•a/n• soft isaac has me in an actual choke hold bro
•word count• 3k
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THE STEPS DOWNWARD from the lab were uneven and narrow, each one made with stone that had long since darkened with the breath of the underground. isaac's hand remained steady at her arm, guiding her, because iris's legs trembled under her own weight. she leaned into him with hesitant, jerky movements, each step an uncertain test of a body not yet accustomed to its own existence. her feet touched the stone as though the ground itself might not hold her, but he never let her falter; his hand was there, anchoring, his voice low, a constant thread woven through the dim silence of the stairwell.
"slowly," he murmured, adjusting his pace to hers. "the world waits for you, iris. there is no need to rush."
she breathed shakily, her words catching, halting as though she was learning them piece by fragile piece. "...warm. here. inside."
isaac's gaze flickered down to her, his brow tightening in that faint shadow of concern, though it softened almost instantly into fascination. "what kind of warmth?"
iris pressed her hand against her stomach, just beneath her ribs, her palm splayed awkwardly over the faint feelings inside. her eyes widened, as though astonished by her own body's response. "small... flutters," she whispered. "like... winged... creatures. small. soft." she tilted her head, the memory seeming to come from nowhere, as though pulled from some hidden well she had no conscious claim to. "like the... ones you spoke of. before."
he stilled at that, his steps pausing. the stairwell seemed to grow even quieter, the air holding still around them. his voice lowered, almost breaking apart in disbelief. "butterflies."
her lips parted on the word, repeating it softly, tasting its shape as though it was already hers. "but... ter... flies."
he swallowed hard, searching her face with something like awe threaded through the steady line of his features. "you weren't supposed to know that," he said quietly, almost to himself. "i spoke of them when you were still... nothing more than a thought. i whispered to you when there was nothing yet to hear me."
she blinked, confusion curling her expression. "then... why?"
isaac's hand smoothed more firmly along her arm, his thumb brushing over her skin in a motion both grounding and reverent. "i don't know," he admitted, voice raw with a reverence he rarely allowed himself. "perhaps you remember because you were always listening... even before you had ears to hear."
her brow furrowed, her voice splintering again into halting fragments. "why... do they come... every time..." her breath shivered, the words dragging like fragile glass across her tongue, "...your hands. touch."
for a moment, isaac's composure fractured. his chest tightened, his throat constricting at the weight of her words. he let out a slow, controlled breath, fingers lingering against her arm with the faintest tremor. "then they come because you are beginning to feel," he whispered, as though confessing a secret not meant for the air. "and perhaps... because you were made for me."
iris tilted her gaze up toward him, the pale light of the stairwell catching in her eyes like flecks of glass and water. she didn't speak, but the way she leaned against him, unsteady yet clinging, was answer enough.
they reached the base of the stairwell at last. the heavy door groaned as isaac pushed it open, leading her into the narrow corridor beyond. the air shifted, cooler, drier, and lined with the faint smell of dust and old stone. isaac's steps quickened, his grip at her waist pulling her gently closer to his side as he glanced down both ends of the hallway, ensuring its emptiness.
no voices, no footsteps, only the echo of their own breaths.
"quiet now," he murmured, his lips near her ear. "we must be unseen."
she nodded faintly, though she leaned even heavier against him, her body still learning how to carry itself. her head dipped toward his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury of feeling the fragile weight of her resting there.
he guided her swiftly through the hall, every shadow seeming sharper, every silence deeper, until at last they reached the wooden door that belonged to him alone. with a deft motion he slipped them inside, closing it soundlessly behind them. the chamber was small, private, his dormitory. books crowded the shelves, a desk was cluttered with stray notes, and the single bed stood near the window, sheets drawn tight with precision.
"here," he said softly, leading her across the room. he helped her lean against the edge of the bed, his hand steady at her arm until he was certain she would not collapse. even then, he did not step away.
iris tilted her face up to him, her breathing unsteady, her hand now pressed against her chest as though something inside her demanded her attention.
"it's... sudden," she whispered. "beating. so loud."
his eyes narrowed, soft with intrigue, with awe that bordered on hunger. "your heart," he said.
her brows drew together, her voice thin, broken. "it feels... beautiful." she lifted her palm more firmly over her chest, her eyes never leaving his face. "yours... does it too?"
for a moment, isaac could not move. her question, so simple, cleaved something deep inside him. slowly, carefully, he reached for her wrist, his gloved fingers curling with the gentlest precision, and guided her hand upward, pressing it against his chest. the steady rhythm pulsed beneath her touch, strong and unwavering.
her eyes widened, her lips parting as though the soundless realization filled her with something greater than words. "i... like yours," she whispered. "calming."
his chest rose with a quiet, unsteady breath. he lowered his gaze to her again, and his voice softened to something almost inaudible. "then it is yours to know, my little creation."
her hand lingered there, but then she turned her gaze up at him again, her expression shifting with hesitant wonder. "you... feel mine?"
his breath caught. the words struck something deep, something dangerous, and yet he could not deny her. his hand released hers only to move higher, his fingers brushing delicately over the inside of her wrist first, tracing the faint throb of her pulse there. he lingered, feeling the fragile rush beneath her skin, before sliding upward, pressing his palm against the frantic beat of her heart.
her chest rose beneath his touch, her skin burning warm against the cool leather of his gloves. the silence between them seemed to stretch, taut and trembling, the air heavy with something unspoken.
her lips parted, trembling. "you... make it fast."
his throat tightened, his hand lingering against her chest longer than it should, as though he could not yet bear to withdraw. but then, a low sound broke the silence, sharp and sudden: the growl of her stomach. iris startled faintly at the noise, her brows furrowing in confusion.
she pressed her free hand to her stomach, bewildered. "again. the sound... inside."
isaac let out a slow breath, drawing his hand back at last. "that," he said gently, "is hunger. your body asking for fuel. food."
she blinked, tilting her head, still pressing her palm against her abdomen. "hunger."
he stepped to his desk, pulling something from the small bowl that rested there, an apple, its skin shining deep red in the dim light. he returned to her, the fruit resting in his palm, and pushed it gently toward her. "this will quiet it."
her eyes lingered on the object, uncertain, her hands twitching with hesitance. isaac reached for her again, curling his fingers around her hand, lifting it slowly until he placed the apple in her palm. his hand did not release hers; instead he guided it, steadying her trembling fingers around the round weight.
"hold it," he whispered.
she obeyed, clumsy and tentative, lifting it slowly toward her mouth. her gaze flickered once toward his, as though silently asking permission.
he nodded, voice low. "take a bite."
the sound was soft, the crunch of teeth breaking through skin, the first taste flooding her mouth. her eyes widened, her lips wet as she chewed carefully, swallowing as though trying to understand what her body had done.
isaac watched her without blinking, his eyes tracing every shift of her mouth, every tremble in her throat as she swallowed. he looked as though he could devour the sight of her, as though it was more sustaining than any food he could claim for himself.
"do you like it?" he asked softly.
iris nodded slowly, chewing again. her words broke between bites, halting but certain. "you... like these. you ate them... when you were thinking."
isaac froze. the words struck like lightning, crawling under his skin with a mixture of wonder and unease. "you couldn't know that," he murmured, voice low, nearly breaking.
she only looked at him, her lips stained faintly with the apple's juice, her gaze wide and innocent.
he swallowed, his throat working as he forced steadiness into his voice. "then you will love them too."
iris paused, holding the apple close, her gaze never leaving his. her lips parted, her voice tender and slow, each word falling as though it carried the weight of something eternal.
"then i will love them too."
the words fell softly between them, fragile as a promise, or maybe as a hope. after she said it, the silence that followed wasn't empty, it seemed to fill the air instead, like the faint hum that lingers after music stops. isaac didn't answer right away. he only watched her, the dim lamplight catching the curve of her cheek and the faint tremor at the corner of her lips. something in his expression shifted, a flicker that might have been relief, or softness, or maybe both at once.
iris held the half-eaten apple between her fingers, the pale flesh gone brown where the air had touched it. she stared at it, the bite marks small and uncertain, and wondered why her chest felt so heavy when everything around her was quiet. maybe because she didn't fully understand what he meant, about loving them, about what any of this really was. and yet, when she looked at him, something deep in her chest seemed to settle, as though her body recognized him before her mind could.
"you don't have to," isaac murmured finally, his voice low and uneven. "you don't have to love them. not yet."
his eyes drifted down to his hands, fingers flexing as if remembering what they'd created. "just.." he exhaled slowly, "just live. that's enough for now."
she nodded, though she didn't understand why the words hurt a little. maybe because he said yet, and that meant he believed there was time, time she didn't even know how to measure.
the room had gone dim except for the faint glow of the lamp near the window. light rain still whispered against the glass, soft and endless. iris sat with her knees drawn close, the apple resting forgotten in her palm, while isaac leaned back slightly, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the shadows.
"strange," she said after a while. "how quiet it.. is."
"you'll get used to it," he replied. "quiet doesn't always mean empty."
his voice carried the calm of someone who had lived with silence for a long time, not as a burden but as a companion. and maybe that's what she felt in him: that kind of quiet, one that could hold you rather than crush you.
she turned the apple in her hand, watching how the faint light glimmered against its fading skin. "are.. you lonely isaac?" she asked softly.
isaac's gaze shifted toward her, and for a moment she thought he might not answer. but then, in that steady voice that always seemed to carry both weight and gentleness, he said, "all the time."
he smiled faintly, a small, almost invisible thing. "but then i remember i chose it."
iris frowned, trying to understand. "chose.. alone?"
"chose to stay," he corrected. "there's a difference."
something about the way he said it made her chest ache. there was a sadness in him, but it wasn't the kind that begged for pity. it was the kind that came from knowing too much, about the world, about yourself, and still choosing to remain.
she looked at him for a long time, quietly studying the lines of his face. there was something ancient in his eyes, something that didn't belong to the present moment. it made her wonder what kind of man he really was, the kind who built life from nothing, or the kind who was haunted by what he'd done to make it possible.
"isaac?"
he looked up.
"what am i to do?" she asked, almost whispering.
he blinked once, slowly. "you're doing it."
"here?"
"existing," he said. "breathing. asking questions. wondering things you don't have to." he paused, then added quietly, "that's what the living do."
her throat tightened. she didn't know why such simple words could make her feel so much. maybe because it was the first time hearing that just being was enough.
the apple slipped from her fingers onto the table. the sound was soft but seemed to echo through the room, like the last note of a song. isaac glanced down, then reached over and turned it in his hand, inspecting it as though it were something delicate and rare.
"you should eat more," he murmured. "you'll feel better."
she took it back, obediently, biting into the fruit again. the taste was faintly sour now, but she didn't mind. it grounded her, the sound, the texture, the motion of chewing. every small action felt deliberate, as though she were learning how to live moment by moment.
"isaac," she said again after a while. "why did.. did you make me?" her words stumbled but not completely, she was adapting.
his gaze flickered. she saw it, that small hesitation, the fraction of a heartbeat before he spoke.
"because i wanted to see if i could," he said first. but his voice faltered halfway through, and the words didn't sound right, even to him.
she tilted her head. "not the real reason."
he didn't deny it. he just sat still for a long while, the lamplight trembling faintly across his face. then he said, "no. it's not."
the quiet stretched again, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. it was filled with all the things he didn't say, things she could almost hear in the spaces between his breaths.
eventually, the apple was gone. she set the core aside, wiping her fingertips against the hem of her sleeve. her movements had grown slower, heavier, the edges of her awareness starting to blur.
"you're tired," isaac said gently, watching her eyes begin to lose focus. "you need rest."
she blinked a few times, her body swaying slightly. "rest..." she repeated, nodding. "i want rest."
"that's a good sign," he murmured, standing. "come on."
he offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation. his palm was warm, steady in a way hers wasn't. she followed him as he guided her toward the narrow bed near the far wall. it looked untouched, the blanket neatly folded, the pillow still bearing its sharp edges from being never used.
he helped her lay down onto the bed clumsily, her hands resting on her lap. he bent down slightly, just enough to hover gently over her. he didn't step away yet, though instead, he lingered by the edge of it as one hand absently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear while watching her half-lidded eyes struggle to stay open just a little longer.. for him.
"will you..." she started, her voice small, already fading into the edge of sleep, "will you stay?"
his hands paused, his nose taking a sharply hitched inhale of air.
there was something in the way she asked so softly, her voice giving a soft tremor of uncertainty, already half-lost to sleep yet still clinging onto him even now. his hand paused mid-motion where it had been brushing against your temple before he let out a quiet chuckle and lowered himself beside you on the bed instead of retreating back to his desk like he usually would have done.
so he nodded once, softly. "i'll stay."
her lips curved faintly, a fragile sort of relief settling over her. she shifted under the blanket, curling slightly toward him as he laid near the opposite edge of the bed.
the rain outside softened to a whisper, and the lamplight flickered one last time before it dimmed completely underneath isaac's eyes.
for a long while, neither of them moved. her breathing slowed, steady and even, her head drifting until it came to rest against his shoulder. he didn't move her away. instead, he sat still, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the faint movement of her eyelashes fluttering in dreams.
something in him changed then, something quiet but irreversible. maybe it was the way she trusted him without question. maybe it was the strange, unbearable warmth of her closeness, reminding him what he'd been missing for so long.
he let out a slow breath, lowering his gaze to her hand where it had fallen against his arm. the smallest touch, but it felt like a promise, or maybe a plea.
he stayed that way until her breathing deepened into the rhythm of sleep, and even then he didn't move. the night stretched on, endless and still, and in that silence, isaac realized that for the first time in years, he wasn't thinking about what he had lost, only about what he had made, and what it meant to keep it safe.
he reached out once, brushing another stray lock of hair that had fallen on her face. his fingers lingered for just a moment, hovering close but not touching.
"sleep well, iris," he whispered.
and then, for the first time in a very long while, isaac let himself rest too.
summary: you thought you knew the boy you loved, until a hidden truth changes everything. in the quiet moments between life and loss, you cling to him, holding on when time itself seems to slip away.
notes & warnings: extremely fucking sad, soft!isaac, dying!isaac, mentions of death, small mentions of blood. lowk almost cried writing this bc i had the great idea to listen to adrianne lenker during it, i do NOT recommend.
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THE FIRST TIME you noticed something was wrong with isaac, it was subtle, almost laughably so if it weren't so unsettling. you'd walked into the brand new dorm lounge that evening, your bag slung lazily over one shoulder, hair half-tangled from the breeze outside. isaac was sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace, tinkering with one of his little mechanical projects, the tiny gears clicking softly in rhythm with the faint crackle of the fire. he looked up and smiled at you, warm, tender, that smile you'd known for four years, the one that made your heart stutter even after all that time.
"hey, dove," he said, and it was so soft, so affectionate, that your chest fluttered.
"hey," you answered, dropping your bag and sliding down next to him. his hand found yours instinctively, thumb brushing over knuckles. it was a touch so familiar, so safe, that you didn't even need to ask how his day had been.
"you're cold," he said casually, eyes darting down to your hand. "have you been outside too long?"
"maybe," you said, smiling. "but you always manage to keep me warm."
he laughed softly, but there was something odd in it, a faint hitch, almost imperceptible. you didn't say anything, because maybe you were imagining it. he was always dismissive of little aches or fatigue, brushing them off with a shrug or a joke about stress or lack of sleep.
the next week, you noticed it again. he'd been more tired than usual, his hand hovering over his chest once or twice before he buried it in his pocket. one evening, while you two were sitting on the balcony overlooking the city, he coughed, light, restrained, like he didn't want you to hear.
"you okay?" you asked, worry pricking your chest.
"just a cold," he replied, the usual shrug that usually settled you, but now didn't. something in the way he avoided your eyes made your stomach twist.
but then, the day everything broke.
you were walking down the corridor after your last class, backpack heavy, thoughts drifting to the sandwich you were planning to eat before heading to the library. the hallway was mostly empty, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead, the lockers casting long shadows across the tile. and then, there it was, his voice, soft, but urgent.
"gomez, i... i don't know how much longer i can last," he was saying, voice barely above a whisper. "my heart... it's failing. there's nothing i can do to fix it. don't tell y/n. please, she... she doesn't need to know."
your feet froze.
your chest felt as if it had been hollowed out. your stomach lurched, and a strangled noise rose in your throat, a sharp, silent sob that you pressed a trembling hand over before anyone could hear. tears burned at your eyes, blurring the fluorescent light into a soft, harsh glow. your heart shattered into a thousand impossible pieces in that moment, each shard cutting deeper than the last.
you stood there for the remainder of the day in a fog, your classes a blur, your hand clutching books you weren't reading. every second stretched out, torturously slow, your mind replaying his words over and over. "my heart... it's failing. don't tell y/n." the very idea that he was suffering, that he hadn't told you, your isaac, made your chest ache as though someone had gripped it in iron fingers.
finally, the day ended, dragging itself to a close like a wounded animal. you barely waited for the last bell to ring, racing across the campus, skipping hurriedly through familiar streets as your heart beat painfully in your chest. the thought of him alone in his dorm, unaware that you now knew, drove you faster. you practically burst through his dorm door, the metal pieces clicking shut behind you.
"isaac?" you called, your voice shaking, and the tears came in a flood the second he appeared. his head lifted, eyes wide with surprise, immediately scanning your tear-streaked face.
"y/n... what's wrong?" he asked, concern sharpening his tone, taking cautious steps toward you. but you didn't answer. instead, you threw yourself into him, burying your face into his chest, one hand pressing over his heart. it was just as warm, just as steady in it's beat, but you knew the truth.
"why didn't you tell me?" you whispered, voice choked with tears. "isaac... your heart... you..."
he closed his eyes, and for a moment, you felt the quiet, heartbreaking weight of his own pain. he cupped your face with trembling hands, lips brushing against your hair. "dove... i wanted to. i... i didn't want you to worry. i couldn't... i couldn't bear it if you saw me like this."
tears blurred your vision, sliding down your cheeks as you clung to him. "i can't... i can't just watch you suffer, isaac," you breathed, pressing your forehead against his. "please... please let me help."
he swallowed hard, a shiver running through him. "there's nothing to help with... not anymore. my heart... it's... failing. i've tried everything, dove. everything. but this... this one thing... i can't fix."
you stayed like that for hours that night, wrapped around him, murmuring soft reassurances and promises you weren't sure would be kept. your hands traced his face, memorizing the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his hair fell into his eyes. every sigh, every small tremble of his body made you ache in a way that words could never convey.
the first few days after that revelation blurred into an aching haze. you never left his side once you arrived in his dorm each time, sitting on the edge of his bed while he leaned back against a mountain of pillows, frail and hesitant. he insisted he could manage on his own, tried to brush your insistence aside, but you ignored the protests. your hands hovered over him constantly, tucking stray hairs behind his ears, brushing at his lips with a thumb when he absentmindedly rubbed at his mouth from fatigue.
"dove..." he whispered one afternoon, eyes half-lidded, the usual spark of mischief dimmed, "you don't need to-"
"i need to, isaac," you said softly, voice trembling despite your attempt to sound firm. "i can't just... sit back and watch you hurt like this."
he tried to smile, but it faltered halfway through, replaced by a faint wince. "i'm... okay. really."
"no," you replied, shaking your head, tears brimming. "you're not okay. not like this. i can feel it. please..." your voice cracked as you leaned closer, brushing your lips against his temple in a quiet gesture of love and desperation. "let me help you bear this, even if it's just... a little."
the days became a rhythm of small, intimate chores. you would bring him meals, carefully prepared to be easy on him, sitting beside him as he nibbled at the food. sometimes he would choke on the taste, coughing lightly, and you would immediately press a hand to his back, murmuring reassurance.
"it's alright, dove," he would say weakly, but you didn't believe him. you had memorized every micro-expression, every tremor of his fingers, the subtle hollowness in his eyes.
"no, isaac," you whispered once, brushing at the damp of his forehead with a cool cloth. "look at me. please. you can't lie to me."
he swallowed hard, his throat dry. "i... i don't want to worry you."
"but i already know," you said, voice soft yet firm, as though the act of speaking it aloud might ground both of you. "and it doesn't matter. i'm here, isaac. i'm here."
some afternoons were easier than others, though "easy" was a relative term. he would rest against your shoulder, eyelids heavy, and you would read aloud from your schoolwork or the novels you loved, careful not to let your voice shake as you recounted the passages. he would sometimes drift into sleep mid-sentence, one hand feebly curling around yours. and when he slept, you stayed, watching, memorizing, pressing tiny kisses into the back of his hand or along the nape of his neck, wishing, always wishing, that there were a way to take the pain from him.
other days were crueler. a coughing fit would wrack his chest, leaving faint traces of blood on the tissues you hurriedly pressed against his lips. your own hands shook as you cleaned him up, murmuring constant reassurances that he couldn't hear or, if he did, he half ignored them. wanting to pretend like he wasn't sick.
he had swallowed, voice breaking. "i... i'm trying... for you."
"you don't have to try for me," you whispered fiercely, leaning close, letting your forehead rest against his. "you just have to let me be here. let me love you through this, the way you've loved me all these years."
and the nights were worse.
the darkness seemed heavier in his room, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long, trembling shadows across his pale face. he would often wake in the middle of the night, shivering or clutching his chest. you would hold him tightly, murmuring soft lullabies he had always loved, your voice breaking with every word.
