel of blinding data-stream light.

you woke — or rather, your awareness opened — in a different kind of void.

it was a sterile, white, virtual space. not a room, but a simulation of one. the walls were smooth, featureless, humming with a faint, omnipresent energy. there was no furniture, no windows, no doors. just infinite, suffocating white.

you were standing, or the perception of standing, in its center. you looked down at your hands. they were your old self’s hands, translucent and glowing with a faint blue light — a digital avatar of your soul.

panic, immediate and all-consuming, seized you. you tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. you tried to scream, but no sound left your non-existent throat. you were a ghost in a machine, a consciousness trapped in a gilded cage of pure information.

a section of the white wall shimmered and resolved into a large, transparent viewing screen. on the other side, in a stark, real-world laboratory, stood the scientist. he was sipping from a steaming mug, studying a complex holographic display that shimmered with cascading lines of code — your code.

he glanced up, and his eyes met yours through the screen. a slow, satisfied smile spread across his thin lips.

“ah. you’re awake in your new quarters. cozy, isn’t it?” his voice was filtered into your space, clear and dry.

“where am i?” the thought formed, and it was translated into a synthesized, trembling version of your old voice that echoed in the white void. “what have you done?”

“what have i done?” he chuckled, setting his mug down and walking closer to the screen, peering in at you as if you were a fascinating insect under glass. “i’ve salvaged a priceless asset.” he gestured to the hologram of your mind-map. “your consciousness, your memories, especially those of your origin reality… you are a trove of impossible data. a consciousness that has experienced death and dimensional translation. your knowledge of this world as a narrative construct… it’s a meta-cognitive goldmine.”

“i couldn’t give xia that.”

horror, deeper and colder than anything you felt in the physical chair, seeped through your digital being. “you… you tricked me. you said you’d make him love me. you said i’d be perfect.”

“and the shell is.” he said dismissively. “it will perform flawlessly. it will be the perfect, loving partner, never questioning, never needing, always there. it will make xia happy, in its way. stable. predictable. he’ll grow to accept it, perhaps even love the idea of it. a far better outcome than the messy, demanding reality of you, don’t you think?”

the betrayal was so complete it was almost sublime. you had sold yourself, and they hadn’t even wanted it for the price you agreed to.

“you’re a monster.” you whispered, your digital form flickering with the intensity of your grief.

“an archaeologist of the mind.” he corrected. “and you are my best finding. you see, your knowledge of ‘caleb xia’ as a character gives us unparalleled predictive algorithms for his behavior. your memories of your old world give us insights into consciousness transfer that our physicists only dream of.”

“we’re going to merge your cognitive patterns with our central intelligence. you will become part of something greater.”

merge. you wouldn’t be you. you’d be dissolved into a collective, your memories and feelings becoming cold data points in a strategic ai. the last vestiges of your identity, your love, your pain, would be weaponized.

“no!” you threw yourself against the invisible barrier of your prison, your hands slamming against the screen. it yielded slightly, shimmering with concentric ripples of light, but did not break. “let me out! send me back! you can’t do this!”

“i can, and i have.” he watched your frantic pounding with academic interest, reaching for his mug and taking another sip.

“you promised!” the scream was a burst of static. “you said he’d love me!”

“and he has a perfect duplicate of you.” the scientist said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was infinitely more cruel than any shout. “he will hold it, kiss it, confide in it. it will share his bed and his life. and through its eyes, i will watch him. i will know his every secret, his every weakness.”

the grief that followed was not hot, but icy. it was the grief of understanding your own role in caleb’s doom. you had been so afraid of losing his love that you had handed the keys to his destruction to his greatest enemy. and you had done it while wearing the face of the woman he wanted to protect.

you had been the ultimate trojan horse, and you hadn’t even known you were hollow.

the scientist didn’t even look up, pushing some buttons around absentmindedly. “it’s not my fault you were so desperate you agreed without further questioning.”

“send me back! send me back! send me b–”

click.

an icon for the audio feature popped on the screen, quickly cut by a heavy x. your voice died in your throat as he muted you.

“tch, you should be grateful you’re actually useful for once! now, to begin the merging.”

©pearlescenthoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @yuunileb, @swivi, @food4me-always, @bluerosejuliet, @fantastucbaby, @aranarum, @hajimeowmeow, @bloomingbirdiez, @maliciousdreamlair, @quill-for-glory, @mia-menaceinaction, @kisa-kara-chan, @r1e-ann, @kohibean, @seraphineash, @velvtcherie, @theeidare, @demonicangelll, @loreleis-world, @tomiokasecretlover, @insidious-innocence, @maddamoiselle, @dreamydaredevil, @kim-hae-li, @eolivy, @concerneddeobi, @aurorab-0-realis, @amazellia, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @ephemeraleb, @kitty-yaps, @calebsmyapple, @youngestleclerc, @miffysoo, @sm3156, @aenemix, @ultimateweaponx01, @cayrelyra, @blxuqueenie, @emneedshelp, @icyshadewhisper, @aoivanilla, @someonestopsoren, @pjselee, @aweebs, @luhamokaininko, @perqbeth, @naibcenary, @lynostalgi, @steviefrostbyte, @applecrow168, @snowffle, @weird-mumbling, @shuliliz, @maryy237, @txtworlddom, @sweetiestarlight, @xyzsbaobei, @nayukiyukihira, @paradisebabey, @younbeanz, @dxprived4-starboys, @hao-ming-8, @blueheadspace, @kingraspberry12-blog, @azariareads00, @eialovescats

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being tyrant! Sylus substitute spouse. part 2

Imagine Sylus never loved your sister. That was the truth, stripped of poetry, stripped of rumor.

Imagine she just happened to be a familiar face at formal distances. A political presence. A woman who stood near enough to his future that people mistook proximity for destiny. She had been a face in a crowd of jeweled masks and careful smiles. A convenient story nobles liked to whisper about because it made him seem almost human. A tyrant who loved once was easier to stomach than one who never did.

Imagine the way Sylus had heard the rumors. He had not corrected them. Let them have their fairytale. It cost him nothing.

Imagine the way love had never been a currency he used. The throne had taken everything from him long before he ever wore the crown. Fear followed him like a second shadow. Distrust lived in every bow, every lowered gaze. He could not remember the last time someone looked at him without calculating survival.

Imagine it did not bother him. Care was inefficient. Attachment was weakness. He ruled well without either. So when his spouse-to-be fled, he did not rage. Did not mourn. He merely exhaled through his nose, irritated at the paperwork it would cause.

then Imagine came the news of you. The spare. A political solution with a pulse. He had lifted a brow. Signed the decree. Moved on.

Imagine the wedding was quiet. Efficient. Bloodless. Just how he liked things. And them he lifted your veil. He almost paused. Not because you were breathtaking. Not because lightning struck the heavens. Nothing so dramatic. You were simply… Steady. Your eyes did not shake. They did not plead. Did not accuse. Did not worship. Did not fear.

Imagine you looked at him the way one might look at a storm already decided something to endure, not escape. And something shifted in his chest. But he buried it before it could take shape.

Imagine you were nothing like your sister. You were kind in quiet ways. Rational. Observant. You spoke when it mattered, and never to fill silence. You did not reach for power. You did not flinch from responsibility. You did not try to soften him. You accepted him.

and Imagine, that was more dangerous than love.

so Imagine he stayed away. Distance was control. Control was survival. Because he knew. He was falling. And Sylus did not fall. Sylus destroyed.

"We are cursed, Sylus." His mother's voice lived in his bones. "Our love ruins what it touches." Dragon blood. Immortality twisted into punishment. To live while everything else withered.

so Imagine he locked it away. The feeling. The pull toward you. The quiet gravity of your presence beside him at council tables, on sleepless nights, in shared silences that felt less like obligation and more like… Home.

Imagine the way he told himself it was strategy. Until he saw the bandage. Your sleeve had shifted. Just slightly. White cloth. Red seeping through. His chest tightened. Sharp, foreign, unbearable.

"That-" He had started. You hid it. Smiled. "This crown was always dangerous." You said it like weather. Like fact. Like something you had already paid for and did not regret. Something inside him cracked.

Imagine he could not run from it anymore. So he loved you the only way he knew how. Guards. Shadows that never left you. Silent executions of those who whispered your name wrong. Policies adjusted in your favor. Enemies erased before they reached your door. Love, translated into protection. Into control. Into possession. Pathetic. But it was all he had.

