♱⃓ one wish willow — daniela avanzini
summary: one drunken wish on a cheap gag gift later, and dani becomes something else entirely.
now y/n has to figure out how to undo the wish before the girl she loves completely loses herself — or takes y/n down with her.
tags: psychological horror, inspired by the film obsession (2026), the gag gift was NOT a gag, not proofread…yet
notes: um hi.. its been a minute. this is a bit experimental, messy, and horror-adjacent. little different from what i usually do. but its inspired by the movie obsession which i fw heavy, also inde navarrette i love u
the living room was dim and thick with the heavy quiet that comes after too many people and too much noise. the air smelled like spilled beer, tequila, and the sweet sticky residue of snacks left out too long, mixed with the faint floral perfume that always clung to the girls after a night together. empty bottles stood on the coffee table and the floor. plastic cups were scattered everywhere, some still half-full with flat soda or watered-down liquor.
sophia was sprawled on your green couch on her back, one arm flung over her eyes, breathing deep and steady. megan was curled on the rug, a blanket twisted around her legs. lara, manon, and yoonchae had ended up in a sleepy pile on the other couch, limbs tangled, soft snores rising.
the music had died half an hour ago, leaving only the low constant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak from the old building settling around you. everyone else had gone home. you were the only one still moving, because it was your birthday and you could not stand waking up to the mess tomorrow. you bent to pick up another cup, the sticky floor tugging at the soles of your shoes. you loved a good party as much as the next person, but tonight you had stayed sober on purpose, playing the good host while the others let loose. now the quiet pressed in and you welcomed the simple task of cleaning because it kept your hands busy and your mind from wandering too much to dani.
dani stood in the doorway from the kitchen, her figure outlined by the weak light spilling from the hallway. she had stayed mostly sober too, her dark curls a little tousled from dancing earlier, but her eyes were clear and steady as they watched you move.
“cmon, birthday girl. the mess will still be there tomorrow, i promise,” she said, her voice low and warm. “join me for a drink. outside. let’s go.”
you paused with the stack of cups in your hands, the plastic cool and slightly damp against your palms. you looked at dani and felt the old flutter deep in your chest. the one you had been carrying for months. the biggest crush you had ever had on anyone, probably.
“okay,” you said, setting the cups down. “one drink.”
you stepped through the sliding door onto the small balcony. the night air hit your skin like a breath of fresh air after the stuffy apartment. the city stretched below you, lights blinking in scattered patterns, a light breeze carrying the distant rumble of late traffic and the sharp bark of a dog a few blocks away.
dani poured two small glasses of leftover wine. it caught the faint glow from a streetlamp below, turning it a deep ruby. you leaned side by side against the metal railing, the cool iron pressing into your forearms.
“so how are things going with jonah?” you asked, keeping it light. “the dates, i mean.”
dani shrugged, her shoulders loose under her baby tee, but there was a sheepish tilt to her mouth. “wasn’t working out,” she said softly. “he was nice enough but it just wasn’t there, you know.” she paused and glanced sideways at you, her eyes catching the street glow, soft and a little nervous around the edges. “i have my eyes on someone else, actually.”
your heart gave a hard thump. “oh yeah?” you said, keeping your tone easy. “what’s the hesitation then? make it happen if you want it.”
dani took a longer sip of her wine and stared out at the city, the breeze moving strands of hair across her cheek. when she spoke the words came slow and honest, like she had been turning them over for a long time. “i’m scared of getting into something and having them realize i’m not what they expected. not in a bad way, just, it really takes time for me to be soft with people i date, you know? and i feel like that’s something most people need right away, and i can’t promise i’ll ever just naturally be that from the get-go.”
you listened, every word sinking in deep, and you reached out gently, touching dani’s arm in the cool night air. “the right person won’t expect you to be perfect right away,” you said, your voice warm and steady. “you learn how to be soft over time, with someone who makes you feel safe. it doesn’t have to be instant. patience goes both ways, and if they care, they’ll meet you where you are. you’re already enough just as you are, dani.”
dani looked up, her eyes shiny in the dim light, and you felt that old ache stronger than ever.
to cut through it, you remembered the small red and cream triangular box in your pocket from earlier. you pulled it out. “okay wait,” you said, laughing softly. “sophia and megan got me this for my birthday. wrapped it and everything.”
you opened the box and tipped it toward dani — inside was a fake willow branch.
“it’s called a one wish willow. the back says —” you squinted at it, flipping it over. “— spark the middle and break it in half. think carefully before making your wish.” you looked up. “on a gag gift.”