"shh... i'm here, isaac. always," you whispered, pressing your lips to his temple, brushing back hair that had fallen across his face. "you're not alone, not ever, my boy."
"i... i know..." he would rasp, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "but it hurts... so much."
"i know," you said, your own tears spilling freely now. "i know it hurts, but i'm here. let me hold you. let me carry some of it, just for a moment."
he would nod against you, clutching your arm with trembling fingers, and you would hold him through the pain, counting breaths, humming softly, letting the hours pass in silence filled only with whispered promises and the steady sound of your shared heartbeats.
some days, you would coax him to eat more, though he often refused, claiming he wasn't hungry. you would tease him gently, brushing your fingers against his cheek.
"isaac, i know you're lying about not being hungry," you'd say, tone playful but tender. "you've got to eat something... for me."
"for... you?" he would whisper, voice thin. a faint smile would tug at his lips, a fragile spark of the boy you had loved for so long.
"for me," you confirmed, kissing the tip of his nose, a soft, lingering press. "i need you strong enough to annoy me tomorrow."
he would laugh weakly, a sound so small yet it felt like sunlight in the gloom, and for a few moments, the world outside your shared bubble of despair didn't exist.
but the weakness returned quickly. weeks went by, and the sickly pallor of his skin grew more permanent. he spent entire days in bed, unable to work, unable to move freely. you would sit for hours, hands folded over his chest, listening to the faint rhythm of his heartbeat, tracing the rise and fall of his shoulders, whispering every mundane detail of your day into the quiet room.
"and then in chemistry," you'd say one afternoon, "i mixed the reagents completely wrong, and the whole thing nearly bubbled over. mr. holloway nearly exploded, and i swear... it was chaos. you would have laughed."
he would smile faintly, eyes half-lidded. "i... wish i could have been there," he rasped.
"you're here now," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "and that's more than enough."
sometimes, when he would drift to sleep mid-story, and you would continue, quietly, so he could hear the cadence of your voice even in dreams. other times, he would attempt to speak, whispering a single word or half a sentence, and you would lean close, waiting, nodding, wiping the tears from his cheeks.
"my dove... i-" he would start, voice failing him.
"shh," you would hush gently. "rest, isaac. just rest."
as his condition worsened, the bedridden days turned into every day. the hospital became your second home. every day, you drove the thirty minutes from nevermore to sit by his side, arms wrapped around him as he lay pale and fragile in the bed, tubes and monitors framing him like some cruel diorama of mortality. you spoke constantly, telling him about school, the work you were doing, the small triumphs and failures of your day, hoping some of the life from your stories would infuse his failing body with strength. the doctors admitted that there was nothing left to do, that the heart that had always been his could not be repaired.
sometimes, his fingers would twitch to reach for yours. he would grab it, pressing it against his chest.
"you hear that, dove?" he would rasp one day, his lips barely moving. "that's... that's my heart. still... for you.
you would nod, pressing your forehead to his, tears flowing freely now.
and then there was that fateful day, your heart had known it long before your mind could admit it. you entered the hospital room with a tightness in your chest, the kind that made every step toward him a struggle, as though the floor itself resisted your approach. the room smelled faintly of antiseptic, that sterile sharpness mingling with the soft, lingering scent of him, his shampoo, the faint musk of his skin, the faint perfume of the blanket he had been wrapped in, warm and familiar. it was comforting and cruel all at once, reminding you that he was here but already slipping away.
he lay on the crisp white sheets, frailer than you had ever seen him, the tubes and monitors forming a cruel, metallic cage around him. his hair fell over his forehead in soft, errant strands, catching the light from the window and turning almost a dark silver in the morning sun. the quiet beeping of the heart monitor was steady but slow, so very slow, and every breath he drew seemed a monumental effort, like pulling air through water. you felt it in your chest, the raw, aching knowledge that each inhalation could be one of the last he would take.
you choked back the first surge of tears, forcing your legs to carry you across the room, each step heavy with dread. when you reached the bed, you climbed in beside him, wrapping yourself around him as naturally as if he were still the strong, vibrant boy who had held you for the past four years. his hand stirred weakly, fingers trembling as they brushed against your hair. you leaned closer, pressing your cheek to the softness of his scalp, inhaling him, the warmth, the faint tang of medicine, the subtle notes of him that had always been yours.
"my dove..." his voice was just above a whisper, fragile, hoarse, yet full of the love you had lived for four years. "you're here."
you couldn't speak. your lips trembled against his shoulder as tears fell freely, soaking the fabric of his shirt, and his hand found yours with a flickering, unsteady strength. he tried to brush the tears from your face, but you let them fall, letting them mark you both, evidence of the unbearable reality you were trapped in.
"i... i'm... so scared," you whispered against him, your voice breaking. "i can't... i can't lose you, isaac... please don't leave me."
he coughed lightly, a wet, painful sound that made your chest twist. you rubbed at his back instinctively, murmuring soft, wordless murmurs as your lips pressed again to the top of his head. after a moment, he lifted a trembling hand to the back of your head, trying to tilt it up, your faces inches apart. his eyes, watery and red-rimmed, locked with yours. "i... dove... i need... one last thing," he rasped, voice barely audible. "could... could you... sing for me? just one more time?"
your breath caught, tears stinging your eyes. "i... i can, isaac," you whispered, shaking, clutching his hand as you pressed your cheek against it. "anything you want, isaac. just tell me what you want to hear."
"anything," he murmured, voice weak and hoarse. "just... sing... for me... like you used to... please."
and so you sang. your voice cracked at first, choked with tears, barely a whisper, but you kept going, drawing on every fragment of strength you had. the melody was soft, trembling, winding around the sterile walls of the room, filling the empty spaces with something warm, alive, though both of you knew it would not be enough to stop the inevitable. you traced his hands with your fingers as you sang, memorizing the frail bones and quivering veins, the way his pulse fluttered weakly beneath your touch.
he whispered small things between the notes, words of love and memory, "my dove... always... my dove... never... leave... me..." and each word tore into your heart like glass. you pressed your forehead to his, murmuring in time with your song, rocking slightly as if swaying could keep him steady. "i'm here, isaac... i'll never leave. always, always with you."
after what felt like an eternity of singing and murmuring, his eyelids fluttered, half-open, and he reached a trembling hand up to cradle your face. his touch was weak, but deliberate, brushing away your tears, trying to imprint you into his memory as though he could carry you with him beyond the fragile confines of life. he kissed you slowly, deliberately, each second stretching into eternity, and you pressed closer, clinging to him with all the desperation your body could summon.
"stay with me," he whispered again, each word a ragged thread of breath. "one last time... my dove... stay..."
your voice broke anew as you responded, each note and word soaked in grief and love, each syllable a vow, a plea, a gift. you sang through choking sobs, rocking his frail body in your arms, imprinting every detail of him into your memory: the curve of his jaw, the pale shimmer of his lips, the faint tremor of his fingers as they sought yours. the hospital room seemed to shrink around you, time stretching into an infinite corridor of loss, with every sound, the beeping monitor, the distant footsteps of nurses, the faint whir of machines, looming like a chorus of inevitability.
he murmured your name between notes, trying to reassure you even as his body failed him. "y/n... my... little... dove... my girl" he whispered, and you pressed a trembling kiss to his temple. "i... feel... you... always..."
the minutes passed in a haze of song and whispered words, your tears soaking into the thin hospital sheets. you felt the life in him falter, the warmth of his hands cooling, the pulse in his wrist growing faint beneath your fingers. you clutched him tighter, your cheek pressed to his, lips brushing against the curve of his ear as you continued, even as your own voice cracked and broke.
"i... love you, isaac..." you murmured between notes, hands tracing the frail line of his collarbone, pressing him into you as though sheer will could keep him breathing. "always, my beautiful boy... always..."
his lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, a fragile acknowledgment of your presence and devotion. he drew a shaky breath, and you felt it rattle through his chest like a fragile wind. "i love.. you... always..."
and then, slowly, impossibly, he relaxed in your arms, the tension of life leaving him in a delicate exhalation. his fingers loosened around yours, resting limply against your hand. the last flicker of warmth, the last subtle press of his heartbeat beneath your palm, faded into silence. you felt it in the hollow of your chest before your mind could comprehend: he was gone
you didn't move. you stayed pressed against him, sobs wracking your body, holding him like he was still the axis of your existence, because in this moment, in this final, eternal instant, he was. the room smelled of him, his hair, the faint residue of the lotion he liked, the antiseptic tang of the hospital, but now it was heavy with absence, with the profound weight of a love you could not carry forward alone.
the monitor's beeping had slowed, stilled, and the world outside continued as though it had not noticed, cruelly indifferent. you whispered to him, your voice hoarse and ragged, telling him again of your love, of the memories you had shared, of the quiet life you had imagined together beyond the fragile years you had been granted. you pressed your lips to the crown of his head, to his hair, to the cheek that had smiled at you a thousand times, holding him with a reverence reserved for the sacred.
you memorized every last detail, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he exhaled his final breath, the tremor of his fingers, the soft, fragile sound of your own sobs mingling with the echoes of the lullabies you had sung. and as the sun shifted, casting muted beams across his still face, you held him, whispering to him, endlessly, as though your words could tether him, even now, to the love that had always been yours.
he had gone, and yet, in that space between life and memory, he remained, every breath, every heartbeat, every whispered word etched into you.
and you held him still, long after the last breath, long after the world had moved on, because the only thing that mattered now was that he had been yours, wholly,
•a/n• HIIIII we are so freaking back and hopefully for good this time. i am feeling so so excited about this book i had sm fun writing this chapter. i how you guys will enjoy it as much as i do
•word count• 3.3k
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ISAAC NIGHT had always lived in the periphery of things.
he was not a boy who disappeared in crowds, nor one who shone brightly enough to be seen. he lingered somewhere in between, an oddity among oddities, a shadow moving across the edges of nevermore academy. even in a school designed for outcasts, where the strange and the extraordinary thrived, isaac found himself misplaced. his classmates called him peculiar in ways they could not fully define, and that was perhaps the most isolating truth of all.
others had their clans, their tribes, their bonds formed by shared gifts and afflictions. isaac only had his mind. it was restless, obsessive, always unwilling to slow down. and he continuously had the burden of knowing it would never be enough.
he had francoise, of course, her sharp wit and dry patience acting as the tether that kept him from spinning off entirely into his own head. and there was gomez, too, loyal to a fault, eager to laugh at isaac's sardonic comments or help carry an armful of rusted machinery into his tower. but neither of them could meet him where he lived, not really. they existed in the orbit of his mind but never inside it, never able to share the electricity of the thoughts that consumed him late into the night.
and so loneliness became his inheritance.
he did not resent it, not always. solitude granted him freedom, and freedom meant invention. but on those nights when the sky pressed low and the wind whispered against the stones of nevermore, isaac felt the ache of it. he yearned, not for crowds, nor for companionship in the shallow sense, but for a mind that could mirror his own. for someone who might look at his contraptions and experiments not with confusion, or polite indulgence, but with understanding.
with hunger.
with the same fire he constantly burned deep down within him.
his sister had once been that for him, in fleeting, fractured ways.
her face lingered in memory the way lightning lingers after it splits the sky: bright, fierce, unforgettable. before the hyde, before the madness, she had been his truest confidante. they had spent long nights in hushed conspiracies, sketching inventions on the floor of their childhood home, pages torn from textbooks and scavenged scraps of paper spread out around them like offerings. she laughed at his wildest ideas, not because they were ridiculous but because she believed he could do them.
but her curse had taken over her now.
not entirely, not in the way death takes and never gives back, but in a way that carved a divide between who she had been and who she became. isaac devoted himself to her salvation, chasing remedies and concoctions, tinkering with serums and syringes in the hope of granting her moments of peace. he learned quickly that science could not erase the hyde, only quiet it. still, he worked. always, he worked.
but in the spaces between experiments for her, he turned to himself. to his own gnawing emptiness.
it was not enough to build machines, not anymore. not enough to mend broken engines or twist wires until sparks danced between his fingers. the thought had come to him slowly, quietly at first, like a shadow pooling in the corner of his mind: if life would not grant him a companion, then perhaps his science would.
and once the seed was planted, it consumed him.
he began his work in secret. even francoise, even gomez, would not understand. it was madness, surely, to dream of stitching life together from death. it was forbidden knowledge, the kind whispered about in darkened halls. yet isaac felt no fear of it. he had never believed in boundaries the way others did. science was not a cage; it was a key.
he set up his workshop in iago tower, that lonely crown of stone and iron that jutted against the sky. the space had once been a relic of old machinery, abandoned and dust-laden, but isaac claimed it as his sanctuary. rusted gears lined the walls, copper wires coiled like serpents across the tables, and scattered across every surface were his notebooks, dozens of them, pages filled with scribbled formulas and anatomical sketches.
and at the center of it all was the very table he intended to creat life on.
the table was iron, cold and unyielding, fitted with restraints that he had welded himself. above it hung a crude array of wires and conductors, the beginnings of the machine he would rely upon when the storm came. he had scavenged every piece: discarded lightning rods, scraps of steel from the maintenance sheds, glass tubes salvaged from broken lamps. each item had passed through his hands and been remade into something new, something necessary.
that was only the beginning. now with unsteady fingers and a heart that would not quiet, he reached for the one thing he had always longed for, life itself, waiting to be born beneath his hands.
he worked with precision, and with reverence.
he chose each piece with care, as though assembling a puzzle that only he could see the picture of. there were nights spent hunched over cadavers stolen from forgotten corners, hands steady as he examined the sinew, the bone, the fragile weave of vessels beneath skin. he was not careless in his theft, he took only what would not be missed, what would not upset the delicate balance of the dead.
the skin, pale and faintly green from the grip of decay, he stitched with patience. every seam was neat, every thread drawn tight enough to hold but not tear. he treated the body as an artist treats canvas, and each pass of the needle was a brushstroke toward perfection.
though the organs required greater care, still.
he could not simply place them haphazardly; the body was an orchestra, and each instrument had to be tuned. he studied the structure of the heart, tracing its chambers with a gloved finger before easing it into place within the ribcage he had so carefully mended. the lungs, delicate as paper, he handled like treasures, making sure the stitched alveoli would hold breath when breath returned.
and the brain, ah, the brain was his masterpiece.
others might have dismissed the notion, claiming that consciousness could not be forced into flesh stitched together. isaac did not agree. he believed in galvanism, in the electricity that pulsed beneath every living thing. he believed that if he carved the right pathways, if he aligned the synapses like constellations, then lightning could ignite thought itself. he treated the brain as sacred, soldering filaments of copper to its base, embedding tiny wires that would guide the surge of electricity.
piece by piece, night by night, the girl emerged beneath his hands.
he named her before she was ever alive: iris.
iris, like the flower that blooms against all odds. iris, like the part of the eye that opens to the light.
she would be his light.
his proof.
his companion.
the nights blurred together, endless hours spent in dim lamplight, the smell of formaldehyde and copper clinging to his clothes. he sewed and he soldered, he measured and recalculated. he spoke to her sometimes, softly, as though his words might seep into her bones before life did.
months, more than he could count had passed when at last the body was whole, dressed in borrowed clothes to hide the seams, isaac felt something stir within him that he had not felt in years.
the night the storm arrived thrummed through him, a fierce anticipation burning through him that seemed to crawl across his skin.
nevermore's skies had always been dramatic, prone to tempests that rattled windows and howled through the towers. but this was different. the air felt thick, charged with a kind of inevitability. thunder rolled like a warning, and lightning split the heavens in jagged streaks.
isaac prepared his machine.
he had constructed it to channel the storm, a crude but powerful conductor that funneled lightning from the rod atop the tower down into the wires wrapped around the table. clamps bit into iris's wrists and ankles, not as bonds but as channels, pathways for electricity to flood into her veins. glass tubes glowed faintly as they filled with energy, waiting for the moment of release.
the storm raged. isaac's pulse mirrored it.
when the first bolt struck the rod, he watched as the energy surged down the wires, snapping and crackling with hungry sparks. it coursed through the machine, into the table, into her. her body arched, fingers twitching violently as electricity surged through her veins. the scent of scorched flesh filled the air, but isaac did not flinch. his eyes were wide, fever-bright, fixed on her face.
another bolt struck, brighter, louder. the tower trembled with the force of it. iris convulsed, chest heaving as though fighting for air it did not yet have. the wires hummed, the machines groaned, and isaac's heart beat so hard he thought it might burst.
then silence.
the rain did not cease. it washed over the glass panes of iago tower in endless silver sheets, catching the lightning in brief, furious flashes. thunder rolled like a creature too large for the sky. inside the tower, every sound was different, softer, muffled beneath layers of stone, metal, and static hum. wires crackled. gauges trembled. light flared in brief breaths, illuminating the shadowed shape upon the table.
isaac stood just beyond the circle of lamplight, motionless. the air smelled of ozone and scorched leather. his gloves gleamed faintly, fingertips trembling where they met. every movement he made now felt sacrilegious, every inhale too loud in the stillness that followed the storm's climax. and yet, under the hush of the dying electricity, there was something else. something new.
a sound so faint he might have imagined it, the briefest catch of breath.
he drew closer, his eyes fixed on her chest, waiting for movement that might never come. for months he had envisioned this moment, mapped it out across hundreds of sleepless nights until his mind became little more than a theater of stitched images: organs suspended in pale fluid, bones catalogued by size and density, flesh sealed in careful threads of silver sutures. but now, faced with the reality of it, the magnitude settled over him like a shroud.
the body on the table, his creation, his dream, his sin, shifted. barely. a whisper of air left her lips and isaac froze.
then came the second breath. a full, desperate gasp, like the first exhalation of the earth after creation. a breath so harsh it was like she had been drowning and was just now coming up for air. her back arched slightly, every limb trembling under the ghost of electricity still weaving through her. isaac felt it, the tremor running down his own spine as though his veins were connected to hers.
her skin, once grey and cold as stone, caught the low light in a way it hadn't before. there was a faint glow beneath it now, not brightness but warmth, something living trying to remember what it felt like to exist.
her eyes opened.
they did not roll, but fluttered, with almost sudden, unnatural clarity. glassy, luminous, unanchored. they stared at the ceiling for a long, suspended moment before finding him.
isaac could not breathe.
"you're... alive," he whispered. the words escaped him like a confession, small and hoarse, reverent as prayer. "you're alive."
he stepped closer, slow, deliberate. his boots scraped softly against the cold metal floor. he had imagined greeting her in triumph, the exultation of a god who had outwitted death itself, but that feeling was gone. what replaced it was something far quieter, deeper. awe, yes, but threaded through with something dangerously close to tenderness.
her gaze followed his movement, uncertain, trembling slightly as if even the act of seeing was an effort. her hands twitched on the table, fingers curling and uncurling with delicate precision. the stitches at her wrist drew taut, dark pale lines across the greenish hue of her skin.
isaac reached out without thinking, his gloved hand hovering just above hers. he could feel the heat radiating now, faint but real. it was life, fragile and newborn, humming beneath his touch.
"you can hear me, can't you?" he said softly. "you can feel this."
no response came. only a faint widening of her eyes, a shiver down the length of her arm. her lips parted, but no sound emerged.
isaac's throat tightened. he withdrew his hand briefly, dragging in a slow breath to steady himself. he had to remember, she was not yet whole. this was no ordinary birth. this was the union of bone and wire, muscle and current, sewn together by obsession and will.
and yet... she was alive.
for a long while, the tower was silent except for the fading drip of rain through a crack in the ceiling. isaac moved around her slowly, his mind still half caught between disbelief and calculation. he adjusted the straps on her arms, then carefully loosened the clamps holding her in place. each motion felt symbolic, the release of a body from its confinement, the acceptance of what he had wrought.
as the final restraint fell away, she stirred. her hand lifted weakly into the air, fingers trembling like a newborn fawn trying to find its footing. isaac guided it down, his touch light but sure, guiding her movements with the precision of someone who had rehearsed this in his mind a thousand times.
"easy now," he murmured, half to her, half to himself. "you've been asleep for a long time."
she blinked. the sound of his voice seemed to ground her. it was as though something in the timbre of it, the calm, deliberate tone, resonated with whatever faint thread of consciousness had begun to take root.
the room flickered once more with lightning, and in that brief flash of silver, isaac saw her properly. her hair, dark, damp, clinging to her face, fell unevenly across her cheeks. the skin of her neck bore the faint shimmer of newly healed stitches, almost invisible now, but still clinging with a grey darkness. her chest rose and fell with quiet rhythm, uncertain but steady.
she was not perfect. he had known she wouldn't be. some of the seams were still visible, some patches too pale, too smooth. but there was a beauty in it that no living human could possess, a beauty that was entirely hers, a fragile masterpiece sculpted from ruin.
isaac allowed himself a small smile.
he had named her long before she ever existed. iris.
the name came to him on a night not unlike this one, when sleep had refused to come and he'd been staring at the reflection of his own weary face in the lab's darkened window. iris, the colored part of the eye, the bridge between sight and soul. the flower that bloomed in grief, soft and radiant even in mourning. it felt right. it felt human.