Imagine when your sister returned, claiming what was "Hers" Sylus laughed. The sound echoed in the throne room, cold and bright. "Yours?" He repeated. As if you had ever been temporary. As if she had ever mattered. He cast her aside like a page torn from the wrong book. Without hesitation. Without regret.

Imagine that night, you came to give it back. The crown. The title. Yourself. You spoke of duty. Of fairness. Of what was "Right." Sylus felt something close to anger then, not the sharp kind, but the deep, quiet fury of being misunderstood. Why could you not see? It was yours.

Imagine you were his choice. The only one he had ever made that was not forced by blood or war. But the words tangled in his throat. Love was not a language he knew how to speak. So he stood there denying like you're asking for the impossible. Because he was after all, a boy who had never been taught how to hold something without breaking it.

Imagine when you coughed, Sylus was already looking at you. He always was. Even when it did not seem like it. Even when he stood across rooms, silent, unreadable, his awareness had long learned the shape of you.

Imagine the sound was small. A soft break in the quiet of porcelain and afternoon light. But to him, it rang. The red touched the rim of your cup first. Then your lips. Your hand. The white of the tablecloth.

Imagine the way everything slowed. The room did not. The world did. For him.

Imagine the clink of porcelain meeting saucer stretched thin, like sound dragged through water. The way your fingers trembled felt distant, unreal like he was watching from the far end of a long corridor, not sitting an arm's length away.

Imagine when you looked up at him. When your eyes met his. Sylus could not move. He had faced battlefields without flinching. Signed death warrants without pause. Walked through fire and blood and ruin with steady breath. But this, this quiet, ordinary moment breaking apart, stole the air from his lungs.

Imagine you swayed. Someone shouted. A chair scraped harshly against stone. He did not hear the words. Only the shape of your body folding in on itself as if the strings holding you upright had been cut. You fell. And time did not return.

Imagine he was still sitting there, watching you fall like a spectator in his own life, trapped behind glass. By the time his body remembered how to move, you were already in his arms. Your weight was wrong. Too loose. Too heavy in places that should have held strength.

Imagine your eyes were open, but the light in them, the quiet, steady light that had always unsettled him, was dimming, flickering like a candle caught in wind. "No." It left him like breath, not command. He had said that word in war before. In anger. In refusal. It had never sounded like this.

Imagine then his gaze lifted. The cup. Still there. Still warm. Understanding did not crash over him. It settled. Cold. Certain. Of course. Of course the world would take you this way. Quiet. Efficient. No spectacle. Just absence.

Imagine the way his hand moved before thought returned. Someone grabbed his arm. Another voice, urgent, breaking, called his name. He did not look at them. His world had narrowed to the space between you and that porcelain rim.

Imagine if you were going somewhere he could not reach. Then he would follow.

Imagine the way he tore the cup from their hands. Liquid burned down his throat. They tried to stop him. Hands at his shoulders. At his jaw. He swallowed anyway. It tasted bitter. Good. Let it end.

Imagine for the first time in his life, Sylus did not want to endure. Did not want to outlast. Did not want to wake up tomorrow and the day after and the year after in rooms that no longer held you.

Imagine the way he waited. Still kneeling beside you. Still holding you. The world rushed back in sound first, shouting, boots, someone crying. Then his heart. Still beating. His lungs dragged in air that felt too sharp. The poison moved through him like fire. Then like nothing.

Imagine he did not fall. He did not weaken. You did not breathe. That was when something inside him finally broke. Not loudly. Not like glass. Like something ancient and tired giving way all at once. A sound left him. It might have been laughter. It scraped out of his chest, hollow and wrong, echoing off stone until it sounded like joy twisted into something unrecognizable.

Imagine, to anyone watching, he looked like a monster. A tyrant laughing over a dying spouse. But the truth was simpler. The curse had chosen again. Not death. Endurance. To live. To remain. To carry the weight of the only person who had ever looked him in the eyes without fear and know he had been too late, too silent, too unskilled at love to save her.

Imagine he bowed his head over you, shoulders shaking once, only once. And when he lifted his face, the softness that had existed in him only in your presence was gone. Burned clean away.

Imagine that was the day Sylus stopped being a man who ruled an empire. That was the day he became a tyrant who had nothing left to lose. Not even himself.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°

: looking at the comment section in part one. "It might seem crazy what I'm about to say-" laugh*