“irreversibility: once made, a wish cannot be reversed or repeated.” you kept going, fully committed now. “usage limit: single use only. grants one wish. liability: users assume all responsibility for wish outcomes.” you snickered. “wish limitations: cannot grant wishes involving time manipulation, resurrection, immortality, or creating more one wish willows.”
dani was properly laughing now. “who wrote that?”
“some very serious person, apparently.” you chuckled, shaking your head. “sophia kept saying it was ridiculous. megan bought three of them.”
“you should do it,” you said, holding the box out to dani. “wish to be less of a coward about your crush. maybe twenty-four hours from now you’ll just show up to her door with a fruit basket and zero shame.”
dani rolled her eyes but took the box with a playful grin, because it was all ridiculous. she pulled the willow out, holding it up dramatically in the faint street light. “i wish i had zero shame about it. zero. i want to be the clingiest, most embarrassingly obsessed person to ever exist on this earth, specifically towards the person i like, and i want to feel no remorse about any of it,” she said in an over-the-top voice, clearly hamming it up for the joke.
she broke the branch in half, tossed the pieces over the railing without even looking at them, and dusted her hands like it was nothing.
the change hit the air instantly. a cold shiver raced through the night, making your spine tingle like invisible static crawling over your skin, and you saw dani’s shoulders give the smallest twitch. the breeze died for a heartbeat. the distant city sounds muffled into a strange, heavy quiet.
“you feel any different?” you laughed, except the laugh came out a little uncertain, because something had just shifted. the air felt different for a second. l
dani blinked and turned to you, her eyes a fraction brighter, more locked on, more intense than seconds before. then she smiled.
“i don’t think so.” the smile didn’t waver. it just sat on her face, steady and certain in a way dani never usually was. she closed the distance between you by one small step, her hand grazing your arm and lingering there in the cool air.
you felt a strange twist in your gut. you pulled your arm back gently, offering a small, awkward smile to cover the sudden unease as you glanced toward the sliding door.
“yeah, um, it’s getting kinda late out here,” you said softly, your voice a little tighter than you meant it to be. “we should probably head back inside. come on.” you turned away first, the faint static from that weird moment still humming at the edges of your thoughts.
the morning light filtered softly through the half-drawn curtains, casting pale stripes across the living room floor still scattered with empty cups and the faint remnants of last night’s chaos.
“fuck my life,” sophia muttered from the couch, her voice raspy. “who let me drink that much tequila again?”
megan emerged from the rug with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. “water first. then coffee. or death. one of those.”
dani was already up. her hair was pulled into a bun, dark curls escaping around her face and the nape of her neck, wearing one of your oversized hoodies that hung a little big on her frame. she moved around the counter with easy familiarity, pouring coffee into mugs, the rich aroma cutting through the stale air.
“hey,” she said, as soon as she heard you move. her face softened into a warm smile that reached her eyes more than usual. “i made coffee. extra shot, just how you like it, with that splash of vanilla because i remembered you saying it cuts the bitterness.”
she carried the mug over with both hands so your fingers brushed, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. her thumb grazed the side of your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“you didn’t have to do all that,” you said softly.
“it’s nothing. you hosted all of us and stayed sober so we could be disasters.” dani shrugged lightly, but she didn’t step back. “i already started on some of the dishes. i can finish before we head out if you want.”
“dani’s in full mom mode this morning,” sophia teased. “y/n, you got the vip treatment.”
you spent the next hour slowly cleaning up together. dani stayed near you the whole time, handing you things before you even reached for them, laughing at the same stories the girls retold, but her eyes kept drifting back to you with a softer, more focused attention.
“you sure you’ll be alright here?” dani asked at one point, standing close. “i can stay a bit longer if you need company.”
“i’m good. really. don’t worry about me.”
dani was the last to leave, her hug lasting a few extra seconds, arms wrapping around you with quiet strength. “last night was really good,” she murmured near your ear. “text me when you’re free later, okay? i had fun talking on the balcony.”
you nodded, the flutter returning as dani pulled away with one last warm look before following the others out the door.
the rest of the day passed in a comfortable haze. by mid-afternoon you felt the tiredness from the party catch up and curled up on the clean couch for a nap, pulling a light blanket over yourself and drifting off to the low hum of the city outside.
when you woke up, the room was dimmer, evening settling in. your phone was buzzing on the coffee table.
six voice messages from dani.
sent over the past few hours while you had been sleeping. your eyebrows rose. that was a lot, even for dani. you settled back against the cushions and started playing them one by one.
the first: “y/n.” a pause, like she was collecting herself or deciding something.
“i’ve just been standing in the middle of the room. i don’t know how long.” a pause.