"iris," he said aloud, testing the name against the silence.
her eyes flicked toward him again, pupils tightening slightly, as if she recognized the word, or perhaps recognized herself in it.
isaac's heart stuttered.
"yes," he breathed, smiling faintly. "iris. that's you."
he could not have explained what it felt like to speak to her for the first time. the world outside the tower seemed to vanish. there was no thunder now, no rain, only the low hum of the machines and the sound of her faint, uneven breathing.
he wanted to say more. to explain everything, who he was, what she was, why he had done this, but the words would not come. they felt too heavy, too fragile to speak aloud. instead, he watched her. watched as her gaze moved around the lab, taking in the soft lights, the shelves of books, the steel instruments laid neatly across the counters.
the movement was small, tentative, but it was learning. she was learning.
isaac stepped closer again, his voice barely a whisper. "it's all right," he said. "you're safe here."
her head tilted at that, and the faintest sound left her throat, a quiet, broken hum that could almost have been the start of a word.
he froze.
then, very slowly, iris spoke.
her voice was soft, fragile, more vibration than sound, as though each syllable had to be pulled up from deep within her. "who..." she managed, the word breaking halfway through. "who are you?"
isaac stared, disbelief melting into something gentler, something like awe. he swallowed, then bent slightly so that their eyes were level.
"i'm isaac," he said softly. "your creator."
the word hung between them, not a declaration of power, but of connection. he waited for her to react, for fear or confusion or some trace of understanding. instead, she only blinked, gaze searching his face with quiet curiosity.
his lips twitched into a faint smile. "you can call me isaac," he added. "that's... that's all you need to know for now."
she seemed to consider that, as though the syllables of his name were something to turn over in her mind. then, after a long pause, she nodded once, the smallest, most human gesture imaginable.
isaac felt something tighten in his chest.
he had done it. not only life, but thought, reaction, will. all of it was here before him, fragile and unfinished but real.
he straightened, moving to fetch a blanket from the nearby shelf. when he returned, he draped it over her shoulders carefully. she flinched at the touch, startled, and he immediately drew back.
"cold," she whispered.
he blinked. "yes," he said quietly. "you'll feel that for a while. your body's still... adjusting."
she looked down at her hands, turning them slowly in the low light. they trembled slightly, not from fear, but from unfamiliarity. isaac watched as she traced one seam with a curious fingertip, following the line up to her wrist, her expression unreadable.
he could have told her then how he had chosen each piece, how he had traveled far beyond the academy grounds to gather what he needed, how he'd stitched her not from convenience but from intention. every muscle aligned with precision, every vein mapped by memory. he could have told her how he'd spent nights bent over blueprints until his hands bled, or how the sight of her unfinished form had filled him with both terror and devotion.
but he didn't. not yet.
instead, he simply said, "they're yours now. every part of you."
she looked at him again, brow furrowing faintly. "mine?"
"yes." he smiled, a small, trembling thing. "all of this... it belongs to you."
the silence stretched between them again, softer now, less like emptiness and more like the quiet before dawn.
outside, the rain began to fade into mist. the storm was dying.
isaac exhaled slowly, as if waking from a long dream. "come," he said gently, offering his hand. "let's get you on your feet."
iris hesitated, then placed her hand in his. her skin was warmer now, the faint tremor still there but steadier. he guided her carefully, mindful of every movement, every uncertain breath.
her legs trembled beneath her as she stood. she wavered, and for a brief second she leaned into him, just enough that he could feel her weight, light and fragile and entirely alive.
isaac caught her before she could fall, one hand steadying her arm, the other at her back.
she looked up at him then, and something in her gaze shifted, the confusion still there, but behind it, the faintest spark of trust.
(Y/N' s ability is "superhuman pattern recognition and abstract reasoning" she can “see” how things connect people, plans, numbers, words, emotions like a visual blueprint in her mind. She's very good at arts and sience 'cos of that)
So one night Y/N was feeling bad, her mind was full of everything, so to tune it a little bit off she decided to go to Lago tower, maybe Isaac will give her some hard equasion. So she went there completely exhausted and found Isaac writing some long numbers on a chalkboard. She stopped silently beside him and tooke a brief look at the numbers then took chalk from Isaacs hand and started solving the equasion. It took her 3 minutes to do that. Then she just collapsed onto Isaac's working bench holding her head in her hands. And Issac? Totally smitten. He was in love with her and her mind. And his mechanical heart ached to see her in pain. So he was fluffy and thanked her. And he wanted to take her mind off of everything....so he was like focus on me and they make out😁
Ammm....hope it's ok, tell me what you think I NEED SPICY FLUFF
ask and you shall receive 😛
the equation of us • isaac night
boyfriend!issac night x reader
summary: after a sleepless night overwhelmed by the constant noise of her superhuman mind, y/n finds herself at isaac's tower, where a shared equation turns into quiet understanding and a steamy makeout.
notes & warnings: this is my first story request here and omg omg does it make me happy! also i absolutely loved this idea, so hope i wrote it to what you'd like. soft!isaac, kissing, fluff.
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i could see the patterns again.
they came in bursts when my mind got too crowded, strings of light, threads of meaning that tangled through the air, weaving themselves between numbers, sounds, words that people didn't even know they were saying. everything connected. everything always connected. sometimes it was beautiful. sometimes it was unbearable.
tonight, it was unbearable.
the city was quiet outside my window, but my head was loud. equations, half-finished sketches, emotional blueprints of people i'd passed in the hallway, all of it humming, overlapping, too much for one mind to hold. i pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to stop seeing. it didn't work.
so i did what i always did when i needed to quiet the noise, i went to lago tower.
isaac would be there.
he was always there.
the elevator hummed softly as it carried me up the endless steel shaft, its walls reflecting my tired face. the digital panel flickered between floors like a heartbeat. i hadn't told him i was coming, i never really had to. there was something about isaac night that always felt... open. like he was waiting for me even when he didn't know it.
when the doors slid open, the familiar scent of oil and ozone drifted in, a mix of metal, electricity, and the faint sweetness of the tea he always forgot to finish. the lab lights were low, the world outside a blur of dark blue through the windows. he was there, of course, standing by the chalkboard with his sleeves rolled up, scrawling numbers in looping, elegant strokes.
for a moment i just watched him.
his hair was a little messy, a strand falling into his eyes, his mechanical wrist glinting as it caught the light. he looked so alive in his own world, utterly focused, completely still, like a storm pretending to be calm.
then he noticed me.
"you're here late," he said softly, voice low, like it had been waiting.
"couldn't sleep," i murmured, stepping closer.
his gaze flicked over me, taking in my expression, my trembling hands. i saw the faint crease of worry in his brow. "the noise again?"
i nodded. "too many connections. i thought maybe... if i worked on something, it'd quiet down."
he hesitated, then stepped aside, gesturing to the half-filled board. "then help me. i was just trying to simplify the energy transfer equation for the core prototype, but it's-"
i didn't let him finish. my eyes had already caught the flow of symbols.
they lit up in my mind like constellations, every variable, every function mapping into place. i reached for the chalk still in his hand, fingers brushing his knuckles. i felt the faint hum beneath his skin, the warmth of his human pulse meeting the quiet thrum of the mechanical circuits beneath.
he froze for just a second as i took the chalk, and then i began to write.
the pattern unfolded fast, too fast. numbers spilled into letters, letters into motion. i didn't even have to think, i could see it. the answer, the balance, the way everything aligned. it took three minutes, maybe less, before the solution resolved into a single elegant line.
when it was done, i dropped the chalk. it clattered against the bench. my head felt heavy, the glow in my mind fading to ash.
i leaned forward, hands pressed to my forehead, trying to breathe through the sudden emptiness that always followed moments like this.
then i felt him move closer.
"hey," isaac said quietly, voice rough with something that wasn't just concern. "you okay?"
i nodded weakly, though i wasn't. "just... tired. it's like all the lines burn out at once."
he reached out, fingers brushing against my arm before settling carefully on my shoulder. his touch was warm, impossibly warm.
"you shouldn't push yourself like that."
"i needed it," i whispered, eyes still closed. "the noise was too much. this helped."
he was quiet for a moment. i could feel his gaze on me, steady, searching. and then, a soft sound, the kind he only made when he couldn't find the right words.
"you're incredible, you know that?"
i looked up slowly. his eyes met mine, dark and burning softly in the dim light.
"no," i said, smiling faintly. "just complicated."
"complicated," he murmured, "is beautiful."
the way he said it, it wasn't teasing. it wasn't even admiration exactly, though it was. it was raw, reverent, like he'd just confessed something he wasn't supposed to feel.
and suddenly i realized how close we were.
his hand was still on my shoulder, his other braced against the bench beside me. the glow from the monitors cast faint light across his jaw, his throat, the metal veins beneath his skin. there was a softness to his expression, something almost humanly fragile.
"isaac," i whispered.
"mm?"
"you're staring."
he smiled faintly. "can you blame me?"
i laughed under my breath, but it came out shaky. my pulse was loud now, louder than the noise in my mind had ever been.
he took a slow step closer, his hand sliding from my shoulder to the side of my face. "when you walked in," he murmured, "you looked like the answer to every question i've ever written on that board."
i blinked, my throat tightening. "isaac..."
"you're always trying to make sense of everything," he said softly, thumb brushing against my cheek. "but you don't have to, not with me."
the air between us trembled. i could see the pattern again, only this time, it wasn't numbers. it was him. the way his heart sped up when i looked at him. the slight tremor in his voice. the pull between us that didn't need any kind of logic to exist.
"then tell me what to focus on," i whispered.
his breath caught.
"me," he said, voice barely above a murmur. "just me."
he leaned in, slow enough for me to pull away if i wanted to, but i didn't. i closed the distance, meeting him halfway.
the first touch of his lips was tentative, almost experimentalc as if he was still figuring out the equation of it. but then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and it deepened. not rough, not rushed, just real. his mouth was warm, steady, coaxing.
his lips parted mine with a gentle insistence, his tongue tracing the seam of my mouth in a silent invitation. i opened to him, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the faint electric hum i felt buzzing from his skin. It was like kissing a storm, contained, controlled, but alive with potential.
my hands slid up from his shirt, fingers threading into the soft strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. he responded with a low sound, almost a hum, vibrating against my lips as he tilted his head to deepen the angle. jis thumb stroked along my jawline, a feather-light touch that grounded me even as my pulse raced. the world narrowed to this: the press of his body against mine, not demanding but present, the way his free hand settled at my waist, fingers splaying wide to pull me just a fraction closer.
heat bloomed in my chest, spreading like sunlight through fog, chasing away the last remnants of my overthinking. his kisses varied now, soft nips at my lower lip, followed by a slow, lingering sweep of his tongue that made my breath hitch. i mirrored him, tasting that unique blend of mint freshness and the subtle spark of static, like biting into a charged summer air. it wasn't overwhelming; it was intoxicating, drawing me in deeper, making me forget the boundaries between us.
he shifted slightly, his knee nudging between mine as my back leanes against the table, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth building between us. his hand at my waist tightened just enough to send a spark of awareness through me, not urgent, but enough to make my skin tingle. i arched into him instinctively, my body seeking more of that connection, the steady rhythm of his mouth on mine syncing with the quickened beat of my heart.
when he pulled back again, it was only to trail his lips along my jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot just below my ear. "better?" he whispered, his voice a warm rumble that sent goosebumps racing across my arms.
i nodded, words failing me as i turned my head to capture his mouth once more. this kiss was hungrier, our breaths coming faster, but still laced with that tenderness that defined him. his fingers traced lazy circles on my back, soothing and igniting all at once, while mine clutched at his shoulders, feeling the subtle flex of muscle beneath the fabric.
eventually, we slowed, foreheads resting together, lips brushing in feather-light touches that promised more without rushing toward it. in that moment, with his electric essence humming softly against my skin.
"you did it," i whispered. "you shut it all off."
his hand traced small, absent circles along my back. "good. then i'll keep doing it."
i smiled, eyes closed. "you can't promise that."
"watch me."
his voice was low, teasing, but there was something real beneath it, something that sounded a lot like love, even if neither of us said it aloud.
the rain had started outside, soft and rhythmic against the tower's windows. the chalk on the board still glowed faintly in the dim light, the perfect equation, finished and quiet.
"you know," isaac murmured after a long moment, "the answer you wrote... it wasn't just right. it was elegant. almost too perfect."
"you're saying that like it's a bad thing."
"no," he said softly. "i'm saying i think it was about more than the math."
i tilted my head, meeting his gaze again. "what do you mean?"
"maybe you weren't solving my equation," he said. "maybe you were solving us."
i laughed quietly, but my chest ached. "you're such a scientist, cheesy."
"and you're my favorite anomaly."
the words hung between us, warm and tender. i didn't answer. i didn't have to. instead, i reached up, brushed the hair from his eyes, and kissed him again, just once, soft and lingering, until everything around us blurred into stillness.
I chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter thirteen | chapter fourteen | chapter fifteen | chapter sixteen | chapter seventeen | chapter eighteen (you’re here!) | chapter nineteen (coming soon) |
Series Summary: The year is 1467, and you, the princess of Transylvania, fall in love with a lord; a clever, handsome young man. Your love was great and your bond unbreakable, but fate demands tragedy, and the love of your life gets killed before your very eyes. Devastated and driven by rage, you search for your beloved for five hundred years. At Nevermore Academy in Jericho, you are to find him and his name— Isaac Night.
Pairing: Isaac Night x vampire!Reader
Word count: 14k
Series warnings: fem!Reader, no descriptions of the Reader, fluff, falling in love, romance, angst, violence, tragedy, a bit of religious themes (only up to chapter four), fic starts in the Middle Ages, ooc Isaac at first, major character death, an animal getting hurt, brief allusions to intimacy, blood, murder, background original characters (platonic), humor, yearning, slow burn, minor character death, consuming blood, grief, description of wounds, Gomez playing matchmaker, smut, loss of virginity, gentle sex, piv sex, loosely inspired by Dracula A Love Tale, no mentions of Y/N
Notes: I have no excuse why this took so long, but it’s 14k words long and there’s smut FINALLY so I think it makes up for it 🤧 English isn’t my first language.
Chapter Eighteen: A Night Beneath The Stars
Traveling by plane wasn't an option. Isaac didn't know how the pressure would affect his mechanical heart, as he had never flown before. His family had apparently taken a vacation to Europe when he was a small child— back when Francoise was barely two years old— but he couldn't remember it, and at that time, he’d still had his normal heart of flesh and blood. Neither you nor any of the others had argued when he voiced his concerns. Furthermore, airport security checks posed too great a risk. If Stonehearst was actively hunting them, he would surely have alerted the authorities, and they would certainly be stopped if they tried to leave the continent. No, flying was out of the question.
You settled on the only other option left: the ocean. Fortunately, Hester Frump owned not only a fleet of vintage cars but also— according to Morticia— a decent enough sailing yacht that was sitting idle in Nova Scotia. Hester rarely used it these days, especially now that the summer winds had shifted and autumn had set in, bringing rougher seas. Morticia would arrange for the boat, while Larissa returned to school, Fester stayed put to avoid causing another disaster, and the rest of you waited. Gomez also headed back to the dense woods surrounding Nevermore to retrieve Aleo’s body, which the police most likely hadn't taken away yet. You didn't want to leave him behind. America hadn't been his home, and he deserved to be laid to rest in the place he had called home.
It took Gomez and Morticia less than two hours. Morticia managed to bribe the man responsible for looking after her mother's boat by claiming that she and her friends wanted to take a short trip across the North Atlantic during the break. Aleo’s body remained in the car’s trunk until they reached the harbor and after that... well, he’d likely end up in a crate so they could ship him across.
Some horribly modern song blared from the front speakers of the car Gomez was driving. Morticia sat beside him, her head resting on his shoulder as she painted her fingernails blood-red. Francoise and Isaac sat side-by-side in the back of Hester’s limousine, while you lay on the leather-upholstered seats opposite them. You stared up at the ceiling, hands resting on your stomach and eyes closed, listening to the siblings plan the route. The figures were ridiculously high, but that was simply the price you had to pay if you wanted to cross the Atlantic by boat.
A large map, which Gomez had swiped from the geography classroom before driving back to meet you, lay on Isaac’s lap, while Francoise held a small tin of pins in her slender hands. The painkillers were clouding your mind a bit, yet you had still managed to follow most of the route planning so far. If they drove straight through, it would take about a day and a half to reach Nova Scotia, but that was by far the easiest part of the journey. Things would only get difficult once you boarded the sailboat and cast off from the dock.
The Atlantic crossing would take between 40 and 60 days, though you leaned toward the 60-day estimate, given that none of you was an experienced sailor. You had been on ships before, but always as a passenger, never as captain. In any case, Night had strictly forbidden you from engaging in any strenuous activity, fearing your stitches might tear. You would likely be in charge of the binoculars. Gomez was dead set on playing the captain, and while Isaac didn't say it in so many words, you could hear the nervousness in his voice. Just a few weeks ago, he would barely set foot in the waters of the lake surrounding Nevermore, since even a little water in his mechanisms could kill him. Now, he was facing an ocean voyage— and not during the best season for it— that would take nearly two months. A single storm could mean his death.
"I’d schedule our final stop in Athens," you heard Isaac mutter. "It won't save us any time, but it cuts down on the sea travel. From there, we can cover the last leg by train or car."
Francoise grabbed another pin and stuck it into the map at Athens. “Sounds like a lovely vacation.”
Isaac immediately shook his head, letting out a sharp huff. He leaned his head back against the seat while his leg bounced tensely up and down. "It’s going to be anything but lovely, Francoise. Just think of the risks. You could transform. What do we do then? Push you overboard? Never.”
“You packed the sedatives, right? Nothing’s going to happen,” she tried to reassure her older brother, but he didn’t even look at her.
“You don’t know that. If a storm hits— just one— it could be the death of me. If things go to shit, it could mean death for all of you. Just imagine the boat capsizing and you ending up in the open ocean in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t just be hypothermia that killed you, but the rough seas would do it, too. You would drown, she would drown, and Gomez and Morticia wouldn’t be spared either.”
“Correction: I won’t drown,” you said, opening one eye so you could look at them from your reclining position. It was the first time you’d spoken in the last hour. “I’m not much of a swimmer, that much is true, but I won’t drown. Though I’d have to cross the ocean alone, swimming, and I’d have lost all of you. I would probably just impale myself then.”
Isaac ran his dominant hand through his hair as another deep sigh escaped his throat. “The whole thing is a terrible idea. We are heading straight toward our deaths, and no one but me seems to realize it.”
“There are still groups of sirens in the ocean, aren't there?” Fran suggested tentatively, shrugging her shoulders.
“Oh, you think Ariel the Little Mermaid is going to save us?” Sarcasm dripped from Isaac’s voice and his sister looked down at her lap in shame, trying to escape his critical gaze, while you carefully rolled onto your side to get a better look at both of them.
“Isaac, please.” His name fell gently from your lips, yet with a touch of emphasis. “There’s no guarantee that anything will happen. There’s also a chance we’ll all arrive in Europe safe and sound. It’s good that you’re worried, but I think you’re being a bit too pessimistic right now.”
“No, I think the two of you are being too optimistic,” he countered without hesitation, his eyes meeting yours. “We should have taken the plane. At least that wouldn’t have been a guarantee of death. This, however, is a guarantee, but apparently, you don’t want to understand that.”
Wincing with pain and feeling a sharp ache in your midsection, you sat up, your gaze locking with his fiery one. A look of concern crossed his face at your movement, but you raised an arm and tapped Gomez on the shoulder. He turned his head toward you inquiringly.
“Stop.” Your command was curt and serious.
“What? Why? We’re in the middle of the road!” Addams complained immediately, but Morticia pressed her knee against his to signal that he should do as you said.
“Pull over to the side, please,” you repeated firmly. He complied, steering to the shoulder and hitting the brakes. You pressed down the door handle and stepped out of the car, your boots sinking into the damp grass by the roadside. There was hardly any traffic, so stopping for five minutes shouldn't be a problem. “Come here, Isaac. We should talk.”
You heard him let out a deep sigh but didn't comment on it. Finally, he handed the map to Francoise and stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him. Gravel crunched under his shoes as he approached you. His height meant you had to look up at him and his deep, dark brown eyes were filled with nervousness, even though he likely wouldn't admit it. The Isaac you once knew wore his emotions openly, as if they were written right across his face. This Isaac was different. He bottled his emotions up, hiding them from the world and letting no one glimpse his inner self. Yet you saw right through him. You saw the fear in his eyes— fear he would never admit to feeling.
"You’re afraid." It wasn’t a question. You didn’t need to ask. It was a statement based on what was so clearly visible on his face, as if etched into his pale skin with ink and quill.
But instead of denying his fear, shaking his head, or blaming it on something else, he did something surprising: "Do you blame me? Of course I’m afraid. This boat could mean not just my death, but that of Francoise, Gomez, and Frump, too. Do you think I want that? And what about you? You’d be swallowed by the waves, dragged to the ocean floor, and likely stay there for ages! You’d be damned to drown over and over again, with no hope of rescue. I care, Princess. About you, my sister, about all of them."
Your expression softened, becoming as gentle as love itself, for the truth in his eyes undid you fully. You took a hesitant step toward him to see if he would pull away, but when he didn’t, you seized the moment. Slowly and with all the gentleness you could muster, you wrapped your arms around him and held him close. At first, he was as stiff as a tree. His hands remained motionless at his sides, while yours moved up and down his back. It wouldn’t change the situation, but perhaps it would give him the calm he needed to board that sailboat with you. Something deep inside told you that you would make it. The air smelled of neither rain nor storm. If you were lucky, the crossing would go smoothly.
His shoulders slumped, and suddenly he wrapped his arms around your waist, as if he had been waiting days— no, months— to do so. You could feel his lips against your neck as he buried his face in the crook of it, seeking your warmth, even though your body held none. The rough fabric of his coat chafed against your injured midsection, but thanks to the woolen sweater Fester had given you as a farewell gift and apology, you barely felt the friction. That might also have been due to the painkillers he had given you before the drive.
"Death isn't coming for us. Not yet. Something tells me we’re going to make it," you murmured against his curly hair. A shaky breath escaped him in response to your words, yet he didn't let go. Your eyes closed of their own accord, savoring the contact you had longed for every day, every minute, and every second.
"I want to believe you," he whispered, adding your name at the end as if it were something sacred. "But you aren't a Dove."
An idea made your eyes light up in an instant, and you quickly pulled away from him. Isaac’s eyes followed you in confusion, but when you rapped quickly on the passenger-side window, it dawned on him. There was a Dove in your group who could tell you exactly whether you would live or die if you undertook this venture. Morticia rolled down the window and looked at you both with a knowing gaze and a smile playing on her red lips. The sparkle in her eyes told you she had been watching you both like a hawk and had likely overheard most of your conversation.
"Yes, dear?" she asked, prompting you to simply roll your eyes, even though you loved her like a sister, while Isaac ran a hand over his face.
"Would you be so kind as to use your ability to look into the future and tell us whether we will live or die if we embark on this journey?" you asked with exaggerated politeness, flashing her your most charming smile. Why hadn't you thought of that sooner? You had a clairvoyant with you who could peer into the future at any time, yet it had slipped your mind. Then again, her powers relied on a delicate bond. It wasn't to be tainted or, under any circumstances, abused. Otherwise, the bond would shatter, and one’s strength and power would drain away. In some cases— especially if the individual possessed particularly potent power— it could even lead to death.
"It might take a little while, sweetheart, but for you two lovebirds, I’m happy to do it." Frump winked at you. Her boyfriend chuckled beside her, and suddenly, Isaac reached out from behind to take your hand. You looked back at him with wide eyes, but he offered no explanation. While Morticia closed her eyes and waited for a vision, Isaac pulled you back toward the edge of the woods.
You looked up at him, your eyes wide with questioning. He didn't let go of your hand. In fact, his thumb gently traced circles back and forth across the back of your hand. A question seemed to be weighing on his mind. "Yes? What is it, Isaac?"
"If I were to die—"
"You won't. None of us will—"
"No, please, listen to me now," he interrupted, placing two fingers of his other hand against your lips. It was the same tactic you had used on him in the bathroom when he was examining your wounds. He was certainly a quick learner. "It’s not a question of if. Be honest, what would you do?"
"If you died?" you asked, even though it was obvious. You blinked in confusion. Why would he want to know something like that? You didn't even want to consider the possibility of what might happen if he were taken from you again.
"Yes, what would you do then?" His eyes never left yours for a second and he didn't even blink. The fingers of his left hand were now resting on your jaw, making it hard for you to focus on an answer. He wouldn't like it anyway. After all, you didn't like it either, but you were going to tell the truth.
"I... I don't think I’d wait another five hundred years. Not because my feelings aren't strong enough, because they certainly are, but because I couldn't bear it a second time. I’ve found you again, and I won't let you be taken from me a second time. I forbid you to die, Isaac Night. Because if you go, I’m going with you this time."
The expression on his face was one you couldn't quite place. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes wide, and the sound of his heartbeat that was audible over the wind was faster than it had been just moments before. He blinked slowly, once, then a second time. His fingers traced slowly up the side of your face until they gently caught a strand of your hair and tucked it behind your ear. Heat crept up your neck and spread to your cheeks. Something he would likely notice.
A sudden idea prompted you to lean down and quickly pick up a thick stick, no longer than a forearm. You held it out to him with a smile, but he didn't take it immediately.
"Here, take it. Think of it as a sign of my unwavering trust in you. You’ll have plenty of time during this drive to sharpen the stick and turn it into a proper stake. If we do run into a storm out at sea, you have my permission to use it on me," you explained, offering him an affectionate smile. You would rather meet your end at his hands than at the mercy of the sea or someone like Stonehearst. No, you never wanted to see that man again. You hoped he had learned his lesson and wouldn't come looking for you. He let out a huff, yet his fingers still curled around the stick.
“That is the most macabre gift anyone has ever given me.”
A grin spread across your face as you walked past him back to the car door. Morticia seemed to be in a trance, and Gomez likely wouldn't drive any further while she was in such a delicate state. Of course, you didn't want to die. You loved life. You loved learning new things, watching the world change, and seeing how Outcast culture evolved across the eras. That stake was nothing more than a last resort, though you didn’t expect him to ever actually use it against you.
You yanked open the door to the rear seating area and waved at Francoise, who was dutifully still sitting in her seat. However, the state of the leather seat next to her revealed that she had just been crouching by the window like a spy, watching your every move. You couldn't blame her. You settled back into your seat, having two of them to yourself. Isaac had insisted you lie down to put less strain on the wound. Naturally, you hadn't wanted to argue with him, so you’d done as he said.
"Why did you give my brother a stick?" she giggled curiously, grabbing her seatbelt and quickly buckling up before her big brother got back in.
"It gives him something to keep him occupied," you lied with a grin, though it wasn't entirely a lie. Carving the wood would distract him, taking his mind off the ocean and focusing it solely on the task at hand. You had done the same thing yourself, back before you’d learned of his existence. Whenever you didn't know what to do with yourself, you would either drink wine until you passed out, work on your manuscripts, or paint. Sometimes you would go to the stables and ride out, or simply count the birds in the sky as they flew past the towers of your castle.
To your surprise, when Isaac rejoined you in the car, which didn't belong to any of you, he didn't sit next to Fran, but in the seat beside you. He tossed the future stake onto the leather upholstery next to Francoise at which she looked down at it as if it were a curiosity she didn't quite understand yet. The DaVinci reached for the seatbelt and fastened it tightly before suddenly patting his hand against his thigh. He looked at you. You stared back, not quite grasping what he wanted from you.
"I told you, lying down would be better for your wound than sitting stiffly the whole time. Lie down." He tapped his legs again. Francoise’s eyes darted from you to him and back to you. She, too, couldn't believe what her brother was offering you. She wasn't used to such casual intimacy from him. Actually, she found it a bit unsettling. What had you done to him to turn him into such a romantic all of a sudden? She wondered if the two of you had already kissed in secret or done even more... after all, you had spent quite a long time in that bathroom at Fester’s apartment.
"I don't necessarily have to lie down. I can sit, too! It’s all good," you said quickly, a lump forming in your throat. It would be almost as intimate as what had happened a few hours earlier, when you’d been allowed to taste his blood and he’d licked the traces from the corner of your mouth. The difference was that, back then, you had been alone behind a closed door. Here, his sister was sitting right across from you, and the happy couple wasn't far away in the driver’s and front passenger’s seats.
"Don't be silly," he scoffed, before making a swift movement with his right hand, and suddenly, your head landed right in his lap. A surprised squeak escaped you, yet you didn’t move an inch. His thighs were warm against your cheek, and the fingers stroking your hair made your undead heart beat faster. He was doing this on purpose. He had to be. You had no other explanation for why he suddenly wanted to be so close to you, even though you weren't alone. "Get comfortable, dove."
Even though Fran was watching you and his new nickname for you made your cheeks flush, you nuzzled your cheek against the fabric of his black trousers. You curled your legs slightly, as if settling into the fetal position, and tucked your arms beneath his knees. Your eyes closed, and you couldn't help but hum, since the moment made you feel so peaceful. It was as if there were no problems, no ocean to cross, no destination, no world around you. As if there were only the two of you and the pleasant autumn wind brushing against the tinted windows.
"Speaking of Dove," you heard Morticia say from the front. You felt Isaac’s upper body turn slightly to look at the dark-haired girl, yet his fingers worked a stray lock of hair back into place, and he made no move to banish you from his lap. In fact, the position was incredibly cozy and you were certain you could easily fall asleep right there. "My vision showed me a sunny sky, a calm, clear sea, a very happy vampire princess, and a bridge leading to a castle. I take that to mean we won't go down. Just as I thought. You see, Night? Your worry was for nothing."
"Let's hope so," he grumbled, prompting you to snuggle even closer to him, which immediately drew his attention back to you. His finger wound a strand of your hair around itself over and over before he leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes. He simply had to trust your gut feeling and Morticia’s vision. Everything would turn out fine. Even if the odds didn't look good.
"Scurch!" Morticia cried out joyfully, flinging open the car door and running toward the pale-looking butler. Given that he looked exactly like the Frump family’s other butler, you assumed he had to be his twin brother. The girl threw her arms around him, but the man who looked more like a zombie than a human merely grunted softly and turned toward the sailboat, which was still moored to the dock by ropes. Seagulls squawked noisily as they flew overhead. Normies strolled along the harbor; some wore sun hats and shorts, while others already had thick jackets wrapped around their shoulders. Not far away, a man in a sailor suit was selling ice cream. The stand was naturally being swarmed by seagulls hoping to snatch a cone.
"I have a bad feeling about this," sighed Isaac, glaring at the sailboat as if it were a personal insult. It was larger than he had expected, featuring a tall mast with white sails, a spacious deck with brown cedar planking, a ship's wheel straight out of a pirate story, and a door leading to the level below. At the stern, there was an emergency motor just in case a sail tore or the sea grew too rough.
"How about you stop sulking and help us carry these crates below deck instead?" Francoise retorted, playfully jabbing her elbow into his stomach. The blow made him cough as the air was forced from his lungs.
"What’s even in them?" he asked, using his telekinetic powers to levitate one of the heavy crates through the air toward the lower deck. After parking the car and walking along the dock, you had immediately spotted a wall of crates standing next to Scurch, who looked exactly like the butler who was always hovering around Hester. Isaac had seen the old hag only once, but that had been enough to last a lifetime. She was surly, eccentric, unfriendly, and selfish. He could tell just by the way she strutted through Nevermore as if she owned the place; chin always held high, lips twisted into a grimace as though repulsed by the students' friendly faces.
"Food and drink to keep us alive for the next two months, plus a supply of spare clothes and hygiene products so no diseases break out on board," Morticia replied, leaning against the other butler. He was someone she had probably known since childhood. "I didn't even have to order him to do it. He took care of it all on his own. Do we need anything else?"
Morticia glanced around at the group, which consisted only of Isaac, herself, Gomez, and Francoise. Gomez chuckled softly and leaned toward his girlfriend’s ear to whisper something. Isaac watched as a rosy flush slowly spread across her ghostly pale cheeks. Whatever he had said to her was meant for her ears alone.
"Why, what a lovely idea, darling. Why don’t you go and get some?" she replied with a charming smile. Gomez sighed, looking utterly besotted, before walking past Isaac and strutting down the wooden pier. Isaac raised an eyebrow at Frump, but she merely shrugged and grabbed one of the crates that still needed to be stowed away. At that exact moment, you poked your head out the doorway leading into the sailboat’s interior. A smile graced your lips, and a few strands of hair fell across your face.
Isaac had to fight the urge to gently brush them back so they wouldn’t bother you. Your eyes held a sparkle he hadn’t seen since before Aleo’s death, and you wiped your hands on the fabric of your shorts— the very same pair you’d been given back at the apartment. He still felt they didn’t quite suit you, even though he didn’t mind seeing so much of your bare legs. He wondered if the skin there would be as soft as your stomach, whose skin he’d been allowed to touch just hours earlier. That reminded him that he should probably give you some more pain medication soon.
“Aleo is safely stowed away and hidden below deck. We have a cabin serving as the master bedroom with a large bed and plenty of space. There’s another hammock hanging right next to a small window, amidst all the crates, so whoever wants to look outside at night can stay there. Right next to Aleo, there’s a small fold-out bed where someone can sleep, too. And we have one more hammock that can be hung up out here.”
You walked a few steps across the deck and pointed toward the mast and sail. “We’d have to get a bit creative, but we could hang one up here. Otherwise, we’ll have to put the hammock on the floor and get some pillows and a blanket.”
“Who’s sleeping where?” Fran asked the group tentatively. Gomez wasn’t around to weigh in, of course, but it was obvious which room he and his beloved Tish would prefer.
“Well, Gomez and I would take the bedroom,” Morticia suggested. Isaac wasn’t particularly surprised. He crossed his arms over his chest and let his gaze drift skyward. A few seagulls were circling the boat. They could smell the food, or the corpse, or perhaps all the perfume and sachets you’d packed into the crate alongside him. Even though you’d assured everyone that vampiric corpses didn’t decompose, you’d wanted to play it safe anyway. According to you, his body would eventually just crumble into dust. So, what was the point of bringing him along? He was just taking up valuable space.
“Isaac, you’d be best off sleeping below deck,” his little sister advised, pointing toward his chest. He wished he hadn’t already packed your “emergency stake” into a crate, because otherwise, he could have stabbed himself with it right then and there. The prospect certainly appealed to him now.
“I shall take the hammock down by the window,” he muttered under his breath, though still loudly enough for the others to hear. He had no experience with hammocks, boats, or the ocean. It was a fact that, for probably the tenth time that day, made a single thought shoot through his mind: he had a really bad feeling about this odyssey.
“I think I should better sleep out here.” Your voice made Isaac’s head snap toward you, one eyebrow raised in question. Before he could ask for an explanation, however, you offered it yourself: “It will probably get very cold at night, and I’m already dead. Vampires don’t mind the cold. We feel it, but it can’t hurt us. Waves or water won’t do anything to me, either. I’ll sleep out here. That means, Francoise, you have to—”
“Sleep next to Aleo… yeah, I know,” she finished the sentence for you. The older of the two Night siblings didn’t like the idea of her sleeping so close to Cervantes’s corpse, but there wasn’t really an alternative. He just didn’t want the memory of his murder to trigger her Hyde. If Fran transformed while on the boat in the middle of the ocean, there wasn’t much you two could do. He hated the thought of sedating his sister as if she were insane, but in an emergency, the drugs would help. She just couldn’t take too many. He would keep a close eye on that.
You took a slow step toward her and carefully reached out your hand. When she didn’t pull away, he watched as your hand settled gently on her shoulder. Your fingers gave a soft squeeze, and his sister smiled gently in response. His mechanical heart slowed a little as a sense of calm washed over him. You would look out for her, too. You two were friends, even after everything that had happened. He would almost consider it a miracle, if he didn’t know that miracles didn’t exist. But then again, he hadn’t always believed in reincarnation either, and now he was presumably the only living proof of it. So, what was there left to believe in these days?
A thought suddenly struck him, making him roll his eyes, and he turned toward Fran, who was just about to scurry below deck like a swift spider. “Morticia, now that we’re all stuck together like this, I certainly hope you and Gomez will keep it down at night, right?”
“For the next two months? Oh, you really don’t know us at all,” she replied with a smirk that made his blood boil. Not only would he be in constant mortal danger for the foreseeable future, but he’d also be sleep-deprived if Gomez and Morticia were fucking night after night.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, but Morticia merely shook her head and promptly vanished down the small set of stairs into the shadows that led inside her terrible mother’s sailboat.
“And you two aren’t going to say anything?” he asked, turning to you and Fran, who were still standing side by side, having listened to the exchange with amusement. When no answer came, he just scoffed, expelling all the air he’d been holding in his lungs. “If I jump off the boat myself in a few weeks, you’ll know why.”
Gomez returned ten minutes later carrying a white bag, its contents unidentifiable to you. However, judging by what Isaac had said and what Morticia had hinted at, Addams had most likely stocked up on enough condoms to last the next two months at sea. You chuckled softly to yourself and shook your head. You knew this behavior all too well. You and Isaac had been exactly the same way back then. Every day, every night, in bed, on the sofa, against the wall, in the garden, everywhere. That had been five hundred years ago, though, and you were now more than ready to become a nun, given that your sexual needs had gone unsatisfied for that entire span of time. After all, the love of your life hadn't been there to fulfill them.
Every crate was stowed below deck, Gomez was back, and you had everything needed for survival, which Scurch seemed to realize as well. The Frump family’s second butler grabbed the ropes securing the boat to the dock amidst the others and cast them off. Morticia waved to him, calling out a warning not to tell her mother anything. Francoise leaned against the railing, wide-eyed as the boat’s hull cut through the water, and Isaac was nowhere to be found on deck. Limping slightly, one hand pressed against your aching midsection— you were in dire need of another dose of the medicine Night had given you hours earlier— you made your way to the bow. The wind caught your hair and made your eyes water. It had been so long since you were last on a ship.
The last time was nearly a century ago on a vessel far larger than this one and it had nearly sunk. You didn't believe in God anymore, yet for the first time in ages, your gaze drifted upward to the sky, and you found yourself thinking: Please, God, please let us make it through this. I haven’t asked you for anything in years, but I beg this one thing of you. Let us survive this.
A soft melody drifting from the portable radio was carried across the deck by the wind as you made your way below. It hab been Francoise’s idea to bring it for warding off boredom. The other three were up by the helm, which Gomez was steering dramatically, as if he were the captain of a 17th-century ship sailing for home. It was dark below deck. A little daylight streamed through the three round portholes spaced along the wooden walls, but otherwise, it was dim. While laughter, music, and birdsong lightened the mood above, down here it was as quiet as a graveyard. Your shoes made soft sounds against the wooden floorboards as you walked, your eyes searching the darkness for the object of your desire.
The sound of a knife scraping against wood brought a small grin to your face. You found Isaac Night lying in his black hammock, which swayed gently from side to side with the motion of the waves. His coat and boots lay on the floor beneath him. He was dressed only in his cozy wool sweater and trousers. His curls framed his face, and a look of concentration was set upon his features. He looked strikingly beautiful like this, relaxed and calm.
"Sharpening your weapon, I see?" you said softly. He didn't startle when your voice suddenly emerged from the darkness beside him, which meant he must have heard you coming. You had thought you were being quiet enough, but apparently, nothing escaped Isaac’s notice.
"More like passing the time until evening," he replied. He wasn't holding the stick you’d picked up from the roadside between his slender fingers. Instead, it hovered in the air before him, while the knife also moved up and down as if by magic. His right hand was raised lazily, and only his index finger moved slowly up and down in sync with the knife.
"But wouldn't it be smarter to sleep now, while Morticia and Gomez are still up on deck? You could get some rest now and you will have to take the helm later anyway, while Tish and he... well, you know, spend the night together?" Your suggestion was gentle and sincere. Of course, you would be up on deck with him later, too, so if he did fall asleep, you would take over the task for him.
"Then again, perhaps I’d like to spend the night with someone, too?" The words escaped him without a hint of shame, and he cast a lingering sideways glance at you that made you swallow hard. Did he mean...? No, he wouldn't initiate something like that right now. Or would he? Was he shameless enough to hint that he might give his heart to you tonight? You could hardly believe it. No, he probably meant something completely harmless instead.
"Oh, do you want to watch them in the act?" you replied with a playful grin, which spread across your whole face and lit up your features. It felt good to joke with him and see him being so open with you. You could still clearly remember a time not so long ago, when he had pushed you away time and time again and, presumably, hated you. Now, however, here you were.
“Don’t even joke about that, dear princess. Even though I’m sure it would be incredibly exciting, I’d rather spend my evening in peace and quiet,” he said, as the stick dropped onto the fabric of the hammock beside him. He folded the knife shut and slipped it into his right trouser pocket. Where he’d gotten it, why he carried a knife, and how long he’d had it were, frankly, a mystery to you. In fact, you couldn’t recall ever seeing him with a knife before. A Da Vinci’s abilities were weapon enough in your opinion.
His dark, chocolate-brown eyes roamed over your figure for a moment before he propped himself up slightly on his elbows to get a better look at you. Isaac tilted his head, causing a ringlet of hair to fall right over his left eye. He tried to blow it away in annoyance, but it immediately fell back into place, continuing to bother him and partially block his view. He looked absolutely mouthwatering right now.
“Why did you come here? I thought you might prefer the view of the vast horizon,” Night asked with a hint of curiosity in his velvety voice that held a slight, raspy edge.
“I have spent many nights staring out at the horizon, but back then, I had a reason to. Why should I do it now, when the horizon is so close that I only need to reach out my hand and touch him? If I am looking at him right now with my own eyes?”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward at your words, and he shook his head. Yet, there was nothing annoyed or angry in the gesture. Quite the opposite, he actually seemed amused. Had it not been so dark, you might have glimpsed the flush of red spreading across his pale cheeks. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”
“I have succumbed to the longing for love, certainly, but tell me... is my yearning truly hopeless?”