“it doesn’t feel right being here. it doesn’t feel right being anywhere that isn’t where you are.” her voice was soft. completely soft. “i think i need to fix that.”
the second followed almost immediately. “i keep replaying this morning. just the coffee. just the way you held the mug after i handed it to you.” a long pause.
“i’ve been sitting here and i think i’ve watched that moment in my head maybe thirty times now and i’m not — i don’t feel like stopping.” another pause, quieter. “i don’t think i could if i tried.”
third: “i shouldn’t have left.” flat. certain. “i kept thinking on the drive back about everything i could have done. everything i should have made sure of.”
a pause, and then a laugh. sudden, a little too bright, like it surprised even her. “god. sorry, sorry, it’s just so funny to me, the idea of being away from you, like why would i do that, why would i ever do that?”
the laugh faded but didn’t quite disappear, still threading through her voice underneath. “i’m going to fix it. i’m going to be better about it.”
another giggle, shorter, almost breathless. “i just need to be where you are. that’s it. that’s the whole thing.”
a pause. when she spoke again the laughter was gone completely, replaced by something very still and very quiet. “i don’t think i’m going to feel okay until i am.”
you felt goosebumps rise along your arms as you listened, one voicemail bleeding into the next.
the laugh kept replaying in your head even with the silence. too light, too sudden, gone too fast. you knew dani’s laugh. this wasn’t quite it.
you pressed play on the fourth anyway, because what else were you supposed to do.
fourth: “no one else makes me feel like this.” a pause. dead still.
“no one has ever made me feel like this.” the breathing shifted on the other end, slow and deliberate, like she was trying to hold something back, then had decided not to bother.
“you’re the only one. the only one i want near me, the only one i want to talk to, the only one that —” she stopped.
when she came back she was crying, quietly, almost privately, like you weren’t supposed to hear it but she was leaving it in anyway. “i miss you so much it doesn’t make sense. i’ve stopped trying to make it.”
a long silence. “why does it hit this hard.” flat. toneless. like she already knew and just wanted you to know she knew.
fifth: “i drove past somewhere that reminded me of you.” a pause.
“i pulled over.” another pause, longer, and you could hear nothing on the other end. no traffic. no movement.
“i’ve been sitting here.” she didn’t say how long. “you’re all i think about. every single thing. everywhere i look.” her voice didn’t waver once.
“i don’t think that’s going to change. i want you to know i don’t think that’s going to change.”
the sixth started with silence. three, four seconds of it before dani spoke. “i can’t focus on anything.” low. close to the mic, like she was somewhere small and dark.
“i’ve been tracking every minute since i left. what you’re doing. whether you’re okay. whether you need me there.”
a pause. “you need me there.” not a question. a conclusion.
“i miss you.” quieter now, almost a whisper. “i’m coming back, y/n.” a beat. “i just wanted you to know before i do.”
the sixth voicemail ended.
you sat there on the edge of the couch, phone in both hands, the screen still lit up with dani’s name and the timestamp and the little waveform that had already gone flat and still.
you played the last one again.
i’m coming back, y/n. i just wanted you to know before i do.
you sat with that for a second. then another. then you got up and went to your front door and stood there with your hand on the deadbolt, not sure if you were about to lock it or open it, not sure which one was the right thing to do.
your phone buzzed in your hand.
“you’re standing at the door right now.” a pause.
“i just know you are.” another pause, longer, and you could hear the night behind her voice. open air. close wind. very close wind.
“look out the kitchen window.”
you stood at the door for a long moment. your hand was still on the deadbolt. you told yourself it was just a guess. it had to be a guess. dani was probably already home, probably already in bed.
you walked to the kitchen. you didn’t turn the light on.
dani was standing on the pavement below, neck craned up, looking straight at your window. like she’d known exactly which one. like she’d been standing there long enough to be sure. her phone was down at her side, screen still lit in the dark, and when you appeared in the window dani smiled, slow and unhurried, and raised one hand.
small and easy and completely unbothered by the fact that she was standing outside your building in the middle of the night, looking up at your window like it was the most normal thing in the world.
like she’d just been waiting to be seen.
you gasped and stumbled back from the window, shoulder hitting the wall hard enough to sting. your heart was slamming, your breath coming fast and useless, and that image of dani on the pavement below, was burned somewhere behind your eyes where you couldn’t get rid of it.
you pressed your back flat against the kitchen wall and stayed there. didn’t move. you counted your own breathing until it slowed down enough to function.
after a while the silence got too loud. you edged back to the window, keeping yourself to the side, and looked down.
the pavement was empty. just the street, the distant glow of lamps, the quiet. no dani. no phone light cutting through the dark. nothing.