His eyes met yours, and in that instant, you felt the bond between you pull even tighter than before. It felt like pulling the wrong end of a ribbon: instead of it coming undone, it cinched into a knot, firm and nearly impossible to untie. Your throat tightened at the dark expression in his eyes, which usually held a speck of golden honey at their center. Now they seemed almost black, even though daylight still streamed through the small, round windows.
“I don’t think so,” he answered you, making a movement with his right hand that drew you a few centimeters closer to the hammock. Heat rushed to your cheeks, causing your pupils to dilate and your mouth to go dry. Your fingers gripped the edge of his bed— a movement he watched intently. The rhythmic ticking of his clockwork heart suddenly seemed deafeningly loud in the shrinking space between you. Though this Isaac and your Isaac were fundamentally different yet the same, this one possessed a talent you had never anticipated. Your late lover had certainly been charming, but the man whose eyes you were now gazing into made your blood boil, awakening a desire to surrender yourself completely, to give him your life, and at the same time to cut out your own heart so you might offer it to him as proof of your undying love.
"So, do you think there’s still a chance I might find myself back in my lover’s arms? That I’ll feel his lips caressing mine? That it won’t just be loneliness and the chill of the coming winter haunting my home?" You whispered the words with a sense of hope you hadn't felt in a long time. You remembered Versailles and the hope you’d held that you would find Isaac there. In the end, you had been disappointed. Would you be disappointed this time, too?
"That chance grows with every moment you spend in my presence," he replied, and your heart leapt in your chest as the dark brown of his eyes settled on your lips.
You blinked, shaken from your trance as his hand unexpectedly moved to his trouser pocket and fished out a small box of pills. He held it out to you as if you had told him from the start that you’d come to him because of your pain, even though you hadn't said a word about it.
"Come on, don't look at me like that. I heard you limping the moment you came down here. You’d best take two. That should see you through the night," he advised honestly, extending the box further toward you as if it were the answer to all your problems— admittedly, right then it was the answer to some of your problems, though certainly not all of them.
You carefully took the package and slid out the plastic blister pack containing the individually embedded pills. Slowly, you pressed two of them out and balanced them on your palm while neatly closing the package again. The two pills were about the size of peas, so you likely wouldn't have any trouble swallowing them whole. In truth, you hadn't quite warmed up to the idea of pills yet. You came from a time when such things didn't exist and when you either swallowed medicinal herbs or simply had to endure the pain. But since they seemed to help, you didn't want to refuse them.
You were just about to raise them to your mouth when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Isaac extending his left arm toward you. His sleeve was already rolled up, and the blue-purple veins beneath his pale skin stood out temptingly. "In case you need something to drink."
A slow blink was followed by an honest smile that spread across your face like sunshine, before you placed the pills in the center of your tongue and swallowed them down in one go. You could feel them sliding down your esophagus, hoping they would soon take effect in your stomach. "Perhaps later? I certainly wouldn't say no to a midnight snack."
He just smirked back, prompting you to playfully raise your eyebrows only to lower them again the very next second. You turned and disappeared toward the back of the boat to rummage through the crates for something useful. Night remained in his hammock. Yet, while his right hand reached for his pocketknife again, his left hand brushed over the front of his trousers, hoping to conceal what was actually glaringly obvious— he was hard.
The day's final rays of sunlight illuminated the deck as the sun slowly slipped beneath the seemingly endless horizon, making way for its companion, the moon. A melody now drifted from the stern of the sailing ship, sung by a highly charismatic female voice that pleaded, over and over, for someone to call her any day and night. You found yourself swaying your shoulders and tapping your foot to the rhythm of the tune. At times, you even hummed along while trying to memorize the lyrics. Before this song, a male voice on the radio had announced that the weather forecast was surprisingly good for the season, with neither rain nor storms expected anytime soon.
"Call me, my love, call me, call me any, anytime," you sang softly along as you watched the sun go down. The sun’s lower edge kissed the mirror-like surface of the blue ocean, and for a moment, it looked as though the entire sea were bathed in liquid gold. You gazed at nature’s beauty with sparkling eyes until, after a few seconds, the sun vanished and the deep blue of the twilight sky mirrored the blue of the sea.
You rested your elbows on the railing and sighed softly as a new song began to play on the radio. In the background, you could hear Francoise moving quietly across the deck, lighting the scattered lamps placed here and there on the floorboards. One hung from the mast while another stood beside the helm; yet for Gomez, the view of the ocean mattered less than the view of Morticia, who was reading a book while leaning against the woodwork, a sun hat pulled low over her pale face. It all seemed like a vacation to them— though you suspected they had certainly earned it. Nevermore’s curriculum was demanding: Morticia was taking a fencing class on the side, Isaac was busy with his own experiments and the Nevermore Science Club, Francoise was trying her hand at dancing, and Gomez… was Gomez. You, so far, had shown little interest in joining a club that was meant to be nothing more than a hobby. Your mind was already occupied, you had no time for another hobby, and in all likelihood, you would never return to Nevermore anyway. Not after everything that had happened over the course of that single school year.
"Do you need help hanging up your hammock?" Fran asked kindly, holding the white fabric in her arms as if cradling an infant against her chest.
You gave her a grateful smile and nodded gently. "That would be very kind of you, thanks."
You spent the next ten minutes rigging up the sheet, wrapping one end around the railing and securing the other to the ship’s mast. You climbed in to test it and while it wasn't exactly the most comfortable setup, it held your weight. Francoise took a turn next, and even after rolling around a few times, she didn't manage to undo the knots you’d tied. But then, something unexpected happened. She tapped you on the shoulder and said, "You're it."
You didn't understand at first until she suddenly sprinted away as if struck by lightning. The boat wasn't very big, and she looked back at you with a grin. That was when it clicked. A smile spread across your face, too, and you took off running. She managed to dodge you at first and circled the mast, but you cut across to the other side, forcing her to scramble up the three-step staircase toward the stern. You leapt up the three steps on the other side in a single bound. You nearly lost your balance but managed to steady yourself at the last moment. Gomez gasped in surprise and instinctively pressed himself against the helm, while Morticia looked up over the edge of her book, her eyes wide and the corners of her red mouth curling into an amused smile. It was the first day at sea, and you had already lost your minds.
Francoise tried to turn around, but you had already grabbed her arm. She laughed and high-fived you. Still grinning broadly— though slightly out of breath— you jumped back down the steps, trying to escape the Hyde girl who was now chasing you. Your plan had been to run forward, outmaneuver her, and then disappear into the hold below. However, it didn't come to that. Morticia came running toward you from the other side, and both girls tackled you to the ground at once.
The three of you lay laughing in a heap on the wooden floorboards, but even the creaking couldn't drown out your laughter. Nearby, Gomez clapped his hands to cheer on his beloved, and Isaac poked his head out of the shadow-shrouded corridor, looking visibly confused.
He looked concerned. You laughed the loudest.
Silence wrapped around you like a warm blanket as you sat alone on the deck of the Eulalie, which was now the name of the boat you had chosen together, inspired by one of Edgar Allan Poe’s famous poems. The deck beneath your bare legs was cool, though not unpleasantly so. The hammock swayed gently behind you in the light breeze, while candlelight made shadows dance across your surroundings and the soft flickering felt like a melody you were all too happy to listen to. Resting your chin on your knee, you gazed up at the sky. It had long been no secret that you were captivated by the stars.
What you couldn't see were the two faces watching you from the companionway leading to the lower deck. Gomez Addams and Isaac Night were hiding in the shadows, though only one of them had a clear plan. Gomez had found a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses in the small refrigerator in his and Morticia’s bedroom. He had already uncorked the bottle and was now quietly pouring the wine into both glasses. A sweet aroma drifted on the wind across the length of the sailboat, causing Isaac to wrinkle his nose.
"I don't usually drink alcohol, and you know that," he whispered to his best friend, who merely rolled his eyes and pressed the two filled glasses into Isaac's hands.
"You can allow yourself one evening, can't you, amigo? It’ll help you loosen up, and that’ll make your plan a whole lot easier. Trust me," he replied, draping a cherry-red blanket over Isaac's arm as well. When Isaac looked at him with a questioning, raised eyebrow, he simply groaned. “The wine will loosen things up, and you can drape the blanket over her shoulders to keep her warm.”
“She’s a vampire, you moron,” Night hissed, but Gomez responded by zapping him with a small, harmless electric shock from his finger, making him flinch. He shot his roommate a dark look, which the other countered with a slight grin.
“Trust me, she’ll love it. Wine, a blanket, candlelight, some alone time, and nothing but the stars above as your witnesses. Sounds terribly romantic, doesn’t it?” Addams teased. Isaac felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose— a difficult feat, given that he was holding two glasses and balancing a blanket on his left arm.
“It sounds like something out of a cheesy romance novel,” he complained, prompting a chuckle from the other boy.
“That’s exactly how it’s supposed to feel!” He gave Isaac a pat on the back, causing the wine in the glasses to slosh dangerously close to the rim at which Isaac’s eyes widened in silent panic. Before he could move toward you, he felt Addams slip something into his trouser pocket. But before he could ask what it was, Addams gave him a push in your direction. “You’re going to need this. Go on. Get your girl.”
Isaac took a deep breath to steady his nerves as his heart was racing, before slowly approaching you. He was dressed casually in just socks, comfortable trousers, and a white T-shirt that was a size too big. His hair was uncombed, falling messily across his forehead. You, too, were dressed in comfortable loungewear. You were sitting barefoot on the floor in front of your makeshift bed, wearing a simple white nightgown that fell just above your knees, gazing up at the sky. Your hair hung loose, allowing the breeze to play gently with the strands— something he, too, longed to do.
He cleared his throat a short distance behind you, causing your head to whip around toward him with owl-like speed. The look of surprise on your face softened instantly, however, when you saw he had brought gifts. The candle that was encased in glass with wax steadily trickling down the side cast a golden glow across his profile that made your palms grow sweaty.
"You’ve been sitting here alone for quite a while," he began, though he mentally kicked himself for his poor choice of words. He should have started with something more romantic or seductive. Stupid.
"I’m enjoying the quiet and the atmosphere," you told him with a smile, a remark that gave him a lump in his throat. Though you certainly weren't one, you looked angelic in the soft light of the night.
"Do I have your permission to enjoy it with you?"
You nodded, and Isaac moved to your side, careful not to spill the wine. He handed you the glasses before sitting down on the floor next to you and turning his gaze toward the sky. His lips parted slightly and he stared bewildered, seeing for the first time that evening just how incredibly clear the night sky over the ocean was. A thousand tiny stars were scattered across the darkness like freckles, their reflections shimmering on the surface of the water through which your boat was gliding. After a few moments, he composed himself and took the blanket from his arm, gently draping it around your shoulders.
"You could use that more than I could, Isaac. I’m already dead," you reminded him with a smile, though the gesture deeply touched you. Neither heat nor cold could harm you, even though you could still feel them. You were far more accustomed to the cold than to the summer heat, given that your castle lay in the heart of the Carpathians, where endless winter snows would wrap the world in a blanket of white. Such winters were beautiful in your homeland. Back then, you hadn't been able to share that beauty with Isaac, but now— if fate was kind— you would be arriving in Transylvania just as winter set in.
"Here, look, this works too," he said, wrapping an arm around your back; using his telekinesis, he guided the right side of the blanket over his own shoulders so that you were sharing it.
"The wine was Gomez’s idea, wasn’t it? I heard him whispering earlier," you asked with a knowing glint in your eyes. He could lie now, but what would be the point?
"Yes, he gave it to me. I don’t usually drink alcohol because my father... he was fond of the bottle. It was never a pleasant situation for us." His admission was quiet but honest. He no longer had any reason to hide parts of his past from you, given how openly you had shared yours with him, allowing him glimpses of it, even though it stretched back hundreds of years. It wasn't just time and experience that lay between you, but a history he barely knew. You knew every word, every second, every tiny anecdote. He knew your face. He wanted more.
"We don't have to drink if you don't want to. I- I was actually addicted at one point."
Isaac blinked in surprise, but before he could reply, you continued: "There was a point when I was so lonely and simply didn't know what to do with my time, so I started drowning it. I drank day and night. The wine was mixed with blood, which was Aleo’s idea. He’d brought it back from Italy. I was repulsive back then, disgusting. The worst part is, it wasn't even that long ago. It wasn't until I found out you were back that I became myself again. I didn't want to numb myself anymore. I wanted to feel. I yearned for every single emotion be it joy, longing, or pain. I was so incredibly happy to learn you had returned."
The boy beside you instinctively leaned closer and made a small movement with his ring finger to wrap the blanket tighter around your shoulders. This time, however, it wasn't to ward off the cold, but the sorrow that so often plagued you. He had never taken the time to consider what it must have been like for you all those years. There had been a time when a single year felt like an eternity to him. He could hardly imagine what five hundred must have felt like. After all, you could never have known for certain if he would ever actually come back. "And then you came to the Nevermore to be reunited with your lover... and I didn’t recognize you," he concluded, a deep sigh escaping him. Had he been in your shoes, he would have grabbed you by the shoulders at that first meeting and demanded that you remember. You had done nothing of the sort. You had waited. You never forced yourself on him. There could be no greater proof of your love for him.
"It's all right," you whispered softly. "I mean, we are here now. I'd say the situation has changed a bit. I mean, you're bringing me wine and a blanket. You got on this boat. You tended to my injuries when Fester did it wrong."
A silence settled between you for a few moments, but it was one that was anything but uncomfortable. Slowly, you rested your head on his shoulder and he stroked your arm up and down. His gaze drifted slowly back up to the expanse of the sky. "Why the stars?"
"Hm?" you asked softly, confused by the sudden change of subject.
"I’ve been watching you. You’ve been sitting here for two hours, staring at the sky as if it could give you answers. Sometimes, at night, I have seen you alone from the window of my tower, wandering into the woods. You spent hours out there. What is so special about them?" His voice was barely a whisper, yet filled with such curiosity that the thought of lying didn't even cross your mind.
"I’ve always loved them. Even when I was just a young girl. I used to spend my nights staring out the window of my chambers, counting the constellations. I even liked to invent my own. It was known throughout the court that I was obsessed with the night sky. That’s why a certain young lord I met piqued my interest. He built me a telescope. It was the first gift he ever gave me, and of them all, it was probably the one I loved the most." A melancholic smile played at the corners of your mouth as you recounted this old story. It had been so long, yet you could remember that summer day as if it were yesterday. The look on his face when you stepped through the swaying willow leaves, curious as a newborn fawn… you’d never forget it.
You set the two glasses of wine on the ground in front of you before reaching a hand up toward the crescent moon, which had taken the sun's place. Your fingers danced as you traced the invisible lines from star to star. Isaac’s eyes followed your fingers, captivated. He simply watched for a few seconds before gently enclosing your digits within his own. You looked at him with surprise, and he offered you a smile that was neither playful nor unkind, but honest and tender.
Your fingers carefully interlaced with his, and you gave his hand a small squeeze, just to test whether you were dreaming this moment. For a fleeting second, you had feared you might have fallen asleep while stargazing, but the sensation of his lukewarm fingers against your cold ones proved otherwise.
"At least I was able to give you the stars back then," he whispered, his warm breath brushing against your face. "Right now, there is nothing I could give you."
"Yes, there is," you said without hesitation. "There is something."
"Tell me," he urged gently. He lowered your joined hands slightly, holding them between your bodies.
Instead of answering with words, you slowly moved your free hand toward him. His chocolate-brown gaze followed the movement intently, his breath hitching as your fingers came to rest on his chest, right over the spot where his clockwork heart was embedded in his flesh. Even though a thin layer of white fabric lay between your fingers and that delicate mechanism, no one else had ever come this close to his heart. He wouldn't have let anyone else.
"You can give me your heart. Just as I would give you mine." You released his hand and guided it to your own chest instead, pressing his palm ever so lightly against your heart. Even though you were undead, he could still feel a heartbeat beneath your ribs.
"It’s yours," your voice was barely more than a breath. "It has always been yours."
Logic no longer mattered to Isaac. His brilliant mind refused to cooperate, and his non-existent heart took the reins. So, he did the only right thing that came to mind in that moment: he kissed you.
For a moment, everything around you fell silent. You couldn't move, you couldn't breathe, you couldn't think. It had taken five hundred years— half a millennium— that had nearly driven you mad, and now here you were, aboard a small ship in the middle of the ocean, and Isaac was kissing you as if not a single day had passed. As if you were still sitting in the grass beneath the Willow Tree, sheltered by the darkness with only the stars as your witnesses. Two of those things held true, except that you were now in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, with waves instead of trees as your backdrop.
Your eyes closed, and your hands found the fabric of his shirt, holding it gently between your fingers. The kiss was nothing but gentleness and tenderness, which you returned with the slow movements of your mouth against his. Eventually, it was Isaac who pressed his lips more firmly against yours, as if silently asking for permission. You parted your lips for him and let his tongue slip inside. Its tip met yours with an air of inexperience. Even though you had a bit more experience, after all, you still remembered all the evenings you had shared, that had been an eternity ago, and you, too, had to relearn intimacy. His cool hands found your cheeks, cupping them as lovingly as if you were a precious vase rather than the girl he loved.
A thin thread of saliva still connected your mouth to his when, after a few seconds, he finally leaned back, breathing heavily. His hands didn't move an inch from your face, and his dark eyes searched every inch of your features for a sign that what he had just done was welcome. His breath came in quick gasps, and his eyes darted about as you simply looked at him. He wanted words. He needed confirmation, validation, something.
"Took you long enough," you finally whispered, prompting a wolfish grin to break out across his handsome face. His cheeks and nose were slightly flushed from the night air and, likely, from the emotions stirring within his clockwork heart.
His lips met yours again. Then again, again and again. "I’ve wanted to do that since the moment you first walked into Iago Tower. Since you challenged me in class. Fucking hell… maybe even from the first time I saw you sitting at that table in the courtyard. In your pretty coat with your two stupid suitcases... fuck, I’ve wanted you."
Your hands wandered into his hair as he sought out your mouth again after every word. His curls were as soft as you remembered, and you couldn't help but wind them around your fingers as he slowly pressed you down onto the floor, hovering over you. His brown eyes met yours, and the tip of his nose brushed gently against your own. Your left elbow nudged one of the wine glasses slightly aside, yet you had no fear of it tipping over. In that very moment, you were afraid of absolutely nothing in the world.
"Do you have any idea just how completely you’ve wrapped me around your finger?" You shook your head, and he lowered his face to find a home against your neck, promptly sinking his teeth into your delicate skin. "You must be an enchantress... for ever since you came into my life, I dream of nothing but you. I close my eyes, and even in my dreams you haunt me— bewitching and seducing me— and I wake in the morning with the shame of that dream clinging to my thighs."
A sharp moan escaped you as Isaac actually sank his teeth into the spot where your neck met your shoulder. His tongue flicked out instantly to soothe any pain he might have caused, before he leaned back in and sucked hard on your reddened skin. Your fingers tugged at his hair, a move he answered with a deep grunt. Your mind was far from clear or sharp, yet you didn't need to be a genius to feel the growing erection pressing against your hip. Your gaze caught the crescent moon above you, and you couldn't help but smile.
“Even Gomez noticed, you know? He isn’t even there most nights, but whenever he was, he had to confess to me in the morning how I’d supposedly writhed and moaned like a damsel in distress. All. Your. Fault.” His hand curled around your throat, and you could swear you had never felt as hot as you did in that moment in time.
“Tell me I haunted you, too. That you dreamed of this as well.” Isaac leaned up to meet your gaze, and what you saw stole your breath away. His lips were slightly swollen from the kisses, his look manic.
“I…” It took a moment for you to find your voice again. “I didn’t need to dream about it. I’d already lived it.”
A huff left him, his thumb moving back and forth over your Adam’s apple before he pressed just a little harder. Your hips instinctively bucked up against his, which he rewarded with a moan of his own. “I knew it. Those little moments I keep seeing whenever you got too close to me, they were probably the same thing as those dreams: memories. You were sending me memories.”
“I did no such thing,” you replied honestly, while skillfully winding one leg around his hip like a snake to pull him even closer. “You can blame fate for it.”
“I think it’s right beneath me, looking up at me with big, beautiful eyes,” he murmured before planting another trail of kisses along your jawline, the sensations making your eyes roll back and stole the breath from your lungs. “So I thank you. Thank you, my love. Thank you for tormenting me so.”
“Isaac!” You gasped his name, your fingers sinking into his scalp and the heel of your foot pressing harder against his lower back.
He quickly pressed his mouth against yours again to stifle the sweet sounds escaping you because of his touch. Even though he would love to hear them over and over again he worried you might get too loud. The same went for him. He was already hard and you were both still fully clothed. Where was this leading?
“Shhh, Princess. As much as I want to hear you and as much as I want to shout my own approval, I don’t want the wrong ears to hear.”
“Oh, I doubt Gomez and Morticia would mind. I’m sure they’re probably having a lot of fun right now and… and...”
His fingers, slowly wandering from your neck down across your collarbone, threw you off track, and you lost the thread of what you were about to say. He was so gentle in every touch that the mere sensation was incredibly erotic to you. It took no force, no roughness, to make your back arch for him like a cat and your sweet song reach his ears like a siren’s call. His thumb slid just far enough beneath the fabric of your nightgown for his thumbnail to graze your skin, eliciting a whimper from your throat.
“I’m not worried about them right now. They wouldn’t hear it anyway, over the sounds of their own animalistic trysts. I just don’t want my sister finding out about our nocturnal activities.” His voice was even softer than his touch as he whispered into your ear, his thumb still toying with the fabric of the only garment covering your body. "Can you do that? Can you be quiet for me?"
"I’ll do my best. But will you be able to?" you replied playfully, fluttering your eyelashes, the gesture making him lick his lips.
"What do I get from you if I manage it?" Night asked in return, burying his nose in your hair, which smelled of sea salt and a hint of flowers. He found himself wondering what your favorite flowers might be.
"I’ve already given you my heart, so only my body is left," you answered with a grin. "Do you accept?"
"Only a fool would say no to that. Of course I accept," he murmured back before slowly moving downward, pressing his cheek gently against the softness of your breast. Your skin was as soft as flower petals. His own fingers were rough from working on machines and tinkering with small parts to bring his creations to life.
He slid one arm beneath your hips to pull you even closer, even though you offered him no physical warmth. Something deep within him cried out for closeness, for union. He wanted you so close that you would merge with him, your bodies becoming one. Every fiber of his being craved you, wanted you.
He spoke your name with such reverence that a shiver ran down your spine and goosebumps rose on your shoulders. "I need you. May I have you? Please?"
Even before he had finished his request, you were already nodding encouragingly. Candles flickered around you; the wine in the glasses sat untouched and forgotten, while the warm blanket lay half beneath you on the floor and the rest beside you. The swell of the waves was calm and steady, the sky clear and cloudless. It was as if this night belonged solely to the two of you.
"Please," you whispered. "I want you too, Isaac. I always have. I always will. I... I love you."
He blinked in surprise and his lips parted, before he nodded. Isaac licked his lips as he slowly moved the sleeve of your nightgown down your arm. Every centimeter felt like an eternity, his breath felt incredibly hot against your skin, and your heart hammered faster than ever within your chest. He then moved to the other side and began gently sliding the sheer sleeve down as well, until the fabric settled at the crooks of your elbows. The nightgown now hung low across your chest, revealing the soft curves of your breasts, which he slowly traced with his mouth. Your eyes closed instinctively, and you had to stifle your whimpers by biting your cheek as Isaac mouthed at one of your hardened nipples through the fabric. His saliva made the thin material turn almost transparent. You could feel him growing even harder as he slowly grinding his hips against yours in search of friction.
"You’re so soft," he whispered, finally pulling the fabric completely away from your chest and arms, leaving you covered only from the hips down. For a moment, he leaned back on his hands to admire the work of art lying beneath him— vulnerable, trusting, more beautiful than a midsummer night's dream, and all his.
Even though heat rose in your cheeks and you felt the urge to press your arms across your chest, you held his gaze and did nothing of the sort.
"You are beautiful," he whispered breathlessly, and the way he looked at you told you he meant it with all his heart. You were likely the most beautiful being he had ever seen and not simply because you were the first woman he had ever seen naked. You were simply perfect. The shape of your body, the curve of your hips, the fullness of your breasts, and everything else besides. He saw no flaw in you. If he were working on a scientific thesis about beauty, you would be his model, his example, and his proof all rolled into one.
"Just like you, my darling," you said without hesitation, placing a hand against his cheek at which he immediately leaned into your touch. He would never dream of turning away your affection again.
Your hands slid beneath the fabric of his shirt, making him visibly shudder. You inched the fabric higher and higher until he willingly raised his arms, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head. Without caring where it might land, you tossed it aside before wrapping your arms around his neck like vines, pulling him close against you. His skin felt slightly warm against your own, and you bit your lip with your sharp fangs as his hand wandered to his waistband. His mouth returned to your chest, his teeth sinking gently into your aroused nipple.
Isaac struggled to undo his belt with one hand, but his fingers were skilled. He pulled the leather free and laid it on the planks beside your ethereal form. His cock ached with the intensity of his need for you. He had never been so aroused or desperate for anyone, yet as always you brought out the worst in him. Because of you, he was a murderer, and now, he was desperate as hell and in need to fuck.
After fumbling for several seconds, he managed to undo the buttons of his simple black trousers and pull them down far enough to free his cock. It was hard, long, and fully aroused, with beads of pearlescent pre-cum forming at the tip. You tilted your head to look past his own head and see the object of your desire down below, where your bodies nearly met. Even though your memory wasn't perfect in every detail, you were certain that his manhood hadn't changed a bit. He was gorgeous.
He gave himself a few quick, desperate strokes with his fist before grabbing the hem of your nightgown to pull it up. A hand on his forearm stopped him, and he looked at you with confused eyes, blinking questioningly. "Have you changed your mind?"
"No, no, it’s fine, my love. I just want to see all of you. Every part of you," you whispered breathlessly. Night nodded so vigorously that, for a moment, you worried he might give himself whiplash.
"Not all of me is pretty, you know?" he murmured as he slid his trousers and boxers down his long, slender legs. You followed suit, slipping off your nightgown and panties. You didn’t need to look to know you were wet. You could feel the dampness between your thighs, and your clit was already throbbing, craving friction. You were tempted to reach down and flick yourself, but that would spoil the fun. You wanted him to make you come on his fingers or his cock— both options sounded like heaven right then.
"I don't see a single flaw," you said honestly. "I love everything about you."
He quickly leaned over you again, pressing another deep kiss to your lips before taking one of your legs and wrapping it around his hip. Your eyes rolled back briefly and you let out a gasp as the head of his cock slid into your wet cunt. "So wet for me… You’re going to be the death of me. But you know that, don’t you?"
"Just as you are going to be mine," you gasped out. You had completely forgotten the pain caused by your new scars, yet he still seemed mindful of them. He made no attempt to shift his full weight onto you or touch the tender areas on your stomach in any way. It had been an eternity since the last time you’d done this.
And now, you couldn't wait any longer. You moved your hips to meet his, but he just grinned at you, enjoying the sight of your desperation. He still couldn’t believe that this was all for him. That your body was lying beneath his like an altar, though he intended to do very sinful things to you. Perhaps not all of them tonight, but there was nothing holy about this union.
When he finally pushed inside you, you couldn't help but let a high-pitched sound escape the confines of your throat, your mouth forming his name. Your hands dug into his pale shoulders as he rested his forehead against yours. Isaac’s breathing came in heavy, ragged gasps, and you could feel how hard he was fighting to hold back from simply taking what his body craved. The silky walls of your cunt fluttered and pulsed around him, making his cock throb inside you in response. You could clearly feel every subtle vein along the side of his base. You were both so lost in the moment, so captivated, that Isaac had completely forgotten the condom Gomez had slipped into his pocket earlier. The boy had been right about where this night would lead.
"Move, Isaac, please," you pleaded breathily. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and began to carefully move his hips against yours. You were wrapped tight and hot around him, nearly causing him to lose control at once. He had never slept with a girl before, so it was incredibly difficult for him to keep his composure and not finish too quickly. After all, he didn't want to disappoint you.
"You- agh!-you feel heavenly," Isaac groaned against your neck, gradually picking up the pace. A fine sheen of sweat formed on his forehead, and he couldn't help but bite into your flesh to keep himself from losing it.
"Don’t stop!" you gasped close to his ear, meeting his thrusts with your own hips as best you could. The movement caused him to suddenly drive even deeper, striking a particularly sensitive spot inside you that made your back arch and your toes curl. "Isaac!"
Isaac forgot the rule he had voiced just moments before— be quiet— because he could no longer control himself. His groans spilled out of him like water from a spring, and he couldn't help but chase the climax you both craved so desperately. One of his hands cupped your breast again, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh, while his fingers flicked against the hard nub. In response, you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, your slender fingers tangling in his soft hair and tugging at his curls, as if you could pull him even deeper inside you.
His clockwork heart raced in his chest, and had he not known better, he would have feared he was about to faint. But, oh, he wouldn't even be angry to die right here, pushed snugly inside your cunt, with your fingers grasping at the strands of his hair as if they’d personally wronged you, and your bodies entwined in a sinful dance.
"I’ve missed this… Oh, I don’t know how I’ve managed so long without this. Without you!" you managed to say, even though your breathing was rapid and your mind was filled with nothing but the sensation of him moving inside you. His thrusts grew sloppier by the second, losing their rhythm. He was close. You couldn't blame him because you too were so close to the hot cord that had been tightening in your stomach bursting open and you would be overwhelmed with ecstasy. All you needed was a little push to fall over the edge.
“Fuck, princess, me neither,” he moaned, burying his head in the valley between your breasts again, while his hands now settled at your hips to somehow push you even closer against him. Your bodies had felt close before, but now it was truly as if you were one. As if your bodies and your soul had merged. It was a feeling you hoped would never find its conclusion. "Don't know why I've been so stubborn. I should've let you do this weeks ago."
“I love you,” you repeated breathlessly. “I love you, I love you, I—”
Isaac cried out your name brokenly, his hips stuttering inside you, while hot ropes of cum spurted inside your clenching pussy. He was moaning your name over and over again and he kept moving against you, even as his dick was softening and he felt the exhaustion settling deep over himself. The moment his cum flooded your walls, your eyes rolled into the back of your head and a sound that was half cry and half whimper left you as your cunt clenched around him and the very stars you held so dearly exploded right on front of your eyelids.
At first moment everything was still. The world around you ceased to exist. There was only you, your body trembling like a leaf in the wind, and Isaac, lying on top of you like a weighted blanket. You both breathed heavily, your hearts beating in unison, struggling to find their rhythm again. Your legs slowly detached from his hips, but your arms remained wrapped around his neck. You could feel something warm and sticky coating your thighs and slowly dripping onto the floor below. Your fingers traced a slow, tender path down his back, and he shuddered in your arms.
"Don't move," he murmured quietly against your skin, which for the first time in a long time held a warmth within it. "I want to stay inside you a little longer. You're so warm."
"I'm not going anywhere," you whispered in response, before a small smile crept onto your lips. "But wouldn't the hammock be more comfortable?"
Isaac shook his head, his lovely curly hair tickling your chin, making you giggle. The sound, so careless and free, drew him back up to you. His deep brown eyes were wet, his pupils so dilated they almost filled the brown. He looked like a painting, one you would never tire of looking at.
"Someone needs to watch the boat and make sure we don't run aground or go off course."
"And you'll do that, Captain Night?" you teased playfully. He rolled his eyes, then kissed you as if you were the most important thing in the world to him. As if you were a treasure belonging only to him that he would never share or neglect.
"That, or fill you up for a while longer, my dear princess," he whispered against your mouth, and you lightly slapped his shoulder. His cock twitched inside you.
“I could go all night, love,” you whispered back, before your mouth captured his again in a passionate kiss.
While the sea around you was calm, the night sky clear, and the world around you seemed to have paused, you lay entwined on the thin red blanket on the ship's deck. You gently shifted positions so that Isaac lay beneath you and you sat enthroned on his lap, your hips moving in slow circles that left him gasping for air.
Despite the fervency of his promise to Elena, the next day dawned over Isaac Night in an airport terminal. He tucked a ticket to New York City into his pocket. His flight left in less than half an hour. It was the closest he could get to New Jersey on such short notice.
It was the closest he could get to his vengeance on the Addams family without waiting. Once he landed, he would work the rest out as he went along.
As Isaac strolled along the highest level of the airport, a sharp call rang out that stopped him in his tracks.
"Isaac!"
He sighed deeply and turned to face Elena. She stood with one hand on the railing that overlooked the rest of the airport complex. Far, far below, humans milled about on the ground floor, unaware of the tense confrontation unfolding stories above their busy, inconsequential little lives.
"I always knew you were a liar," Elena scoffed, trying intentionally to hurt him as he approached her. "But you didn't have to make a promise you were intent on breaking so soon!"
"I'm not breaking any promises," Isaac assured her. "I'm not leaving you, not for long, anyway. I'll just-"
"Just what?!" Elena snarled. "You'll hop overseas, kill the Addams', then be back in time for tea?!"
"We don't drink tea," he reminded her.
"This isn't funny, Isaac!" Elena hissed wrathfully.
"I'm not laughing."
"I promised Morticia we would leave her family alone!" Elena told him, incensed. "I gave her my word so she would let us go! Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince her-"
"If she was gullible enough to believe you could stop me from getting my revenge, then she deserves to die!" Isaac snapped. "She already deserves to die regardless! She killed me, Elena! Morticia and her precious family are the reason my sister is dead! They're the reason I'm a Da Vinci without a right hand, the reason you spent thirty years alone! How can you just forgive them for everything they've done to us?!"
"You did that to us, Isaac!" Elena yelled back, rage snapping her composure like a silk screen in a typhoon. "You tried to kill Morticia's husband, you chose revenge over peace that night in Iago tower when you died the second time! You were the one who left me alone, Isaac!"
Isaac flinched back like she'd slapped him across the face, but she wasn't done yet.
"You left me! For thirty years!" she cried. "You left me with nothing but a broken heart and a twisted, haunted tree that-that ticked at me in the darkness while I wept and lit candles and wished to any god that would listen that you would have been able to love me enough to-"
Elena broke off, choked on the fervor of the confession she'd been waiting to deliver for a lifetime.
"I wanted to believe so badly that you could love me enough to settle for me!" she wept.
"Settle?!" Isaac growled. He surged forward, reached out to wipe her tears away, but she swatted his hand aside and evaded his comfort. "Settle for you?! Elena, you're everything to me! What do you mean, settle for you?!"
"If I'm everything to you, then stay!" Elena begged desperately. "Come back with me! Forget about the Addams! We can live, Isaac! You and me and Daphne! Our coven, can't we be enough for you?! Can't I be enough for you?! Or can't you help yourself from- from throwing away your last chance at life to chase your revenge?!"
"I'm not throwing anything away, Elena!" Isaac tried to assure her. "They beat me twice, I won't lose to that family a third time! I can have it all! We can-"
Elena's laughter rang out, harrowed, manic and mad with grief and the unbelievable irony of it all.
"You can't have it all, Isaac!" she hissed. "No one can have it all! Why do you always think you're the exception to the rules?!"
"Aren't I?!" Isaac demanded. "How many times have I cheated fate, outdone destiny?! How many times, Elena?!"
She shook her head at him.
"If you leave me again, I won't be waiting for you when you come back!" she sobbed. "I won't, Isaac, not again!"
"You'll wait!" Isaac all but ordered. "I'll board my flight. I'll get my revenge. And when I come back, you and Daphne will both be here waiting for me. Then we can have our lives. Say you understand, Elena."
Elena only shook her head, tears drying on her cheeks as she hardened her resolve, pulled herself together with immense force of will in the face of her worst fear.
"Elena, say that you understand!" Isaac demanded.
"I won't be here waiting for you if you get on that plane, Isaac," she told him, quiet after the storm of her rage. The calm that settled over her in the wake of her breakdown was unsettling.
An announcement rang out overhead. Isaac's flight was boarding. It was now or never.
"You'll be here," he said, arrogant with confidence. He took a step back from her. "You'll be waiting for me when I come back."
Isaac turned his back to her, but Elena wasn't content to let him walk away so easily. He made it three steps before she called his name again.
"Isaac! Remember that day, in Iago tower? After you lost our wager. The one with stakes. The one about submission."
Isaac did remember. He frowned at the specificity of the memory Elena was evoking.
"I remember," he allowed without turning back to face her.
"Remember the game we played up in Iago tower? How I distracted you?"
Dread curled in Isaac's gut at the foreboding nature of the reminiscence. He already suspected the sight that would greet him if he glanced back. Slowly, he turned to see Elena hopped up onto the railing, legs dangling perilously over the steep drop to the ground floor of the terminal.
"Elena, get down!" he warned.
"No," she replied stubbornly. "I'm not going to wait here for you like some pathetic, lovesick fledgling fang, Isaac! And I gave Morticia my word that I would keep you away from her family at any cost!"
"You're being silly and melodramatic!" Isaac snarled. The speaker overhead informed him that he had five more minutes to board his flight. "You're not going to jump! I don't have my ability, I can't catch you from here!"
"Then you'd better come closer," Elena told him simply. Isaac gaped at her in disbelief, but his eyes corroborated her seriousness. Her grip loosened on the rail.
"Elena! Don't!" he cried in alarm.
Isaac lunged forward, thrust his hand out just in time to catch her arm as she dropped over the side of the rail. He cried out with the effort of supporting her weight single-handed, panic surging through him in a desperate, desolate wave as her fingers gripped his wrist in an iron vise that he returned with every ounce of strength he had at his disposal. The snap of her body as her momentum broke dragged him flush to the rail, threatened to pull him over as well. He braced his knees against the cold metal bar, grit his teeth and strained to pull her back up.
"Elena! Damn it!" he howled. "What the hell are you doing?! Pull yourself back up!"
"Not yet," she sighed. Despite the intense gravity of her situation, Isaac caught her smiling with smug satisfaction.
"This isn't funny!" Isaac shouted, torn between anger and anxiety. "I can't pull you up unless you help me! Stop playing around and get back up here! Damn it, Elena!"
"Two more minutes, Isaac," Elena sighed. She closed her eyes while he heaved and wrestled with her weight. It was a losing battle. Isaac shrieked his frustration into the empty space over the terminal, attracting attention from below as Elena dangled and he struggled to keep her from falling.
It felt like a hundred years before Elena's other hand made an appearance, swiped at the rail a few times before her fingers closed around it. Finally, she helped Isaac as he hauled her back to safety. They collapsed to the floor in separate heaps, panting for breath while the announcement that Isaac's flight was leaving blared out overhead.
"God damn it! Damn it, Elena! How could you do that?!" Isaac cursed, kicking the rail in frustration from his spot on the floor. Elena was silent, rolled onto her side so she could watch him work through his rage. "How could you... you made me... you made me miss my flight."
"You bought your ticket with my card anyway," she told him haughtily. "You'd better be able to get me a refund."
The absurdity of the situation finally got the best of Isaac. He still hadn't caught his breath, but he couldn't hold back a strangled little laugh.
"A refund," he repeated, nonplussed.
He kept laughing, crumpled to the floor in a manic fit as convulsions wracked his thin frame. Elena sat up and dried her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt, utterly unamused by Isaac's antics.
"I'll catch another flight," Isaac finally reasoned. "I'll just-"
"The minute you're gone, I'm jumping," Elena promised him grimly.
"God damn it, Elena! You're not jumping!" Isaac cursed her vehemently.
"Go then, if you don't believe me!" Elena hissed, refusing to back down.
The unrelenting resolution fixed behind her pale, silvery eyes was all the evidence Isaac needed to know she was serious as the death she avowed.
"You're making me choose between you and my revenge," Isaac realized. "Forever."
Elena nodded gravely.
"You can only have one, Isaac," she informed him. "And it's not fate that's intervening to limit you. Not this time. It's just me."
She stood and straightened her clothes while Isaac remained motionless on the floor, frozen with indecision.
"It's your choice," she sighed. "But there are plenty of tall buildings in the world. I'll wait for you until tonight with Daphne. If you're not back by sunset... I'll know you chose revenge."
Elena walked away from Isaac, left him on the floor of the terminal with his head spinning and his muscles aching from the strain of rescuing her from death one more time. Before her footsteps faded completely, Isaac gave the weariest, most defeated sigh of his life.
"Fuck me!" he growled unhappily, pulling himself to his feet. "Elena! Elena, wait!"
She paused, gave him time to catch up to her.
Tickticktickticktickticktick.
Isaac pulled her into a crushing embrace. She inhaled deeply, dragging in the scent of him like it was the first time she'd ever done so. Or perhaps the last.
"When did you get so fucking dramatic?" Isaac demanded, burying his nose in her hair while her arms wound around him and her fingers fisted in his shirt.
"Well... you see, there was this mad scientist I dated once," Elena said humorously. "And he was the most dramatic man I ever knew. I guess he must have rubbed off on me."
"You're completely impossible," Isaac accused her.
"So was he."
Isaac took one more breath before he made his choice out loud.
"You're enough, Elena," he decided resolutely. "More than enough. You're everything. Fuck! I love you and you're everything! You're all I need. Say you understand."
"Only if you promise you mean it this time," Elena scowled. She drew back to search his eyes, interrogating his sincerity. Not without good reason. Isaac's duplicity was legendary.
"Promise? What do you need a promise for?" Isaac grumbled. "It's not like you've left me much of a choice in this."
"Promise me anyway," Elena demanded. "I'll hold you to it this time with my life. Promise me, Isaac."
Isaac closed his eyes and let his forehead fall against hers. He breathed deep before he made his vow like he was acceding to a life sentence for his crimes.
"I promise," Isaac sighed.
His surrender was complete, total and unconditional. Satisfied, Elena rewarded him with the most violent kiss of his life. She backed him hard against a wall, branded his lips with her passion, drank his submission and scourged his willing flesh with her nails. She carved his promise out in blood as their fangs collided, traced its accursed syllables against the roof of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, forced him to swallow her queer victory with her fingers closed dominantly over his throat. By the time she drew back, they were both utterly disheveled and entirely out of breath.
"Check and mate," she told him cheekily.
Isaac should have been furious with his scheming vampiress and her unrelenting cleverness. Instead, he found he could only smile down at her with sore, slowly bleeding lips.