you checked twice. checked a third time. then you locked the front door — deadbolt, chain, both — and went through every window in the apartment before you let yourself go to bed. sleep came eventually, thin and restless, broken up by half-dreams where dani’s voice kept saying the same thing over and over in that calm, certain tone.
the next morning came in gray and flat. you woke up already tired, the night sitting like something heavy on your chest that coffee wasn’t going to fix.
your phone buzzed on the counter while you were staring into your mug.
hey y/n… i’m really sorry about last night. i drank a couple of beers in the afternoon and i went overboard. i don’t even fully remember sending all of them. i was drunker than i thought. that was not okay. i feel awful. hope i didn’t freak you out too bad.
you read it twice. then a third time.
it sounded like dani. the actual dani — a little embarrassed, a little self-deprecating, the kind of text you send when you’ve said too much and you know it. you wanted badly to believe it. you were aware of wanting to believe it in a way that made you trust it less.
you typed back after a long pause.
hey dani, don’t beat yourself up. we’re good, really. just glad you’re okay.
the reply came before you’d even set your phone down.
you stared at the words. set the phone face down on the counter. walked to the window and looked out at the empty pavement below without fully meaning to. then you picked the phone back up.
another text was already waiting.
please. ugh im sorry 4 being such a weirdo. let me make it up to you. i’ll bring breakfast and we can just hang like normal. i hate that i made things weird.
you stood there in your quiet kitchen, thumb hovering. the part of you that had been aching over dani for months was already softening at the apology, already constructing reasons why last night was explainable, why this was fine, why you were overreacting.
you hit send before you finished thinking it through.
okay. yeah, come over. breakfast sounds good.
the moment it went through you felt it. that immediate low drop in your stomach. like you’d just made a decision you couldn’t take back.
dani arrived thirty minutes later.
she knocked softly, like she was being careful, and when you opened the door she looked completely normal — curls loose around her shoulders, camo hoodie, baggy jeans, warm bags of indian food that made the whole doorway smell like cardamom and garlic. that familiar grin already in place like last night had been a bad dream you’d both agreed to forget.
“i brought your favorites,” dani said, holding the bags up. “extra garlic naan. mango lassi. the whole thing.” she stepped inside without waiting to be invited, moving straight to the counter to unpack. “figured we could use something good after last night.”
“you didn’t have to go all out,” you said, keeping your voice light.
“i wanted to.” dani looked up then, and there it was. that stare, steady and unblinking, holding just a second too long. warm on the surface. something else underneath. she smiled. “you feeling okay?”
“yeah,” you said. “i’m good.”
dani held the eye contact for another beat before going back to unpacking, and you turned away and told yourself you were imagining things.
you ate on the couch. dani was easy and funny, doing voices during the stories she told, making you laugh in spite of yourself, stealing the last piece of naan and pretending she hadn’t. it felt almost normal. it felt so close to normal that you kept catching yourself relaxing into it, kept having to remind yourself of the voicemails, the window, the smile from the pavement below.
dani refilled your water without being asked. tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and let her fingers linger a half second too long against your jaw. every time your eyes drifted away, dani would say your name — softly, almost gently — and pull your gaze back. not wanting your attention to be elsewhere even for a second.
you put on movies after. two of them, ones you’d both seen before. dani sat pressed close, thigh firm against yours, and laughed at all the right moments. you laughed too, when you could. your shoulders never fully came down.
by the time the second set of credits rolled the apartment had gone dark with full night outside. you glanced at the clock and made yourself say it. “it’s getting pretty late. you probably need to head home soon, right?”
dani’s smile dropped. not faded — dropped, like a switch. her eyes went wide and her breathing spiked into something fast and ragged and she turned on the couch to face you fully, too close, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off her.
“i don’t want to leave,” she said, and her voice cracked on it, shot up too loud for the quiet room. “i’ll miss you too much. it already feels wrong, everything in me is screaming not to go. you feel that too, right? tell me you feel that.”
“did i do something wrong?” the words tumbled over each other, frantic and overlapping, tears spilling down her face before you even registered they’d started. her eyes were huge, pupils blown wide, like something behind them had come loose. “are you mad at me? you don’t want me around anymore?”
her hands shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist, grip trembling and tight and not letting go. “please don’t make me leave. don’t you find me pretty anymore? i feel like you don’t want me as much as i want you, i feel like i’m losing my mind, what is wrong with me —” a laugh broke out of her suddenly, sharp and manic and completely wrong against the tears still running down her face.