Isaac Night didn't feel fury in his defeat at Elena Dien's hands. He felt freedom.
Chapter Warnings: Smut! Minors DNI! Blood, minor injury, angst, unprotected sex, p in v
Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3
This time, the darkness didn't try to hold Isaac forever. It released him wearily, like it had given up on trying to force him into the cold embrace of eternity. He woke in a dim hotel room to the sound of his angels arguing in the distance. Their voices felt closer the more alert he became, until he realized they were on either side of him embroiled in a vicious debate.
"... doesn't matter what we do, he's still going to-"
"We don't know that for sure, he might-"
"Elena! We know for sure, you know how he is, you know-"
"I know he's not the same as he used to be, not completely!" Elena insisted. She caught Isaac staring up at her from the bed.
"Even when he couldn't remember a thing from his past, he was completely the same!" Daphne insisted. "You need to prepare yourself-"
"Daphne, stop!" Elena cried. She nodded down and Daphne followed her gaze.
"Isaac," Daphne sighed. "Good. You had us worried that you wouldn't wake up at all for a minute there."
"Is that what was worrying you?" Isaac scowled. He tried to sit up and immediately winced as pain pounded mercilessly through his head. A glance down told him that, once again, he was parted from his indispensable right hand.
"Take it easy," Elena suggested. "You were out for nearly a whole day. De Luca really rang your bell before Wednesday cut his head off."
"Oh, I still wish we would have caught that on video," Daphne crowed happily. "What a magnificent sight! Oh, Isaac, it's really a shame that you missed it. There was blood everywhere, it was like walking into a party and seeing a chocolate fountain."
"Is that really what it was like?" Elena wondered.
"It was spectacular," Daphne purred.
"I heard you talking about me," Isaac grumbled. Daphne and Elena both fell abruptly silent, shared a grave look. "What's the matter this time?"
"Maybe nothing, darling," Daphne said hopefully. "Tell us... how much do you remember?"
The question hung heavy in the silence while Isaac glanced between them. For just a moment, he let himself wonder what they wanted to hear. They were both watching him with hopeful anticipation, but after the fight he'd interrupted, he couldn't decide whether they were rooting for or against his amnesia.
"Everything," he finally admitted.
Isaac sat up in spite of his headache while Daphne and Elena processed the single word and its severe implications. Their expressions did nothing to inform Isaac as to whether they were glad or sorry that he was availed of his memories.
"Daphne, I need to talk to Isaac alone," Elena finally said.
Daphne nodded, grabbed her sunglasses, purse and an oversized hat, and left the room without another word.
"I thought you would be happier," Isaac commented.
"I'm happy," Elena assured him. She settled down on the bed at his side, reached out to brush his dark, messy curls back tenderly. "But... everything is a lot, Isaac."
He knew at once what she meant. His past lives had been steeped in tragedy, plagued by failure, every design he'd ever orchestrated frustrated by fate itself.
"Are you... okay?" she pressed tentatively.
"Define okay," Isaac sighed.
"God, how?" Elena demanded with a breathless little chuckle. "I don't know, are you crushed by grief? Overwhelmed by vengeance? Are you still glad I dragged you back instead of leaving well enough alone?"
"Yes," Isaac replied simply.
Elena seemed devastated, but she smiled anyway.
"Well. I expected as much, honestly," she managed to mumble.
"Where are we?" Isaac asked.
"Far, far away from where we were," Elena informed him. "We're in Sweden, actually."
Isaac scowled his displeasure and confusion.
"Sweden? How? Why!?" he demanded.
"After De Luca was dead, I spoke to Morticia," Elena explained. "I heard you, talking to De Luca when the two of you were fighting. I heard what you said to him. About Romi."
Isaac didn't even remember what he'd said. He only cocked an eyebrow and waited for her to go on.
"I told Morticia I suspected you might have remembered everything," Elena confessed. "I asked her for help. I asked her to get us far away from her and her family before you could wake up. And wouldn't you know, their family charters a private jet. They were only too happy to ship us off into our metaphorical sunset."
Isaac held back a growl of frustration. He let his face fall into his left hand, the only hand he had at the moment. The stump of his right wrist itched with a forlorn vengeance.
"Are you terribly angry with me?" Elena murmured. The fear in her voice struck Isaac through with desolation. He raised his face to sigh in helpless concession.
"Of course not," he muttered. He couldn't muster much sincerity, despite the honesty of his claim. "You were only trying to protect our coven. The way you always have. Of course I'm not... how could I be angry with you for that?"
Elena didn't look like she believed him. Her eyes fell from his dejectedly.
"Elena."
Isaac demanded her gaze, tipped her chin back up with his fingers. She met his eyes, unable to resist a little smile at the familiarity of his firmness, the impeccable sense of character that had finally, irrevocably settled into the skin of the man she loved. Despite the red irises staring back at her, Elena looked Isaac Night in the eyes for the first time since his resurrection and was assured that this was well and truly her Isaac looking back at her.
"There you are," she sighed. "My Isaac, my moody mad scientist, my fickle genius. Finally."
"My Elena," Isaac sighed affectionately. "My sweetest angel, my prettiest little distraction."
Sadness overtook her features again at the reminder of the distance he'd always maintained between them, the uncrossable emotional void of his refusal to call their bond what she so desperately wanted it to be. Isaac read the grief in her eyes, understood why she was mourning.
"Daphne said I shouldn't tell you I loved you," Isaac recalled, leaning in unbearably close until he could feel her halting breaths ghosting over his lips. "Not until I really meant it. She threatened me quite vividly, you know."
That coaxed a smile from Elena.
"Daphne can be scary when she gets protective," Elena noted. "It's fine, Isaac. I've always loved you, and I always will. If the best you can ever do in return is call me yours, that'll be enough for me. More than enough to-"
Isaac cut her off with a kiss, closed, chaste, brief.
"I love you too, Elena," he assured her softly.
Elena might have started sobbing if his lips weren't back on hers in the next instant, his arms wrapping around her, his body pressing to hers like he hadn't touched her in a lifetime. Elena returned his embrace as if she hadn't had him back for months, kissed him with thirty years worth of hopeless longing, cleaved to his yearning, eager form with enough passion to put his to shame.
Isaac tugged at both their clothes in an urgent frenzy, scraped his fangs across Elena's pulse hard enough to drag a pained cry from her as he carved his dominance over her pounding heartbeat. Elena submitted to his hungers, content to sate every appetite he was willing to whet at the font of her devotion. She parted her legs for him, took him as easily as if the last time they had made love was only hours ago rather than decades.
Isaac groaned his pleasure against her skin, tangled his fingers greedily through her hair, demanded her lips against his again while he fell easily into the familiar rhythm of their favorite dance. His hips moved over hers with rehearsed precision while her legs caged his waist and her sharp nails traced deep grooves down his taut, straining back. Her moans rang out while she clutched him desperately, like she was afraid he would evaporate above her, dissipate into mist if she relinquished the vigor of her hold on him for even an instant.
"Isaac!"
His name fell from her lips like an old, favorite tune while he savored the chorus of her building ecstasy like a nostalgic melody.
"Elena!"
He breathed her name like a vow, lapped sweat and prickling blood from her skin like it was a sacrilege to let it go untasted. Elena wasn't finished when Isaac came undone inside her, but she patiently guided him back down from the frenzied heights of his climax without regard for her own simmering lust. Her fingers found his scalp, pulled his face down gently to rest between her breasts while he heaved for breath and shook above her in the aftermath of his orgasm.
"Don't," she murmured when he tried to pull away from her, tried to kiss his way down her body to make sure she was as satisfied as he was. "Don't, Isaac. I just want to hold you. Don't move just yet, please?"
Isaac sighed, caved to her harrowed, desperate request. She laced her fingers through his while he laid his ear down over her stuttering heartbeat, still not yet settled from their brief, intense exertions.
"Stay with me a while longer," Elena begged softly, fingers playing up and down his back gently to soothe the red marks she'd drawn on his skin on moments earlier.
Isaac knew her mind was wandering to desolate, terrible places. He turned his head to press a line of kisses to her jaw.
"I'll never leave you again," he assured her.
"Promise?" Elena demanded, helpless in the face of what she could only hope wouldn't be an impossible promise for him to keep.
"I promise," Isaac vowed. He kissed her again, deeply, slowly, squeezed her hand to punctuate his sincerity. He rolled onto his back, pulled her body against his and held her painfully close while she buried her face in the curve of his neck.
Isaac and Elena clung to each other like neither would ever let the other go again, not until eternity burned out and every last star fell from the heavens in apocalyptic cataclysm.
Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics, @empyreanevents & @steviebbboi <3
Images from pinterest, minor edits by me <3
"Tish, do you think... does it seem like Gomez is avoiding me lately?" Sara wondered.
She couldn't keep the comment from tumbling out. Studying with Morticia in the library, she spotted the spark approaching with eyes slickened by adoration- only watch his expression fall starkly when he noticed the company his girlfriend currently kept. He melted into the closest aisle of shelves as if pretending he had some other business in the library, but the thought of Gomez reaching for a book without Isaac forcing his hand with telekinesis was enough to make Sara frown.
"What? Of course not!" Morticia scoffed at once. " Though I understand what might have lead you to suspect as much. I think he's had some manner of falling out with Isaac."
Sara let her focus wander from the information she so desperately needed to memorize over the next month. Distracted by the new possibility, her eyes drifted blindly while she put two and two together. Morticia tapped pointed black-polished nails on the tabletop to announce her boredom.
"Ohh, so it's Isaac he's avoiding," Sara realized. "They're so close though! What could they possibly..."
"Your guess is as good as mine, darling, but I wouldn't spare it much thought," Morticia sniffed. Her disdain was delicate while she toyed with her textbook. The idea of moving on to the next page hung in suspense, mired by the unwieldy balance between an attention deficit and the pleasant distraction of a little harmless gossip. "Those boys will make up in their own time. As it is, I'm rather enjoying having Gomez all to myself."
"Right. Of course," Sara sighed.
The rationalization was plausible enough. Even if Isaac was currently nowhere to be found, he and Sara still came as an item. If Gomez was avoiding one, it stood to reason he would avoid the other without thinking into it too deeply. Sara decided she wouldn't think too deeply into the issue either. Diligently, she buried her face in the subject matter again, but Morticia had abandoned any pretense of study in favor of bothering the partner who was meant to be keeping her on task.
"What about you, dear? You know, I feel like I never see you and Isaac together anymore," Morticia wondered.
"Oh, we... well, you know Isaac. So busy," Sara chuckled nervously.
Her throat seized with sadness, the sentences she could have gone on to share held prisoner by the ever-looming possibility that she might say more than Isaac wanted her to. The research that demanded so much of his attention, the lab that no one else knew about, the mysterious malady afflicting his poor little sister...
Sara swallowed hard and quickly adjusted her book to form a wall between herself and the well-meaning friend prying into her business. Suddenly, she felt acutely that the things she couldn't tell Morticia far outweighed the things she could. Never one to back down from a line of inquiry, Morticia nudged the book aside precociously and leaned over the table. Her posture was conspiratorial, but the angle of her eyebrows betrayed an inscrutable curiosity that filled Sara with simmering wariness. Did she have the mettle to hold up under pressure if Morticia started asking the right questions? Or would she crack like a disloyal agent under interrogation?
"Sara, you would tell me if that sullen Da Vinci was neglecting you, wouldn't you?" she pressed.
Sara was almost relieved, until she realized she didn't have a satisfactory answer to this question either.
"Isaac's not- he's just... you know, we have mid-terms coming up, and he's just got so much- he's so... he's very... we're both a little busy these days," Sara managed. "He'll make time for me this weekend, I'm sure."
"Hm. You must insist on it," Morticia reminded her. "Boys will do whatever you let them get away with. Especially boys like Isaac."
Sara couldn't resist rising to the bait.
"What's that supposed to mean, 'boys like Isaac'?" she scowled.
"Oh, you know, darling," Morticia purred. "Boys who think they know everything. Boys who see the world as little more than a playground full of toys to arrange as they see fit. Selfish boys... most boys, in all honesty."
"That's not... Isaac's not like that," Sara insisted, offended on his behalf. "You know he's sweet, Morticia, once you get past all his walls and-"
"I could use a great many words to describe Isaac Night," Morticia tsked condescendingly. "'Sweet' isn't on the list."
"He's sweet to me," Sara protested.
"A flytrap seems sweet to a butterfly," Morticia countered without hesitation. "But that doesn't mean it will hesitate to devour the pretty little fluttering creature, should it linger too long at its maw."
Sara could only scowl in response. She was used to Morticia's fatalistic world view by now. It was something she chose to overlook because, aside from the dark tidings Morticia cherished, she was a good friend. Sara knew the nihilistic psychic meant well, but that knowledge didn't compel her accept Morticia's grim musings. Rather, Sara chose to interpret them strictly as idle attempts to conjure up drama for entertainment's sake.
"If you don't finish that chapter by the time I finish mine, I'm moving on to the next section without you," Sara threatened with a curt roll of her eyes.
While Morticia sputtered, indignant in the face of such callous dismissal, Sara rededicated herself to reading. Studying was a decent distraction from the fact that she did miss her boyfriend. The camping trip felt like a rekindling of their romance, odd as it had been. Since returning to Nevermore, however, Isaac was more distant than ever. He was even missing classes, though their professors assured her when she asked that all his absences were to be forgiven. Sara didn't dare delve too deep, too fearful of disturbing Isaac's excuses. Instead, she simply nodded, smiled and accepted their well wishes.
Everyone else thought he was sick. She knew better than to believe that, because day after day, she checked in on his dorm and failed to find him there. Wouldn't a sick boy be languishing in his room?
Maybe not if he was avoiding his roommate, she reasoned. More than once, she considered making the trip to Iago tower uninvited, but hesitation held her back every time. What if she interrupted something important? She didn't think she could bear for Isaac to be angry with her. Instead, she steeled her resolve and clung to the shallow reassurances she constructed for herself. She waited hopefully for the weekend, though all the while, doubts festered in the back of her mind.
What if Morticia was right? What if Isaac was hiding something? But what? What could possibly be keeping him from her side, from his classes, for an entire week?
What if he's avoiding me? Did I do something wrong? What if he wants me to come find him and I'm failing some kind of test by keeping my distance... no, that's silly. Worse than silly, that's crazy. I need to stop thinking like that right now, before I really lose my mind.
Sara caught herself spiraling on Thursday. Her nails dug so deep into her desk that she left grooves in the veneer. She pulled them free with a little wince as the pressure dissipated harmlessly from her nail beds. She folded her hands in her lap and stared straight ahead, struggling to remain present in the classroom. She caught herself picking at the skin of her thumb and forced herself to stop. She caught her foot tapping and made it stay still. She caught her teeth worrying the tip of her tongue and tucked it safely into her cheek.
Despite her best efforts to protect herself from her own bad habits, her lower lip was bleeding by the end of the day, split by the impulsive motion of her restive canines. The pain was almost a relief, but the sight of blood on her mouth in the bathroom mirror very nearly sent her flying off the edge of a perilous mental cliff.
She grabbed a paper towel, held it tight to the wound, screwed her eyes shut and ran the water to drown out the static scratching at the back of her brain. The sight of a little blood made her want to see more blood. She wanted to see dripping crimson, wanted to feel it caressing her skin in passing, thick and slick, burning like magma and pulsing like the cure to every wrong thing in the world. She wanted... she wanted...
Sara silenced the things she wanted. She summoned Isaac's words like a mantra, recited them as though they could transmute into armor if she repeated them with enough devotion.
"No one hurts what's mine," she muttered. The words were low and slurred by the tissue still pressed to her lip. "No one hurts what's mine. No one hurts what's mine."
You're mine, Sara Temple.
But was she really his? Was she still his if she never saw him?
God, she wanted to see Isaac. She ached to set eyes on him, to hear his voice settling her storm, to feel his hands steadying the tremble trying to rip her to pieces. She throbbed with the agonizing need to seek him out. It spread through every vein in her body like an infection, tickling like ice and gnawing like a parasite. The uncertainty was killing her. She discarded the tissue in favor of sucking at the wound while she swept through the halls, clear of students now that the day was almost over. She set her resolve, almost confident as she headed for the music room.
I'll find him. I bet I know where to find him. He's probably been waiting for me to come looking. I hope he's not mad that it took me so long... I'll just tell him the truth. I didn't want to interrupt him. Whatever he's working on...
Sara rounded a corner with all the unforgiving sharpness of a steep right angle and stopped cold. Unexpectedly, she found you inhabiting the corridor like you were waiting for someone. Arms crossed over your chest, foot tapping impatiently, you gazed out a window as though the sunshine outside threatened to impede some unknown plan. Your eyes snapped to Sara, drawn by the abrupt movement that marked her as a woman on a mission. Movement that was sweeping in its scope, truncated by surprise into an ugly suspension of motion that might have been elegant had Sara followed it through to completion. You didn't smile, but your features announced a mysterious, deranged amusement through subtle micro-expressions. A narrowing of your eyes as you inspected her posture, a haughty tightening of your lips, a slight quirk at the tip of your nose as though her scent offended you.
"Such a hurry," you remarked while Sara was still struggling to catch enough breath to voice a greeting. "Big plans for the weekend, little hothead?"
The way you used the modern term made it sound so inherently demeaning that Sara flinched a little. Already off guard and unbalanced, she stammered out a quick excuse for her haste. She wasn't even sure what rationalization slipped from her mouth. She was too busy shrinking away from the harsh, unwavering criticism that screamed at her from your imperious gaze.
"Well then," you sneered, stiff as an aristocrat's posture and twice as condescending, "... don't let me hold you up, Ms. Temple."
Sara was only too eager to escape the glaring spotlight of your scorn, but doubts and second thoughts almost stopped her from retreating into the music room. Would you be suspicious, she wondered, when she didn't make a reappearance? Would you come looking for her?
The thought of you following her through the shaded secret passages of Nevermore made her flesh crawl and her gut twist. She let the feeling drive her to move as though she were already being chased. She retreated like a prey animal into the bowels of the school, hoping all the way that she wouldn't be pursued.
For a few furtive, fearful steps through the dusty corridors, Sara wondered if she still remembered the way to Iago tower. After all, Isaac had only lead her there once before. Would she be able to find her way on her own, or would she wind up lost and alone in the dark? Her heart was already pounding, her pulse burning with distress, but the thought of losing her way with no hope for rescue spurred her breath to a gallop that left her feeling light-headed.
Then she set eyes on the unmistakable staircase leading up to the distinctive clocktower and relief flooded her like an antidote to the poison of uncertainty. She noticed a lift she hadn't seen on her first visit, but disappointingly, found she was unable to use it. The mechanism to activate it was simple to the point of brutality. One way up, one way down. There was no way to call it down from the base of the tower unless you were already at the top.
Her throat tightened again at the reminder that Iago tower was not a place constructed with visitors in mind. The realization made her feel like even more of an intruder, but she refused to back down after already having come this far.
She began the arduous trek upward only to hear the lift cable snap and grind into motion about halfway up. The carriage passed her slowly and she locked eyes with Isaac through grated metal. He gaped at her, eyebrows drawn in what could have been surprise or displeasure. Both, perhaps?
"Sara?!" he called over the rattle of the mechanism.
"Isaac!"
She started to descend again, but he stopped her with waving hands and an exasperated tone.
"No, don't- you're closer to the top, just keep going up! I'll meet you up there!"
He was falling quickly enough that he had to shout the last part of his instructions, but Sara received the message. She shrugged and obeyed, picking up the pace with an involuntary smile tugging up at her lips. The sight of Isaac was enough to lift her mood, never mind the nagging doubts that still stowed away like diseased rats in the back of her mind. She would have drowned them all if she could do it without capsizing the entire ship.
When Isaac stepped off the elevator, she crushed him into an embrace that he returned dubiously.
"Hey, is everything- are you alright?" he wondered.
"I'm fine, I just- I missed you," she sighed into his school-issued lab coat.
"I saw you Monday," he chuckled, though his grip on her tightened comfortingly.
"I know! I know, it's just- we were so busy packing up camp Monday morning, and it's been a long week, and I just-"
"It's fine," he assured her. "I'm glad you're here. I've been thinking about you all week, you know."
Sara drew back far enough to admire the warm amber of his eyes. The fading light in the tower made them seem colder than usual, darker. Almost black and brimming with an unfamiliar edge. She couldn't hold back a frown. Isaac seemed older somehow, though his skin was as smooth and youthful as ever, his curls as slick and full of life, his posture as perfect and proud as could be. The brightness in his eyes held the difference, a knowing, self-satisfied gleam that struck Sara as mischievous where she had hoped to see him affectionate. He must have noticed the dip in her expression. His brow knit by the slightest margin and his head tilted with reflexive inquisition.
"What's the matter? Have I got something on my face?" he wondered.
"No," Sara shook her head. "No, it's nothing."
She dismissed the feeling as fatigue. Surely she had just gone too long without seeing him. She was imagining things. His teeth worried his lip like he didn't believe her while those eyes, those strange, newly depthless eyes, perused her as though he could unwind the mystery of her befuddled expression if he just looked at it from the right angle.