“i can’t even breathe thinking about walking out that door. i don’t know why i’m like this, it’s spinning and i can’t stop it, please, please don’t send me away —”
her nails pressed into your wrist. not hard enough to break skin. almost.
“okay,” you said. the word came out fast, automatic, the way you talk someone down from jumping off a building. “okay. you can stay. just…stay. it’s fine.”
the silence that followed was worse than the spiral.
dani stopped crying. immediately. completely. the trembling hands went still, the frantic breathing leveled out, and the tears just stopped, like someone had turned off a tap. what replaced it was a smile, slow and wide and deeply, deeply satisfied, the kind that didn’t belong on the face of someone who had just been falling apart. it spread too far. it didn’t reach her eyes properly. she looked at you the way you look at something you’ve finally gotten your hands on.
“okay, great! i’ll shower first then,” she said brightly, already halfway down the hall. “i won’t take long. thank you, y/n. see? everything’s better when we’re together.”
you sat on the couch and didn’t move until you heard the water turn on.
you took your own shower after, stayed in longer than you needed to, let the heat run until the bathroom filled with steam and you could pretend for a few minutes that you were somewhere else. when you came out the apartment was quiet.
you walked to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway.
dani was already in bed. propped against the pillows, wearing one of your old shirts that she hadn’t been offered, hands folded in her lap, smiling at the door like she’d known exactly when you would appear in it.
“come here,” she said softly, and opened her arms.
you crossed the room and got into bed because you didn’t know what else to do. dani pulled you in immediately, tight and certain, arms wrapping around you like something closing. her fingers traced slow circles on your back and her breathing evened out within minutes, deep and content, her arm draped heavy across your waist even in sleep.
you lay rigid in the dark and stared at the ceiling.
you had imagined this so many times. dani’s confession on the balcony becoming something soft and mutual. nervous laughter. tentative and careful and real. you had imagined what it would feel like to finally be wanted back, after all the months of watching and waiting and pretending you weren’t doing either.
it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. like a door that had quietly locked behind you.
tears tracked sideways into your hair in the dark and you didn’t wipe them. dani’s arm was too heavy across your waist and you couldn’t move without waking her and you weren’t sure yet what happened if you woke her.
and then the thought arrived, the one you’d been circling all night without letting yourself land on it.
that stupid little fake branch in the red and cream box. sophia and megan’s gag gift. the instructions on the back of the triangular box that you’d read out loud like it was funny.
think carefully before making your wish. once made, a wish cannot be reversed.
dani on the balcony, snapping the branch clean. not even looking at it after.
the shiver in the air that you had talked yourself out of feeling.
you were aware that it meant you were the one she had her eyes on this whole time, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. not like this.
you lay in the dark with dani’s arm across your waist and the full weight of it settled over you like cold water. this wasn’t dani being intense. this wasn’t alcohol, or longing, or a strange night that would sort itself out by morning. something had happened on that balcony. something had changed, and it had changed completely, and the box had been very clear about what came after.
once made, a wish cannot be reversed or repeated.
dani’s breathing was slow and even beside you. content. certain. her grip tightened slightly in sleep, like she could feel you thinking about pulling away.
you closed your eyes and did not sleep for a very long time.
exhaustion eventually won out, pulling you under into something thin and restless that barely counted as sleep.
sometime deep in the night you stirred. there was a prickling along your skin, slow and crawling, the specific feeling of being looked at. your eyes opened on their own before you were fully awake.
the room was dark. the curtains let in just enough moonlight to see by.
dani was standing in the corner.
not moving. not shifting her weight, not adjusting, not doing anything that a person standing in a dark room at — your eyes cut to the clock — 3 a.m. would normally do. just standing there, facing the bed, head tilted very slightly, watching. she looked like she had been there for a long time. she looked like she was perfectly comfortable with that.
your breath left you all at once.
“dani.” your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “what are you doing.”
dani didn’t startle. she stood in the corner for another beat, like she was in no particular hurry, and then took one slow step forward. her voice when it came was low and soft and completely unbothered, like she was describing something lovely. “i couldn’t sleep,” she said. “i just wanted to look at you.”
another step, unhurried. “you look so peaceful when you’re sleeping. so beautiful.” she stopped at the edge of the bed, close enough now that you could see her face in the dim light.
that same expression from the window below. open and certain and deeply, deeply calm. “i like watching you. i like being near you like this. it feels right. it feels like the only thing that makes sense.” a pause. “i’ve been standing there for a while.”
she said it like a confession. like it was something you should find sweet.
your back hit the headboard. you hadn’t realized you’d moved. “dani, this isn’t — you can’t just stand in the corner and watch me sleep, that’s not —” you could hear your own voice shaking and couldn’t stop it.