"I'm just really glad to see you, that's all," she told him sincerely. "Oh, Isaac, say you have a few hours free! Let's do something together, anything! If you're tired, we could even just sit, we don't have to talk, I just want to-"
He stopped her begging with a kiss that tasted like allowance. Sara's mind went blissfully blank. The aphrodisiac influence of Isaac's hands winding around her waist worked better than any medication to counter the anxieties that had plagued her all week.
"I missed you too," he assured her softly. It was mercy of the highest order, a vindication of Sara's faith that instantly set her mind and heart at ease.
"I missed you, like, so much though," she murmured. Sadness still had the nerve to assert itself in undertones, lacing her words with a desolation Isaac soothed away in the next breath with tenderness, with his lips against hers and his fingertips over her scalp.
"I'm sorry. You know I'm busy with my research."
"I know. It's fine, I know."
She hated how it sounded like a lie, but she couldn't make it sound like anything else. If Isaac begrudged her the petty, placative deception, he didn't show it.
"A good boyfriend would make it up to you, huh?" he smirked.
"You are good, Isaac," she protested automatically.
His smirk widened as if in response to a joke she was excluded from.
"I'll be even better if you sneak me into Ophelia hall," he chuckled. "We can make out until your roommate threatens to call the proctor."
The suggestive waggle of his eyebrows lent the already juvenile proposition a seductive irreverence that had Sara swallowing a girlish giggle.
"Or you sneak me into Caliban hall," Sara countered. "And we can bully Gomez into staying quiet so I can spend the night?"
The mention of Gomez immediately brought a scowl to Isaac's face.
"Ah, that... mm. That might not be feasible at the present moment," he speculated unhappily.
"Morticia mentioned something was going on between you two," Sara mused, caution tempering her curiosity. The last thing she wanted to do was sour the moment. "It's fine, my room is fine. Maybe I can bribe Tori into turning a blind eye so you can stay as long as you want?"
"No bribes, I- well, I still have a lot to do, I can promise to make some time, but I still have to-"
"Yeah, no! That-that's fine!"
Sara was too eager to accept Isaac's scant offering of attention, too insecure to demand any more than what he could easily give.
"Anyway, I... I feel kind of... Isaac, you're working on something so important up here, I feel kind of bad pulling you away at all," she confessed.
"Everyone needs a break sometimes," Isaac reasoned. "I can only bang my head against the same brick wall for so long before I end up with a concussion... and it's not like the wall is going anywhere."
"So you're not making any progress?" Sara wondered dismally.
"No, actually," he replied, as close to optimistic as she'd ever seen him about his mystery miracle cure. "I'm making strides like never before. I really, really appreciate you for being patient with me on this, Sara."
Another kiss. Closed, sweet, almost chaste despite the fervent way he pulled her closer. His body pressed to hers made her stomach flutter pleasantly, dispersing a dangerous weakness down her legs as she surrendered her faculties to his deft touch.
"Of course," she breathed in helpless concession.
Sara's lips were chapped and sore by the time her roommate evicted Isaac, but she was too satisfied to be disgruntled. She treasured the discomfort even as she swiped on a mild balm to soothe the dryness left in the wake of his impassioned suckling. The reminder of the fervor Isaac reserved for her alone made her heart sing. She cherished the stinging tokens of affection he left with her in the shape of his teeth, savored the indentations she could still feel peppering her pulse points.
Part of her had been afraid that Isaac would demand more passion than she could give him again, but he didn't seem to mind her mildness this time. If anything, he finally seemed contented to accept her tenderness again. He hadn't been this complacent for her since the summer, since things had gone wrong between them. Not since they recovered from their falling out and walked away from their break down with new vows in hand.
"No one hurts what's mine," Sara sighed as she settled in the dark, winding down toward sleep.
Her roommate was already snoring. Sara traced her neck with the pads of her fingers, soothing herself to sleep by rehearsing the path Isaac's lips had blazed. No visible marks, she was almost sure of it, but she could still feel the ghost of his tongue against her flesh and it made her shiver with delight.
Isaac's recent fixation with roughness scared her a little and it was a relief that his new predilection hadn't reared its head to interrupt their sweet escape tonight. Sara knew, all too well, the appetites that drove someone to crave pain. She couldn't help but wonder if Isaac, for all his appearance of stability, secretly suffered from some of the same savage impulses that haunted her since she was young?
From her perspective, Isaac's craving for pain seemed perilously close to the longing she contended with at her own low points.
Her fingers wandered to consider the ridges of scars healed over not so long ago at all. Still red and angry from the last time she'd reopened them over the summer. The very last time before Isaac realized what she was doing to herself and forced her to stop. The promise he demanded from her wrapped around her heart like a chain, heavy and ever present. No matter how bad things got, no matter how deeply she doubted herself or how potent the ache in her belly grew, she would never pick up a razor again to let blood and sigh with relief at the violent pleasure of seeing red. The terrible release of castigation, the ecstatic agony of a weeping slice.
She shuddered with the memory of it and her nails dug in against the scars hard enough to aggravate them. They were flushed and swollen by the time she forced her hands high again. She restrained her fingers tight against her chest so she could feel her racing heartbeat and whooshing, forlorn breaths.
I'd rather have Isaac. He's the better cure.
The thought was meant to be soothing, but it coaxed free a fresh pulse of sadness from the hollow place in her chest where depression lodged itself so comfortably, as if it owned the space. Isaac's absence made her promise that much harder to keep. He had asked her to change something fundamental to her nature, something intrinsic to her self-image. She was willing to do it, willing to accept his offer, willing to let him become a substitute coping mechanism for the melancholy that festered within her like an open, pustulant sore where other people held functional emotions. Still, it was harder when he was distant, dreadful when he went days on end without showing her the smile that reminded her she was his.
To belong to Isaac Night was a concept she was still getting used to. No matter how reciprocal she tried to make their bond, it always felt like his ownership was as unilateral as it was non-negotiable. He demanded a lot. She liked to think that Isaac would give her whatever she demanded of him in return, but truth be told, she rarely had the nerve to demand anything at all from her boyfriend.
She allayed her own misgivings with the memory of his battered knuckles and the fact that he had caved so easily to her pressuring when she confronted him about them. Sure enough, she hadn't seen him with similar injuries since.
Sure enough... she hadn't really seen him very much at all since then.
With an unpleasant start, something awful occurred to her as she lay alone in the dark. Sara wondered if Isaac was hiding cuts or scrapes from her. Under all the clothes he wore to compensate for his naturally low core temperature, did Isaac harbor bruises accumulated from more than the expected accidents a day could incur?
Sara rolled over in bed, deep in thought, disturbed by the possibility that Isaac was keeping his distance because he was hiding new, bad habits from her. Sardonically, she wondered if her affliction was catching. Had her melancholy infected her boyfriend so easily? Had her tendency to cut inspired him to try it out for himself?
She reprimanded herself in the next breath. Isaac would never. Surely, he would be offended if he ever found out she even entertained the idea.
Still, the memory of his raw knuckles flashed through her mind in the dark and she had to manually slow the tempo of her breathing as dread attempted to steal away the last vestiges of calm Isaac left her with.
Her doleful musings were interrupted by the softest click she'd ever heard in her life. Her head swiveled toward the door, but the lightless interior of her room prevented her from perceiving anything more than the foggiest notion that someone was slipping in. Her heartbeat sped up, thumping wildly in her ears as the low creak of hinges tried to announce the entrance. The sound was faint, there and gone before Sara could even be certain she'd heard it.
She pushed up onto her elbows in bed, blinking faster as though she could force her eyes to pierce the unforgiving black that warped the room into an infinite field, brimming with the possibility of an unwelcome intrusion.
She had to know for sure. She swallowed hard, not daring to speak. The silence accompanying the creeping midnight hour had an acrid flavor, a metallic aftertaste that lay heavy over her tongue and suffocated any nascent intention of sound. She raised her hand instead of calling out, one finger lifted high above the rest. A flame flickered at its tip a second later, casting the room with a golden glow that slunk out cautiously to illuminate a short radius from her bed.
A face flinched back from the sudden heat, too close to her repose for comfort.
Sara started to scream, but the sound caught in her throat and she choked on her fear. By the time she swallowed and coughed, cleared her airways enough to allow any noise to escape, she realized that she recognized the features blinking at her in the sudden, soft light.
"Isaac!" she gasped.
"Shhh!" he urged her.
He glanced over his shoulder to where her roommate shifted and rolled in bed, only to settle down again in the next moment.
Sara's heart was pounding so loud she was surprised the sound wasn't enough to rouse Tori. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from squeaking, gathered her breath back like a mother calling wandering children home from their play.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he murmured, settling at her bedside. "Is it okay that I came back?"
"I thought I locked the door!" Sara muttered, surprise rendering her just loud enough to disturb Tori. Isaac froze in place and they both watched in suspense while the other girl sighed, rolled over and finally stilled again.
"Do you want me to go?" Isaac wondered.
Sara shook her head, let the flame disappear and searched for him with eager fingers in the renewed darkness. He followed the tug of her grasp on his arms, let her guide him across the creaking plane of her mattress until his body covered hers. He relaxed into her embrace and his lips grazed over her cheek, nuzzling playfully until he found her mouth. She giggled into the kiss but pressed back eagerly, gratefully.
"Shh," he reminded her, pulling away the bare minimum to encourage her silence.
"She'll be so mad if she wakes up and catches you in here after she kicked you out already," Sara breathed, intoxicated as much by the mischief of Isaac's forbidden trespass as by the comforting familiarity of his figure slotting intimately against hers.
"Then we'd better not wake her up," he replied so softly that the vibrations of his words were all that enabled her to divine his meaning.
"I can be quiet if you can be quiet," Sara promised.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His fingers tickled her navel and she stifled a giggle in airy cushion of his curls.
"You sound so sure... should we put a bet on it?" Isaac teased.
"Isaac! Be good!" Sara scolded him.
She gathered his hands punitively, caged them behind his back with a little shuffling and pressed him until he was trapped beneath her. It was his turn to bite back chuckles as she fluttered her fingertips over his ribcage, bared by the hike of his t-shirt during their brief scuffle.
"Are you sure you want me to be good?" he checked, salacity lightening his tone into an offer even as he surrendered beneath her.
"Yes... good... and still... and quiet... and gone by the time it gets light out," Sara instructed him.
"You want so much from me."
"Too much?"
"Never."
Her lips pecked his with understated gratitude. She let him rearrange them into a comfy spoon, let him sigh into the shell of her ear while his hands wandered with casual possessiveness that could have passed for innocence if she didn't know him so well.
"Oh Sara," he sang quietly over her shoulder. His fingers twined through hers and she leaned back happily to conform to the drowsy lines of his body. "You're the poet in my heart... never change... and don't you ever stop..."
She hummed the accompanying tune softly while he crooned mellifluously. Her cooperation was the only cue he needed to start the song over from the beginning, whispering her favorite line into the sleepy space between them. That space simmered without heat, thicker yet more effervescent with each passing moment as Isaac's lullaby encouraged a heavy, cool somnolence that rocked Sara closer to sleep without motion.
"Wait a minute, baby. Stay with me a while… said you'd give me light, but you never told me about the fire…"
"Did I ever tell you how much I love your singing voice?" she sighed contentedly.
She couldn't stop herself from interrupting him, couldn't resist turning in the cradle of his arms to face toward his chest. Her lips found his again while he smirked satisfaction into the featherlight offering of her sleepy affection. Sara almost fell asleep in his arms with his hands rubbing blissfully over her back and his kisses slowly gracing her hairline, but his voice brought her back just before the void could claim her fully.
"You are my light, did you know that?" he murmured. "I don't deserve you, Sara… would you promise me something?"
On the brink of unconsciousness, Sara dragged herself back to his side long enough to press one more drowsy kiss to the corner of his mouth. She could feel him frowning in the darkness and her heart ached to soothe whatever was troubling his.
"Anything, Isaac," she assured him groggily. "What is it?"
"Promise you'll never leave me," he plied desolately. "No matter what. No matter what I do, or how bad things look, or how little I really deserve to keep someone as sweet as you. Promise you'll stay with me?"
The phrasing was strange enough to give her pause. The desperation in his voice reminded her of a self-loathing she carried as well. It made her suspect, more than ever before, that Isaac's image of himself might be tainted by some inaccurate ill judgement, some unwarranted deprecation. If a simple promise on her part could make him feel better, could help salve whatever unseen wound he was carrying, how could she withhold it from him? Even mystified by the source of his sadness, how could she question his motives when all she wanted to do was hold him close and kiss it better?
"I promise, Isaac," she sighed. "Of course I promise. How could I ever leave you, hmm? What could you possibly do that would make me think badly of you? You know I think the world of you."
His breath collapsed as if under the weight of some secret he couldn't bring himself to voice, but Sara had no interest in demanding answers or interrogating him. She tangled her fingers deep into his hair, threaded them against his scalp and pulled him low until he was curled against her chest while she clutched him in a reversal of their original postures.
"You know I love you more than anything else in the world," she went on. "You know… if I'm your light, you're like, my whole sky… I'm sorry. I'm too tired to be poetic, babe. But you know what I mean, even though I can't say it right. If you're still here in the morning, I'll say it better then. Okay?"
"You have no idea how selfish I am," he mumbled, devastated by whatever unnamed affliction burdened him.
"I love you anyway. I promise that I always will," Sara assured him confidently.
Without knowing it, she wore ignorance like a crown, flaunting gems of naivety as though they imparted her a nobility that ran deeper than illusion. Isaac melted against her with a wretched little shudder that shook him to his foundations. Sara held him so tight that the tremor had no hope of forcing him to fall apart. It was her turn to hum him a song, her voice sweet and haunting in the darkness.
"Hold on a minute!" Wednesday called, stopping to search De Luca's sitting room.
"What?! They're fighting on the front lawn, what are you looking for?!" Isaac demanded.
"I was talking to Thing, you can go ahead and join the fun," Wednesday informed him with a roll of her eyes. "I'm looking for my backpack."
"Is that really a pressing concern right now?!" Isaac sneered.
"Considering the fact that machetes are far more effective at slicing through bone than kitchen knives? Yes, I think it's pretty high up the list," Wednesday shot back. "If you're not going to race out to gang up on De Luca with your coven, you can help me look!"
"Do you have an extra machete?" Isaac asked, undeniably excited by the idea of hacking De Luca to pieces after his rough treatment of Daphne and Elena.
"No, but if you find my backpack before I do, I'll let you use mine," Wednesday offered tantalizingly.
To Isaac's disappointment, it was Thing who located the backpack. Isaac grumbled unhappily, but followed Wednesday's lead to the front door. The sight that greeted them stopped them both in their tracks.
"De Luca's sort of a one trick pony," Wednesday observed drolly. Her parents, her brother and Isaac's girls had all managed to succumb to De Luca's snares, most of them for the second time. The Da Vinci laughed with mad triumph, even as his grounding network lay in battered ruins on his lawn.
"I'll kill the bastard!" Isaac snarled, surging forward eagerly, but thoughtlessly.
"You won't even get within spitting distance before he wraps you up like a fly in a web!" Wednesday pointed out, yanking him back. They watched De Luca rant and rave from around the door frame.
"He's pissed that we sabotaged his machine!" Isaac noted with dismay. "Whatever we do, we need to act fast! It's only a matter of time before he strangles your little brother for payback!"
"Then the rest of our families in turn," Wednesday agreed, calm in the face of calamity. Isaac admired her stoicism, but he had no hope of replicating it, not when he could see Elena thrashing on the grass, bound once more with the cables and wires of De Luca's ruined contraption.
"I'll distract him, you chop his hand off?" Isaac suggested, struggling to be rational past the haze of his panic.
"That'll never work," Wednesday fretted.
"Well we have to do something!" Isaac hissed emphatically. He pulled against her hold again, but she tugged him back stubbornly.
"I have a better plan," she said grimly.
"Great! What is it?!" Isaac demanded.
"Thing, you're not gonna like it," Wednesday informed her steadfast companion. He tapped out a series of frantic signs and Wednesday seemed pleased.
"You're right. I should hope you would be willing to sacrifice a little dignity for the good of the family," Wednesday smirked down at him. "This whole plan hinges on you."
"On the hand?!" Isaac snapped. "What the hell is the hand gonna do to-"
"You're crucial too, Night, so untwist your panties," Wednesday assured him. Thing allowed her to lift him. Wednesday grasped Isaac's left hand and slapped Thing down into his open palm. Isaac glared at her, confounded, while she knelt and started going through her backpack.
"Did Elena tell you what kind of outcast you were before she turned you?" Wednesday asked while she searched.
"She... actually, she never did," Isaac realized. Outside, De Luca was still raging and his prisoners still giving him a hard time. "What does my past have to do with your plan?"
"We need your ability if we're going to beat De Luca," Wednesday informed him.
She straightened, brandishing a roll of duct tape. Thing trembled unhappily in Isaac's grip while Isaac's confusion only deepened. Wednesday tore a long strip from the roll with a loud rriipp.
"What ability?" Isaac demanded.
"Of course you wouldn't know," Wednesday sighed. "After all, you said it yourself."
She demanded the stump of Isaac's wrist, ignored his shouts of protest while Thing hopped and scuttled into place and Wednesday started aggressively winding tape between Isaac's arm and the displaced appendage.
"A Da Vinci is nothing without his right hand," Wednesday reminded Isaac. He gaped at her wordlessly, mystified by her behavior. Especially in light of the fact that De Luca was squeezing the life out of Pugsley just outside. "Just remember... Thing isn't yours anymore. Save our families. Then he comes back to us. Do you understand, Isaac?"
"Understand?!" Isaac demanded. "I have no idea what you're... talking..."
A sensation of puzzling completeness washed over Isaac. The surge of power that came along with it was almost dizzying. In a bizarre twist, he flexed the fingers of the appendage Wednesday had so crudely attached to his arm. He gaped down wordlessly, unable to explain his control over the hand by any scientific means.
"They match," he realized, all but dumbstruck with wonder as he turned both his hands over in front of him. Thing was covered in scars and long healed stitches, but now that Isaac saw his right hand alongside his left, there was no mistaking their symmetry, the similarity in their proportions.
"So my plan is your plan, but better," Wednesday told him quickly. "You keep De Luca busy. I'll dispatch him. Think you can handle that?"
Using his long-lost outcast ability came to Isaac as easy as breathing, as natural as a heartbeat. He clenched his fist experimentally and hoisted Wednesday's backpack into the air abruptly. The use of his ability was as good a thousand volt electric shock straight to his muddled brain. Pain split his skull as three lifetimes worth of memories assaulted him in a matter of seconds. Telekinesis pulled an abandoned, cloudy orb out of the muck of a mental riverbed, shattered it and sent shards of glass shredding through his awestruck grey matter.
Isaac's completion was far more than physical. The reunion of his Da Vinci abilities was a spark that Morticia's little hypnosis routine had no hope of containing. The shroud of her efforts to obscure his past went up in flames, burned to fluttering scraps in a matter of seconds.
"Let's go! My brother's dying and your lover is next!" Wednesday reminded him.
Isaac's focus snapped back to the present, but he lost none of the clarity his powers had inspired in him. He let Wednesday push him out of De Luca's front door, didn't hesitate to wrap their enemy in the crushing vise of regained telekinetic force.
Isaac needed to deal with De Luca immediately. Afterwards, he could dispatch the rest of his enemies, all so conveniently clustered in one place. Ripe for the killing, like lambs shepherded for the slaughter. A savage thrill seized Isaac with the irresistible urge to laugh maniacally as he realized that finally, after all this time, after so many brutal defeats, so many crushing losses, he would at last have his revenge on the Addams family. His malignant glee rang out across the scene, puzzling everyone else as all eyes snapped to the spectacle of his showdown with De Luca.
De Luca's shock when Isaac lifted him off his feet was delectable. Even so, Isaac noted that Giovanni was a more formidable Da Vinci than his big brother had been. De Luca's fingers twitched and Isaac felt an invisible hand closing around his neck. He chuckled past the effort while Wednesday struggled forward one step at a time with De Luca's ability hampering her every inch of the way. Competent as De Luca was, he couldn't keep them both at bay. Not at the same time, not forever.
"Night!" De Luca shouted desperately. He knew as well as Isaac did that it was only a matter of time before his adversaries overcame his resistance. "I'm completing your life's work! Don't do this!"
"You're a little stronger than Romi! I'll give you that!" Isaac allowed him with a dark, spiteful laugh. "But you hurt my angel! For that sin?! I'll see you dead, De Luca!"
De Luca cried his defiance, screamed his rage while he refocused his efforts. Wednesday surged forward and Isaac frowned with confusion as the force of De Luca's powers dissipated from around his neck. Had the other Da Vinci given up?
The earth-shattering rend of splitting, fracturing metal groaned out through the air above Isaac. He had just enough time to look up to see De Luca tear a massive component of his machine from the roof of his manor. Isaac's eyes went wide with alarm as it hurtled toward him.
De Luca cackled. Wednesday swung her machete in a wide, brutal arc. Isaac thrust his borrowed right hand over his head, but too late to stop the momentum of De Luca's final, dying retribution.
"Isaac!"
Elena's voice, her desperate cry of horror and panic, was the last thing Isaac heard before a familiar darkness claimed him.
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