“you’re doing it again,” she said, and her voice shot up into something raw and cracked and too loud for the quiet apartment. “you’re pushing me away again.” tears spilled over, fast, and her hands flew up to her own hair, gripping hard. “i just wanted to be close to you. i just wanted to look at you. that’s all i did. why is that wrong? why is that something you need to be scared of?” she took a step closer, then another, her whole body shaking. “i would never hurt you. i just love being near you. i just need to be near you, why can’t you let me be near you —”
“do you know what it feels like?” her voice cracked on it, broke open, and she laughed through the tears, that same manic broken sound from earlier, wrong and bright and terrible. “to want to be close to someone this much and have them look at you like you’re something scary? like you’re something wrong?”
she was crying hard now, hands still twisted in her own hair, but her eyes were locked on your face with a focus that didn’t waver at all. that was the scariest part, the crying and the shaking and underneath it all those eyes completely fixed and steady. “i’ve been watching you sleep for two hours, y/n. two hours. and it was the best two hours i’ve had since i got here because you weren’t pulling away from me. you were just there and i was just there and it was enough.” a sob broke through, ugly and raw. “why can’t that be enough for you. why can’t i just be close to you without you making that face.”
“what face,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
“that face,” dani said. “like you want me to leave.”
your hands were shaking under the blanket. you made yourself breathe. made yourself think past the fear, past the way dani’s eyes looked in the dark, past the two hours, past all of it. you softened your voice the way you’d gentle something wounded and unpredictable. “hey. hey, i’m not pushing you away. i was just startled, that’s all. come back to bed, okay? come here. i want you close.”
the silence that followed lasted exactly long enough to be wrong.
then dani’s face smoothed out. the tears stopped. the shaking stopped. that smile came back, slow and wide and settling into place like it had never left, like the last two minutes hadn’t happened at all. she wiped her face with the back of her hand and climbed back into bed, curling around you immediately, arms pulling you in tight, face pressing warm against your shoulder.
“i knew you didn’t mean it,” she murmured, already settling, already content. “i knew you’d understand.” her arm cinched tighter around your waist.
you lay rigid in the dark and stared at the ceiling and listened to dani’s breathing slow into something deep and satisfied while the clock on the nightstand read 3:09 a.m. and the room sat completely still around you.
the next morning you woke up alone.
you didn’t realize it at first. you came up out of sleep slow and disoriented, reaching sideways before you were fully conscious, hand already moving toward the other side of the bed out of some new terrible instinct you hadn’t had four days ago. the sheets were cold. had been cold for a while.
you sat up. checked the corner first. just wall. just shadow. just the normal dark shape of your own jacket hanging on the chair.
there was a note on the pillow.
had to go to work early. you were sleeping so peacefully i couldn’t wake you. i’ll be thinking about you all day. see you soon. love, dani :)
you put the note down face-first on the mattress so you didn’t have to look at it anymore.
your hands were shaking when you clicked sophia’s contact.
where did you guys get that one wish willow from ?? the exact shop. please.
sophia answered in under a minute. the green man, that weird metaphysical place a couple blocks from the park. why whats up??
you were already out of bed.
you threw on the first clothes you touched, grabbed the red and cream box from the counter, and were out the door before you’d finished processing that you were leaving. the morning air hit your face cold and you walked fast, faster than you needed to, the box clutched in both hands like if you loosened your grip it would disappear and take the only lead you had with it.
the green man was narrow and dim, the kind of shop that seemed smaller on the inside than it looked from the street. it smelled like incense and something older underneath. dust and dried herbs and the particular staleness of a room that didn’t get much light. wind chimes shifted somewhere in the back when the door opened. a man behind the counter looked up: older, tired eyes, the kind of face that had heard things before and stopped being surprised by them.
you put the box on the counter.
you hadn’t planned what you were going to say. it came out anyway, fast and cracking and not entirely coherent — the party, the balcony, the wish dani hadn’t known was real, the voicemails one after another after another, the figure on the pavement below waving, the corner of the bedroom at 3 a.m., the way dani’s crying had stopped like a switch. you talked until your voice gave out and then you just stood there, hands flat on the glass counter, breathing hard.
the man hadn’t moved. hadn’t interrupted. he looked at the box, then at you, then at the box again.
“it says right on it,” he said finally, his voice very quiet and very tired. “irreversible. once made, a wish cannot be reversed or repeated.”
“i know what it says.” your voice came out rougher than you meant. “i need you to tell me there’s something else. please. she didn’t know it was real. she thought it was a joke. she made a stupid wish because i handed her the box and told her to and she trusted me and now she’s —” your throat closed around the rest of it. you pressed your fingers harder into the counter. “she’s not herself. she’s scared, even inside it she’s scared. she doesn’t deserve this. please.”
the man looked at you for a long moment. the wind chimes shifted again in the back room. somewhere a clock was ticking.
then he turned and disappeared through the curtain behind him.
you stood at the counter and didn’t breathe properly until he came back. he was holding a branch, smaller than the one in the box, darker, the wood almost grey. he set it on the counter between you carefully.
“this one is different,” he said. “it doesn’t override the wish. it can’t. nothing can.” he paused. “but if the wisher speaks their true desire out loud — not a corrected wish, not a wished-away wish, just the truth of what they want, it creates an opening. the wish loses its grip.” he looked at you. “it only works if she means it. and she has to be the one to break it. you can’t do it for her.”
you picked up the branch. your hands had stopped shaking. something had settled in your chest that wasn’t calm exactly but was close enough to function.
“what happens to her after?” you said. “does she remember?”
you took that as its own kind of answer. you put money on the counter without counting it and walked out.
you texted dani that evening. kept it simple.
come over. i want to show you something.
the reply came in forty-seven seconds. on my way :)
you stood on the balcony and waited. the city moved below you, indifferent and lit up, and you turned the grey branch over and over in your hands and tried to figure out what you were going to say. maybe there wasn’t a version of this that had the right words. maybe you just had to stand in the same spot where it started and hope that counted for something.
dani arrived with that brightness already in her face, the particular voltage that had been there since the balcony three nights ago, the one that looked like joy from a distance and like something else entirely up close. she stepped outside and immediately gravitated toward you, closing the distance between you like she couldn’t help it.
“hey,” she said, smiling.
“hey.” you took her hands. felt dani’s fingers curl around yours immediately, tight and certain. “i need you to do something for me. and i need you to trust me.”
dani’s face did something complicated. the brightness flickered. “always,” she said, and she meant it, and that was the part that broke something open in your chest.
you opened your mouth to start explaining, and then dani’s face changed.
not gradually. not with warning. one second she was smiling and the next her expression collapsed inward, her eyes going wide and frightened, her hands seizing yours harder.
“y/n.” her voice came out different. lower. scraped. like she was talking through something. “y/n, listen to me, something is wrong with me, i don’t — i can feel it, it’s like something else is wearing me and i can’t —”
then she stopped. blinked. the brightness slammed back into place like a shutter closing, sudden and total, and she laughed, soft and easy, tilting her head. “sorry, i spaced out. what were you saying?”
“dani,” you said carefully. “what just happened.”
“what do you mean?” dani smiled. squeezed your hands. “nothing happened. i’m right here.”
you looked at her eyes. steady. warm. completely certain.
“okay,” you said. “i need to tell you something and i need you to actually hear me. all of it. can you do that?”
dani tilted her head. “of course.”
you didn’t let go of her hands. you kept your voice even and careful. “the branch i have,” you said, “it’s different from the first one. it doesn’t cancel the wish. nothing can cancel it.” you paused. “but if you hold it and say out loud what you actually want, it creates an opening. it loses its grip.”
dani was quiet for a moment. “and then what.”
“he said it only works if you mean it,” you said. “it has to come from you. i can’t do it for you. i can’t wish it away or —” your voice caught on the last part. you made yourself finish it. “i can’t undo what i started. i know that. i’m so sorry, dani. i handed you that box. i told you to make a wish. i thought it was funny and i was wrong and i’m so —”
“hey.” dani’s hands tightened around yours. the brightness in her face had gone soft, almost gentle, and for a second you couldn’t tell which version of her was speaking. “stop. just tell me what i need to do.”
you held out the grey branch.
“hold this,” you said. “and tell me what you actually want. your real wish. whatever is true.” you met dani’s eyes. “i’ll be right here.”
dani looked at the branch for a long moment. something moved across her face. something that recognized the branch for what it was and didn’t want to touch it. her smile stayed in place but her eyes went very still.
“i don’t think i need that,” she said.
“i think you do,” you said. “i think part of you knows you do.”
then dani’s hand came up slowly and took the branch. and the moment her fingers closed around it the battle started in earnest.
her face went through expressions you didn’t have names for. not in quick succession but simultaneously, layered over each other, like two people trying to occupy the same features at once. her mouth pulled into a smile and then her brow collapsed it and then the smile fought back and her eyes went somewhere frightened and then something else yanked them back to warm and certain, her breath coming fast and uneven like she was running from the inside out.
“dani.” you stepped forward, not back, toward her, and took her shaking hand in both of yours, pressing the grey branch between your palms. “i know you’re in there. i know you can hear me right now.” you held on tighter. “you know what to do. you know what you actually want. just say it. please. just say it out loud.”
dani’s face did something you would never be able to fully describe later. both of them at once, really at once, the brightness and the real her occupying the same expression at the same time, pulling it in opposite directions, her eyes filling with tears that the brightness immediately tried to reclaim as devotion, her mouth opening on a sound that was half-sob and half-laugh and belonged to neither of them and both of them.
“i want —” a breath. the brightness pressing in at the edges of her voice, warming it, trying to redirect it. she pushed through. “i want to be me. just me. whatever that looks like.” the branch was shaking between your hands. “i want to stop feeling like i’m drowning in something i didn’t choose. i want to —” her voice broke, the real break, the one that had nothing to do with the wish. “i don’t want to scare you. i don’t want to scare you, y/n. i never wanted to scare you.”
the brightness left her face like an exhale.
not dramatic. not violent. just — out. like a light switched off in an empty room, quiet and final and leaving nothing behind but the actual dark.
dani stood on the balcony and blinked. once. twice. looked down at the two pieces of branch in her hands with a small confused frown.
“what are we doing out here?” she said. her voice was just her voice. just dani. “it’s freezing.”
you looked at her. really looked at her. the voltage was gone. the certainty was gone. the brightness that had been eating her alive from the inside for three days was simply, completely gone. she was standing in the cold holding a broken branch she didn’t recognize, looking at you the way she’d always looked at you, like you were just a person she liked a lot and sometimes didn’t know what to do about.
not a single second of it. it was written nowhere on her face.
you felt the grief move through you, slow and total. the specific grief of being the only one who would ever know. then underneath it something else, quieter and less pretty but solid: relief. dani got to keep herself without the knowledge of what she’d briefly, terrifyingly been. she got to wake up tomorrow and just be a person. you could give her that. it was the smallest possible thing and also the only thing you’d been able to give her through any of this.
“just wanted some air,” you said. your voice came out steady.
dani wrinkled her nose. tossed the two pieces of branch over the railing without looking at them, the way you’d toss anything you didn’t recognize and didn’t need, and watched them disappear into the dark below.
“come inside,” she said. “i’ll make tea. you look terrible, by the way.”
dani went inside. you listened to the door slide open, heard her moving around in the kitchen, the familiar sound of the wrong cabinet opening because it was always the wrong cabinet with dani.
you stayed on the balcony.
you looked at the spot on the railing where it had all started. the wood hadn’t changed. there was no mark, no evidence, nothing to indicate that something had been broken here and then broken again in an attempt to fix it. the city moved below you the same way it always did, holding its millions of lives with the same indifference it had always held them.
you thought about the real dani’s voice breaking through. i don’t want to scare you. i never wanted to scare you. you didn’t know if that had been the wish finally losing its grip or dani herself clawing back up to the surface long enough to say the truest thing she had. you didn’t know if it mattered. you thought maybe it did. you thought maybe that was the thing you would keep, the only clean thing you could take from any of this, and hold somewhere careful and private where it couldn’t get ruined.
there was a version of the future where you told dani everything. where dani knew what she’d been and what she’d done and who she’d briefly been capable of becoming and you talked about it the way people were supposed to talk about things. there was probably a version of the future where the feelings that had existed before all of this, the ones that had been building quietly for months, the ones that had made you hand over the box in the first place like an offering, got to become something real and mutual and chosen. both of you choosing it. both of you clear-eyed.
you didn’t know if you were that person yet. you didn’t know if the fear had done something permanent to the wanting or if it had just buried it somewhere you couldn’t reach right now. you didn’t know if the wanting would come back when the fear finally faded or if it would return changed into something that flinched at the wrong moments, that kept waiting in the dark for a switch to flip.
what you knew was that dani was inside your apartment right now opening the wrong cabinet and being completely, ordinarily herself. what you knew was that three days ago you had stood in this exact spot at the start of something that was supposed to be tentative and sweet and it had become something else entirely, and the something else was over now, and what remained was just the two of you and the original question you had never actually gotten to answer.
you didn’t know if you had the heart for it yet.
you thought someday you might.
you pushed off the railing. went inside. slid the door shut behind you.
dani was holding up two mugs with a questioning look, the wrong cabinet hanging open above her head.
you pointed to the left one.
dani smiled — just her smile, just the actual one, the one you had memorized without ever deciding to — and turned back to the kettle.
you sat down and watched her and thought: not yet. but maybe. maybe someday.
the kettle began to hiss into the quiet.
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